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 THE 
 
 DUELLISTS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 MEN OF HONOUR: 
 
 CALCULATED TO SHEW THE FOLLY, EXTRAVAGANCE, AND 
 
 SIN OF DUELLING. 
 % WILLIAM LUCAS. 
 
 " O ! what are these, 
 
 Death's ministers, not men, who thus deal death 
 Inhumanly toman, and multiply, 
 Ten thousandfold, the sin of him who slew 
 His brother r" 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 \ 
 
 PUBLISHED BY J. CUNDEE, IVY-LANE, PATERNOSTER-BO W ', 
 
 WILLIAMS AND SMITH, NO. 12, AND W. SUTTABY, 
 
 NO. l 2, STATIONERS' - COURT ; AND 
 
 C. CBAPPLE, PALL-MALL, 
 
 1305.
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 Did vice appear abroad in her naked 
 deformity, her baneful influence might 
 be confined within a narrow sphere. 
 Her shameless front would then be 
 reared in vain, and man would only 
 look upon her to abhor her : but, when 
 she attires herself in a specious garb, 
 the world is deluded, and her contagion 
 spreads in every direction. Thus she 
 teaches, that revenge is honour, and 
 murder, justice; and many has she per- 
 suaded, that duelling is a virtue. It is, 
 a 2 
 
 220K<MA
 
 IV 
 
 however, the province of Truth, to point 
 out her snaky form beneath the glitter- 
 ing disguise, and bid the unheeding 
 multitude beware. 
 
 When principles result from the opi- 
 nion of man, they must ever fluctuate, 
 because his opinions are in constant 
 agitation : nothing dependant upon hu- 
 man nature being stable. He, there- 
 fore, who seeks to improve others, 
 must not rest his hopes on his own 
 powers, lest another, more ingenious 
 than himself, should oppose, and utter- 
 ly subvert his arguments. This, expe- 
 rience has taught us frequently to be 
 the case, and we have known subjects 
 the most weighty, which one man had 
 established, overthrown by another:
 
 V 
 
 each opinion derived from human rea- 
 son triumphing in its turn. The reason 
 of man, indeed, can never give perma- 
 nency to its doctrines, because, like 
 himself, it is fallible. In vain he gilds 
 it over with his eloquence. Time robs 
 the gilding of its lustre, and it attracts 
 no more. He -who alone can fix the 
 human heart is God. His word then 
 should be the standard of our hopes, 
 the soul of our persuasion. To this I 
 have had recourse, and among my 
 humble leaves will be found many a 
 blooming flower of paradise. Unhap- 
 pily there are those to whom they ever 
 prove offensive. They reject them as 
 swine would pearls to pursue their sen- 
 sual meal ; while the Christian stops at 
 them to enjoy their beauty and their 
 a 3
 
 VI 
 
 fragrance ; for, to him, they are as the 
 Rose of Sharon, and the Lily of the Val- 
 ley. There are many authors too, who 
 exclude from their books the oracles of 
 God, while abundance of quotations 
 from philosophers and poets are strewed 
 about their frigid morality : thus the 
 only source of virtue is neglected, and 
 man, relying on himself, remains in 
 error. 
 
 In the Bible I can find no text that 
 admits of duelling. It, indeed, records 
 one duel But it is not a countryman with 
 his countryman : it is between a simple 
 shepheid and a vain, boasting soldier. 
 David accepted the challenge from Go- 
 liah, the common enemy of his king, 
 his country, and his God! — " I come
 
 Vil 
 
 to thee," said he, ci in the name of the 
 Lord of Hosts," and hurled destruc- 
 tion on his foe ! — Where is the modern 
 duellist, who can presume to go in that 
 name, or who can hope a blessing on 
 his cause? — His cause! — what is his 
 cause ? — The cause of Vanity, led on 
 by Temerity, and sanctioned by Folly ! 
 — The truth spoken of a worthless wo- 
 man — the quarrelling of two dogs— -the 
 being justled in a crowd, or gazed upon, 
 are incentives to challenges which ter- 
 minate in deatfy ! They seek occasion 
 of offence, and fight duels to become 
 heroes ! , O, shame to the age ! when 
 Englishmen, to gain a name in arms, 
 must turn their deadly weapons on each 
 other.
 
