He continued to beat me with all his great force, until absolutely weary, exhausted and panting for breath.  I still adhered to my purpose of non-aggressive defence, and made no other use of my arms than to defend my head and face from further disfigurement.  The mere pain arising from the blows he inflicted upon my person was of course transient, and my clothing to some extent deadened its severity, as it now hides all remaining traces.

When I supposed he was through, taking the butt end of his weapon and shaking it in my face, he warned me, if I correctly understood him, of more yet to come, and furthermore said, if ever I again dared introduce his name to print, in either my own or any other public journal, he would cut off my left ear (and I do not think he was jesting) and send me home to my family a visibly mutilated man, to be a standing warning to all low-lived puppies who seek to blackmail gentlemen and to injure their good names.  And when he did so operate, he informed me that his implement would not be a whip but a knife.

When he had said this, unaccompanied by Mr. Lynch, as I remember it, he left the room, for I sat down by Mr. Lynch, exclaiming:  “The man is mad —­he is utterly mad—­this step is his ruin—­it is a mistake—­it would be ungenerous in me, despite of all the ill usage I have here received, to expose him, at least until he has had an opportunity to reflect upon the matter.  I shall be in no haste.”

“Winters is very mad just now,” replied Mr. Lynch, “but when he is himself he is one of the finest men I ever met.  In fact, he told me the reason he did not meet you upstairs was to spare you the humiliation of a beating in the sight of others.”

I submit that that unguarded remark of Philip Lynch convicts him of having been privy in advance to Mr. Winters’ intentions whatever they may have been, or at least to his meaning to make an assault upon me, but I leave to others to determine how much censure an editor deserves for inveigling a weak, non-combatant man, also a publisher, to a pen of his own to be horsewhipped, if no worse, for the simple printing of what is verbally in the mouth of nine out of ten men, and women too, upon the street.

While writing this account two theories have occurred to me as possibly true respecting this most remarkable assault:  First—­The aim may have been simply to extort from me such admissions as in the hands of money and influence would have sent me to the Penitentiary for libel.  This, however, seems unlikely, because any statements elicited by fear or force could not be evidence in law or could be so explained as to have no force.  The statements wanted so badly must have been desired for some other purpose.  Second—­The other theory has so dark and wilfully murderous a look that I shrink from writing it, yet as in all probability my death at the earliest practicable moment has already been decreed, I feel I should do all I can before my hour