As he uttered these words, he placed his hand upon his breast, and closed his eyes, as though he were going to faint. “What is the matter?” I exclaimed, rising abruptly, and approaching him. “Nothing!” he replied, in a weak voice; “don’t disturb yourself about me. These fits of faintness come on, now and then, in consequence of an attack of pneumonia which I had lately. Sit down, colonel. You must really pardon me for saying it, but you make me nervous.” There was nothing in the tone of this singular address to take offence at,--the voice of the speaker was perfectly courteous,--and I resumed my seat. “We were talking about Sherman,” he said. “They call him Gog, Magog, anti-Christ, I know not what, in the clerical circles of this city!” His lip curled as he spoke. “One reverend divine publicly declared the other day, that ‘God had put a hook in Sherman’s nose, and was leading him to his destruction!’ I don’t think it looks much like it!” The speaker was stopped by a fit of coughing, and when it had subsided, leaned back, faint and exhausted, in his chair. “The fact is--Sherman--” he said, with difficulty, “seems to have--the hook in--_our_ nose!” There was something grim and lugubrious in the smile which accompanied the painfully uttered words. A long silence followed them, which was broken by neither of us. At last I raised my head, and said:-- “I find you less hopeful than last summer. At that time you were in good spirits, and the tone of the _Examiner_ was buoyant.” “It is hopeful still,” he replied, “but by an effort--from a sentiment of duty. I often write far more cheerfully than I feel, colonel.”[1] [Footnote 1: His words.] “Your views have changed, I perceive--but you change with the whole country.” “Yes. A whole century has passed since last August, when you visited me here. One by one, we have lost all that the country could depend on--hope goes last. For myself, I began to doubt when Jackson fell at Chancellorsville, and I have been doubting, more or less, ever since. He was _a dominant man_, colonel, fit, _if any thing happened_, to rise to the head of affairs.[1] Oh! for an hour of Jackson! Oh! for a day of our dead Dundee!”[2] [Footnote 1: His words.] [Footnote 2: His words.] The face of the speaker glowed, and I shall never forget the flash of his dark eye, as he uttered the words, “if any thing happened.” There was a whole volume of menace to President Davis in those words. “But this is useless!” he went on; “Jackson is dead, and there is none to take his place. So, without leaders, with every sort of incompetence, with obstinacy and stupidity directing the public councils, and shaping the acts of the administration, we are gliding straight into the gulf of destruction.” I could make no reply. The words of this singular man and profound thinker, affected me dolefully.