lace of meeting in good
time to hear the great preacher of the occasion--Father Fisher. The
meeting was held in a river canyon. The rocks towered hundreds of feet
on either side, rising over like an arch. Through the ample space over
which the rocks hung the river flowed, furnishing abundance of cool
water, while a pleasant breeze fanned a shaded spot. A great multitude
had assembled--hundreds of very hard cases, who had gathered there,
like myself, for the mere novelty of the thing. I am not a religious man
--never have been thrown under religious influences. I respect religion,
and respect its teachers, but have been very little in contact with
religious things. At the appointed time, the preacher rose. He was
small, with white hair combed back from his forehead, and he wore a
venerable beard. I do not know much about the Bible, and I cannot quote
from his text, but he preached on the Judgment. I tell you, sir, I have
heard eloquence at the bar and on the hustings, but I never heard such
eloquence as that old preacher gave us that day. At the last, when he
described the multitudes calling on the rocks and mountains to fall on
them, I instinctively looked up to the arching rocks above me. Will you
believe it, sir?--as I looked up, to my horror I saw the walls of the
canyon swaying as if they were coming together! Just then the preacher
called on all that needed mercy to kneel down. I recollect he said
something like this: "'Every knee shall bow, and every tongue shall
confess;' and you might as well do it now as then." The whole multitude
fell on their knees--every one of them. Although I had never done so
before, I confess to you, sir, I got down on my knees. I did not want to
be buried right then and there by those rocks that seemed to be swaying
to destroy me. The old man prayed for us; it was a wonderful prayer! I
want to see him once more; where will I be likely to find him?'

"When he had closed his narrative, I said to him: 'Judge, I hope you
have bowed frequently since that day.' 'Alas! no, sir,' he replied; 'not
much; but depend upon it, Father Fisher is a wonderful orator--he made
me think that day that the walls of the canyon were falling.'"

He went back to Texas, the scene of his early labors and triumphs, to
die. His evening sky was not cloudless--he suffered much--but his
sunset was calm and bright; his waking in the Morning Land was glorious.
If it was at that short period of silence spoken of in the Ap