 Till 
 
 Duelling originated in the middle 
 centuries, during the feudal system; 
 when the laws were imperfectly esta- 
 blished, and partially administered j in the 
 ages of darkness and of ignorance, when 
 despotism let loose its reins, and decided 
 only by its passions: of those deformed 
 times was duelling the hideous offspring, 
 and worthy of its generation. The age 
 of chivalry succeeded, and a race of 
 single combatants sprung up, called 
 Knights-errant. These were a generous 
 set. Excited by a love of order, and 
 the public good, they went about re- 
 dressing wrongs. Seeking to ennoble 
 themselves by glorious deeds, they ex- 
 celled in virtue as they did in arms. 
 Their valour awed the tyranny of power, 
 and checked its lawless rase. In them
 
 IX 
 
 the defenceless found a guardian, and 
 the oppressed an avenger ; for, where 
 scarcely any law existed, the best re- 
 source was a virtuous man. They were 
 bright examples ; the very antithesis to 
 modern duellists, with whom, had they 
 been cotemporary, they would doubtless 
 have waged incessant war. 
 
 The gradual improvement, however, 
 of jurisprudence, rendered them, in the 
 end, unnecessary; and when the legis- 
 lative authority became strong enough 
 to restrain the vices of mankind, the 
 knight-errant hung up his shield and 
 lance, and sheathed his sword; submit- 
 ing the case of others, and his own, to the 
 wisdom of law. But now, in the nine- 
 teenth century, and in England, where
 
 jurisprudence has risen, perhaps, to the 
 very acme of human perfection ; where 
 the poor peasant can arraign the peer 
 before impartial justice, and where right 
 can be obtained in spite of wealth and 
 title, what must be said of the modern 
 duellist ? — That he is a savage in the 
 reign of civilization, and a disgrace to 
 the age. 
 
 I may be taxed with ignorance of 
 what is termed the nice feelings of ho- 
 nour. — I am, truly, a stranger to those 
 nice feelings that excite to suicide or 
 murder, and, in all such cases, I prefer 
 the simplicity of ignorance to the pre- 
 sumption of error. 
 
 Duellists affect to despise death;
 
 Xi 
 
 and this they call courage ! But it is a 
 courage that does not distinguish them 
 from brutes: they, likewise, despise 
 death, and from the same reason ; — 
 because they cannot comprehend its 
 danger ! 
 
 The duellist, possibly, professes to 
 be a Christian, consequently, to believe 
 on, and to adore, the SonofGod, who 
 commands us, — to forgive ! What then 
 must we think of him if, obeying revenge 
 or vanity, he spills the blood of his 
 fellow-creature, or his own, at the 
 shrine of human depravity? The sim- 
 plest child of Truth will conclude him 
 utterly ignorant of his profession, and 
 a perfect stranger to the Prince of 
 Peace, whose promises of eternal glory,
 
 Xll 
 
 and whose threatening^ of eternal misery, 
 he holds of less consequence than the 
 applause or censure of the world. Alas! 
 he considers not, that his law of honour 
 will avail him nothing on his exit from 
 this life : — the irrevocable law of Sinai 
 will then thunder on his guilty soul. 
 
 The arguments contained in the fol- 
 lowing work, I at first intended to in- 
 troduce in the form of a pamphlet; for 
 the use of those only who, in reality, 
 it most concerned ; but, learning that 
 others had preceded me, and that their 
 laudable efforts had made no impres- 
 sion, although piety and talent had been 
 united far beyond my humble powers, I 
 gave over that, and adopted another 
 plan, by which I might shew to the
 
 xm 
 
 unreflecting admirers of duellists, how 
 unworthy they were of estimation, and 
 how insignificant they looked when 
 contrasted to true greatness, and thus, 
 by lessening their supporters, lessen 
 their number. I therefore transformed 
 it into a novel, and, in order to excite 
 the attention of those who would deem 
 plain sentiment a laborious task, had 
 recourse to a plot; but so fastidiously 
 have I indulged in this, that I doubt of 
 its possessing sufficient interest for the 
 desired effect There are two classes of 
 readers ; the first only seek instruction, 
 the last only amusement The one sel- 
 deign to look at novels, wisely 
 considering the most ingenious fictions 
 superfluous, when so many truths, 
 equally interesting, and infinitely more 
 b
 
 XIV 
 
 important, invite their research ; while 
 the other pursue them with an avidity 
 which, considering their general frivo- 
 lity, and the sacrifice of time they oc- 
 casion, borders upon madness. The 
 former, I apprehend, will never honour 
 my little book with a perusal ; but the 
 latter will seize upon it as their rightful 
 property. The readers of novels con^ 
 stitute the greater part of the youthful 
 community, (I mean of those who de- 
 vote their leisure to books;) and, with 
 them, a man is not half a hero, unless 
 he is a duellist, which they deem a 
 most indispensable essential to a finished 
 gentleman. Among these I hope to 
 take, by surprise, some unwary idlers, 
 who, betrayed by my title, (from which 
 they may anticipate a rich repa
 
