A few years ago, when Gen. X. was niaking an active poïitioal canvass in the Territury of , then on the eve of its admission into the Union as a State (he was then Territorial Governor) he was eonfronted by an oppositiou whioh had sinall respect for the amenities of debate or the conventionalities observed in more cultivated comniunities. At Sandy Gulch, where a meeting was to be held, there appeared in the ciowd opposed to hioi a rough, pestilent, desperate fellow named McGuire, puffy with pistols and things, who was bent upon trouble, and meant, if possible, to break up the proceedings. In Gen. N.'sfollowing was a "gentleman" named Taylor, equally ready for similar work, and thoroughly devoted to his chief. At the opening of the meeting it became evident that McGuire had inserted into his noble forru just enough whisky to be reckless. He was thoroughly iuflated. As things went on he became more and more offensive, until the General's friend came up and whiapered in his ear : "General, hadn't I better kill him?" " O, no," replied the General, " that wouldn't do. I couldn't sanction any violence, much less a muider; but if any little thing should happen "(here he lowered his voice, and spoke jocosely, as he meant it), " if any little thing should happen, I've got niy pocket full of blank pardons." A few minutes later McGuire broke out into a fresh tirade, whereupon Taylor drew his revolver and shot him through the brain. He feil like a log. Walking up to the body, and standing astrido of it, revolver still in hand, he looked coolly upon the excited crowd, and said : " Gentlemen, I trust that now we shall have order in this meeting." Order was had. The General concludded his remarks; the meeting quietly adjourned; McGuire's body was slung over a mulé, and taken away by his friends, who buried him " with his boots on," and that was the end of it. There was sonie talk for a day or two ; nothing inore. It was ono of thoso littlo incidents, you know, that will occur in frontier life.