There was another occasion on which evil was not only intended, but attempted, by some who falsely believed they were doing God service by breaking up the "pestilent Rochester knockings." We, too, had our case of a "prophet" (Isaiah) sent to curse, but who remained to bless. Our "prophet," of whom this was true, was none other than the famous Captain I. Rynders, well known as the Captain of the Empire Club--a Democratic party organization of "fighting men," the counterpoise to a corresponding body on the other side of politics. These rival corps had, originally, for their business the breaking up of the meetings of the adverse party, or to defend those of their own party against similar attacks from the opposite fighting corps. Captain Rynders, though a rather slender man, was one of such pluck, energy, and resolution, that his very name came to represent a real power in New York. His politics, in which he was very zealous, made him (as most men of that day were, on both sides) very hostile to "the Abolitionists," many a meeting of whom the Empire Club had broken up after the most summary of fashions, namely, through windows as well as doors. One day three men, one of them of Herculean proportions, with his shirt-collar wide open, sailor fashion, on a brown sunburnt neck, entered our parlor, after payment of their regular fee outside, and took their seats together; the Hercules next to me. His appearance was every way formidable. A certain slight commotion was manifest in the company on their entrance. I soon received from three different friends in the room (Mr. Greeley, George Ripley, and another) little billets warning me against "the most dangerous man in New York"--whose appearance "portended evil," and telling me to be "extremely careful" of all I should say and do, etc. One lady bent over me from behind, handed me a bit of paper which spoke of "black danger clouds," and a row as being imminent from "those men," and then made her escape into one of the more remote parlors of the hotel. But they sat quietly as observers. There were several clergymen in the company, one of them being the celebrated Dr. Phelps, of Stratford, Conn. There were at the table also two elderly, tall, thin, and pale Quaker maiden ladies, a little ghostly perhaps in appearance, one of whom presently addressed to the Spirits the question, "Which is the more correct, the Bible or Andrew Jackson Davis's Revelations?" To this came many raps, which were differently understood around the table, according to the various opinions. It made quite a sensation. I rose and said that those raps were not an answer to the question, but a call for the alphabet, which I proceeded to repeat aloud as usual. The answer returned was: "The Bible contains many true and beautiful things, and so also does Davis's Revelations," a reply which Dr. Phelps considered a good and wise one. I presently invited one of my three neighbors (not the