 XV 
 
 varied vanities,) will be led, uncon- 
 sciously, to a few simple truths, where 
 they may learn, that of all heroes, the 
 greatest is a Christian ; because, while 
 the honours of others belong only to 
 time, his will flourish in eternity ! — 
 Perhaps the novelty will please them : 
 their objects may become changed, and, 
 approving my humble efforts, they will 
 seek richer enjoyments from authors 
 more competent to charm and to in- 
 struct By them, they will rejoice to see 
 Vice stripped of her plumage, and Vir- 
 tue presented in her native simplicity; 
 the one depressed, the other exalted; 
 — such, at least, is my hope, 
 
 It may be objected, that the hero of 
 my volume is too dissimilar to his fellow 
 b2
 
 XVI 
 
 man to stand for his example. — " Draw 
 man as he is !" is the cry. But, surely, 
 this position, like many other popular 
 ones, will not stand the test of exami- 
 nation ; for, how can man advance in 
 improvement, if he has no superior 
 object to aspire unto, or what can be 
 learned from a being on a level with 
 ourselves. His defects would not shock 
 us, nor would his merits emulate: — de- 
 formity would no longer disgust were 
 there no beauty to admire. Besides, — 
 Christ was a perfect man, and sent 
 to be our pattern ! — Under this impres- 
 sion, I have given to ray hero a cha- 
 racter which I think worthy of imita- 
 tion; conscious, however, that many 
 will differ from me. The man of the 
 world will consider him an unthriving 
 
 6
 
 xvn 
 
 being, around whom wealth will never 
 flow, of whom applause will never 
 speak, on whom preferment will never 
 wait. The haughty soldier will despise 
 him, — the daughter of Vanity will mock 
 him. — The former can find no dignity 
 in peace; no glory unconnected with 
 the conflagration of cities, and the 
 groans of slaughtered numbers ; the lat- 
 ter can see no beauty in Innocence, no 
 majesty without worldly pomp. But 
 it shall be found, in the end, when 
 Truth advances her banner in the sky, 
 and erects her throne, that Peace and 
 Innocence shall alone be crowned with 
 glory and with honour !
 
 THE 
 
 DUELLIST. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 K diurnal Scene — A Character — Picture of Na- 
 ture — Reflections — An Alarm — The Duel — 
 The Address — Man of Honour — Contrasted 
 Sentiments — Impatient Revenge — The Rebuke 
 — The Explanation — Modem Gallantry — The 
 Curse— Proffer accepted — The Separation. 
 
 1 HE sun had risen — the shades of 
 light had fled before him — and the wide 
 lemisphere was filled with the glory of 
 lis beams, when Mr. Barclay left the 
 ^ea^eful chamber of sleep and came 
 broad to hail the day. — He was a 
 ristian ! — a sacred character, which 
 
 B
 
 the tongue frequently professes, while 
 the heart prophanes. Mr. Barclay in 
 believing on his God, adored him; 
 and, adoring, he confessed him. He 
 cast his eyes around — the sheep were 
 grazing on the meadow r — the fields were 
 ripening to the harvest — and the ad- 
 joining grove re-echoed to the melody 
 of its resident songsters ! 
 
 'cr 
 
 " How lovely is this scene !" said he, 
 " the beauty of spring and the fulness 
 of autumn seem here combined. But, 
 alas! it must change' — Ye bleating 
 
 innocents shall cease to sport! 
 
 Hushed shall be your song, ye winged 
 tribe ! — This earth shall be disrobed of 
 all its charms ! — and thou, resplendent 
 sun, whose vital heat and streaming 
 light give life and beauty to all around, 
 shait be no more ! —Not so with th^ ; 
 O man ! thy soul shall live for evei 
 Immortal soul ! — One day of endi 
 5
 
 bliss awaits thee, or one long night of 
 
 never-ending woe ! Awake, O my 
 
 soul ! — Arise to meet thy God 1 — ' He 
 shall shew thee the paths of life : in 
 his presence is the fulness of joy, and 
 at his right hand are pleasures forever- 
 
 Mr. Barclay stood rapt in adora- 
 tion, when the report from pistols 
 reached his ear. It came from the next 
 inclosure, whither he instantly has- 
 tened. On arriving there, he beheld 
 four men ; two of whom were pointing 
 their fatal weapons at each other, in 
 act to fire, while the others stood by. 
 One of the former was an aged per- 
 son, on whose pallid cheeks were alter- 
 nately depicted deep grief and insa- 
 tiate revenge ; the other was a young 
 military officer, of an elegant appear- 
 ance, and whose features were in per- 
 fect apathy. 
 
 b2
 
 " Cease, countrymen ! brothers !" 
 exclaimed Mr, Barclay, " O cease this 
 bloody purpose !" 
 
 tc An affair of honour, good Sir," 
 said the officer. 
 
