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"Oh Lord! Thou knowest that this thing of praying
is altogether out of my line, and as hard for me to do as for
Wigfall to keep sober, or Jeff Davis be made pay his debts, or
Floyd to keep from stealing. But, Thou knowest we are some on
tangle-foot whisky, good at horse-racing, and tip-top at poker,
and can hold four aces about as often as 'John Morgan' or 'any
other man.' Help us this day, for we are in a peck of trouble,
and it will be the last time I'll ever trouble you. Amen."
THE CURSE OF COWARDICE.
TEXT – "Curse
ye, Meroz, curse ye bitterly. – Beloved brethren and sisters,
you are assembled to-day to discharge the most important duties
of your lives. The Yankees in 'chariots of fire' are cavorting
and charging like the 'beast with seven heads and ten horns' spoken
of by St. John. (Brother McNairy, make that bloodhound of yours
keep still, or I'll expel him from the church, even as Judas was
cast out of the synagogue.) The uncircumcised sons of the Philistines
are riding over the holy soil of the South in chariots of fire,
even as the chariots of Elijah and Aminadab, and my soul waxeth
'wonderfully and fearfully mad.' Oh, brethren, let us do as King
David, the sweet psalmist of Israel, did, when he arose and went
after his sling. (Stop, my brother; don't be in a hurry to leave;
I didn't mean a gin-sling, but the sling of the 'spirits of just
men made perfect,' which will send a rock into the temples of
Abraham Lincoln.) Brethren, let us see if we can't perforate into
the meaning of my text – ah! 'Curse ye Meroz.' My text suggests
two points, the cowardice of a cuss, and the cuss of cowardice.
"Firstly, there is always cowardice in a low,
ornry cuss,
and the cuss is always full of cowardice as our publishing house
is of piety, which you know, my brethren, is an exclusively religious
concern, and publishes among other excellent books my great work
on prophecy, called Armageddon. Price one dollar and fifty cents
– ah!
"Secondly, the cuss of cowardice. Who, my brethren
and sisters, is a cuss of cowardice? A cuss of cowardice is one
who bellows like a 'bull of Bashan' in time of safety, and then
runs like a 'fatted calf' in time of danger. There is Isham G.
Harris, who issued a proclamation, a few days ago, talking about
'defending the sanctity of our homes, and wives and daughters,
and dying in the last ditch.' Yes, he cavorted mightily, and should,
as he 'smelt the battle afar off;' but to-day he remaineth like
a disconsolate whang-doodle, in the dark mountains of Hepsidam,
roaring for her first born, and will not be comforted, because
they are not.' Instead of staying to fight that son of Belial, Andy
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