tyrdom or any thing else except Alcatraz. I didn't like that. The
island was too small, and too foggy and windy, for my taste. I thought
it best to obey the order I had received, and so, punctually at the
hour, I repaired to the headquarters on Washington Street, and ascending
the steps with a firm tread and defiant feeling, I entered the room.
General Mason, provost-marshal, a scholar and polished gentleman,
politely offered me a seat.

"No; I prefer to stand," I said stiffly.

"The General will see you in a few minutes," said he, resuming his work,
while I stood nursing my indignation and sense of wrong.

In a little while General Wright entered--a tall and striking figure,
silver-haired, blue-eyed, ruddy faced, with a mixture of the dash of the
soldier and the benignity of a bishop.

Declining also his cordial invitation to be seated, I stood and looked
at him, still nursing defiance, and getting ready to wear a martyr's
crown. The General spoke:

"Did you know, sir, that I am perhaps the most attentive reader of your
paper to be found in California?"

"No; I was not aware that I had the honor of numbering the
commanding-general of this department among my readers." (This was
spoken with severe dignity.)

"A lot of hotheads have for sometime been urging me to have you arrested
on the ground that you are editing and publishing a disloyal newspaper.
Not wishing to do any injustice to a fellowman, I have taken means every
week to obtain a copy of your paper, the Pacific Methodist; and allow me
to say, sir, that no paper has ever come into my family which is such a
favorite with all of us."

I bowed, feeling that the spirit of martyrdom was cooling within me. The
General continued:

"I have sent for you, sir, that I might say to you, Go on in your
present prudent and manly course, and while I command this department
you are as safe as I am."

There I stood, a whipped man, my pugnacity all gone, and the martyr's
crown away out of my reach. I walked softly downstairs, after bidding
the General an adieu in a manner in marked contrast to that in which I
had greeted him at the beginning of the interview. Now that it is all
over, and the ocean winds have wailed their dirges for him so many long
years, I would pay a humble tribute to the memory of as brave and
knightly a man as ever wore epaulettes or fought under the stars and
stripes. He was of the type of Sidney Johnston, who fell at Shiloh, and
of McPherson, wh