not fully enlightened man--seized gladly upon the occasion of York's
liberality to attempt to reunite the former partners. He preached an
earnest sermon on the abstract sinfulness of discord and rancor. But
the excellent sermons of the Rev. Mr. Daws were directed to an ideal
congregation that did not exist at Sandy Bar,--a congregation of beings
of unmixed vices and virtues, of single impulses, and perfectly logical
motives, of preternatural simplicity, of childlike faith, and grown-up
responsibilities. As, unfortunately, the people who actually attended
Mr. Daws's church were mainly very human, somewhat artful, more
self-excusing than self-accusing, rather good-natured, and decidedly
weak, they quietly shed that portion of the sermon which referred to
themselves, and, accepting York and Scott--who were both in defiant
attendance--as curious examples of those ideal beings above referred
to, felt a certain satisfaction--which, I fear, was not altogether
Christian-like--in their "raking-down." If Mr. Daws expected York and
Scott to shake hands after the sermon, he was disappointed. But he did
not relax his purpose. With that quiet fearlessness and determination
which had won for him the respect of men who were too apt to regard
piety as synonymous with effeminacy, he attacked Scott in his own house.
What he said has not been recorded, but it is to be feared that it was
part of his sermon. When he had concluded, Scott looked at him, not
unkindly, over the glasses of his bar, and said, less irreverently than
the words might convey, "Young man, I rather like your style; but when
you know York and me as well as you do God Almighty, it'll be time to
talk."

And so the feud progressed; and so, as in more illustrious examples, the
private and personal enmity of two representative men led gradually to
the evolution of some crude, half-expressed principle or belief. It was
not long before it was made evident that those beliefs were identical