and memorized, he wrote to a kinsman in 1874:—
"As to never speaking on any occasion without committing my speech to memory, I am forty-eight years old and have not done such a thing but once or twice (on literary occasions) since I was twenty-one years old. I cannot write a speech. The pen is an extinguisher upon my mind, and a torture to my nerves. I am the most habitual extemporaneous speaker I have ever known. Whenever I get the opportunity, I prepare my argument with great labor of thought, for my mind is rather a slow one in constructing its plan or theory of an argument. But my friends all tell me that my off-hand speeches are by far more vivid than my prepared efforts."
Further light is thrown on this point in an (unpublished) address of Hon. John W. Fewell, of Mississippi, delivered at Meridian, at a memorial meeting, from which I am permitted to make a few extracts:—
"In the company of men whom he liked, there was an 'abandon' in his manner and conversation which was very captivating. He would then tell you every thought he had,—every motive that actuated him. He would even explain his 'tricks' of oratory. I remember his account of his encounter with Senator Conkling. It ran thus:—
"'Well, you know, early in the session Mr. Conkling had insulted a certain Southern Senator in some remarks in the Senate. Some of that Sena tor's friends got together, — myself among the number, — and conferred about the matter with the view to advising our friend what to do in the prem ises. The matter had become somewhat cold by lapse of time. We agreed that anything in the way of a challenge or looking to a duel was out of the question. We felt that such a course would place us in an attitude which would weaken our section; we knew that such a course would raise a howl from the people of the North that would cause renewed prejudice towards the people of the South. After a long conference we arrived at the conclusion that nothing, could be done but bide a time when our friend could hope to strike back in debate. I felt so much aggravated that I deter mined that I would myself prepare some good "sticks" for brother Conkling and "lay for him;"
so I spent some thought and prepared some good ammunition, — some good stout "sticks" for him, and laid them away ready for use. It seemed to me as if I should never get a chance to use my "sticks; " but finally, after long months, my op portunity came. "' The session was nearly over. One day, Mr. Conkling, being in a bad humor, was strutting about the Senate, jumping on everybody, Repub lican or Democrat; snarling and snapping, and making himself generally odious. Let me turn aside' (said Mr. Lámar) 'to say that Conkling isa formidable man. He is a man of great pose and power; no man wanted to encounter him; the fact is that everybody was afraid of him. Well, that day he finally " rounded up " his " muck run ning " by charging a number of us who had made a certain agreement %vith bad faith. Then I saw my time was come. I jumped on him with all my strength, and denounced him; it was not my plan to bring out my " cold sticks " at that stage. My onslaught was so unexpected that I had him at a disadvantage; he realized this instantly and fully, and instead of coining back at me with that per fect poise and that incisive manner, was " rattled;" he lost his head, and howled like a wounded animal (sit). When he resumed his seat just in front of, and across the aisle from me, I rose, ready with my " cold sticks." Now, no man who has not been one of our little band there can appre ciate the anxiety on the part of that band in a moment like that. There was a terrible tension, breathless silence. Some of my friends were un easy; they knew that I was an impulsive man; they knew that I had struck a United States Marshal over the head with a chair in a court room, and they feared I would assault Conkling or do something indiscreet. Old Vance' (so he spoke of the Senator from North Carolina) ' came down the aisle and stood by me, ready to stop any foolish thing I might start to do. Ah,' said Lámar, ' they did not know that I had any " cold sticks." After a preliminary remark in which I said I did not wonder that the Senator recoiled at my words, I brought out one of my " cold sticks." Now, I had n't thought so much of that particular stick; I had others I considered far superior to it. But when towering over him and glaring at him, I said with all my energy : " They were words. Mr. President, which no good man would deserve and no brave man would bear," the whole house