 " The word will not be known at the 
 throne of eternal justice," said Mr. 
 Barclay. 
 
 " We live and die upon its rules," re- 
 plied the other. 
 
 " The light of truth will not admit 
 them/' returned Mr. ^Barclay, " and 
 the darkness of hell will envelope them 
 for ever." 
 
 " Stranger," said the soldier, " we 
 have been trained in honour's school; 
 her mandates we hold sacred, and her 
 laws inviolate ; we are taught to smile 
 at danger, and to contemn death."
 
 " I know of no law," said Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " that should abrogate that of 
 God, which says, ' Thou shalt do no 
 murder; 1 and whatever other tribunals 
 may determine upon duelling, it will 
 be murder at that of thy creator. Thy 
 honour teach thee to contemn death ? 
 O, foolish man ! thy honour is a cheat 
 — it never told thee what death was ; 
 thy gaudy idol hath dazzled thy senses, 
 and hidden from thee the awfulness of 
 eternity. 
 
 " The world, my gentle Sir," said 
 the other, " the world will not hear 
 these things." 
 
 11 The world T' responded Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " what is the world, in this, bet- 
 ter than a brutal mob, delighting 
 itself in the quarrel of two children, 
 whom it urges to mutual acts of cruelty 
 in order to glut its ferocious nature* 
 b 3
 
 And how abject is the man who, fet- 
 tering himself with the world, thus 
 servilely complies with its preposterous 
 customs, from the fear of its rebuke; 
 and yet can dare the anger of Omni- 
 potence ! — Sir, Sir, it is a dastard mind 
 that cannot sustain the mockery of the 
 world ! — child-like, the ridicule of thy 
 playmates has more force with thee 
 than the admonitions of a parent. 
 And the world too ! — dost thou not 
 wrong the better part of it ? — When 
 did the world commit life into thy care? 
 • — Do the laws of thy honour annul the 
 laws of thy native land ? — The duellist 
 who becomes the umpire of himself, 
 and rears his pseudo-honour o'er his 
 country's justice, is a foul blot upon 
 her healthful constitution ; — he would 
 disorganize her frame, and scatter it to 
 ruins; — he is a traitor to his king- — a 
 rebel to his God !" ^
 
 
 " You have said too much, Sir,*' 
 interrupted the officer, "you are desti- 
 tute of honour ! I feel ashamed at lis- 
 tening to you so long. 1 ' 
 
 " And shame," rejoined Mr. Barclay, 
 " shame on that man who is ashamed 
 of truth." 
 
 " Come," said the elder duellist, 
 " we have been interrupted too long — 
 let us proceed." 
 
 " Unhappy old man !" exclaimed Mr. 
 Barclay, "hast thou found this life too 
 long ? Will blood become those vvhited 
 locks ? say, will immensity find thee a 
 hiding-place frpm an offended God ?" 
 
 " Young man," said he, "thy heart 
 is calm, and thou canst talk of peace; 
 mine is shaken by a storm of ills, which 
 can only be allayed by blood P 
 b 4
 
 "Alas! by blood r 
 
 " Yes — the blood of that damned 
 seducer !" 
 
 " Seducer of whom ?" 
 
 " My daughter ! — Come/ continued 
 he, re- pointing his pistol at his anta- 
 gonist, u no more delay." 
 
 u I am ready, Sir," said the officer. 
 
 The old man then fired ; but, impo- 
 tent from passion, his ball passed his 
 adversary devoid of harm. The sol- 
 dier discharged his weapon in the air. 
 
 " Why do you mock me ?" demand- 
 ed the old man. 
 
 11 I do not mock you, Sir," replied 
 the other, " I stand here agreeably to
 
 your command. The law of honour does 
 not oblige rne to take away your life, 
 which I could do with ease : my skill is 
 known to my friends." 
 
 " Then I will leave you," said the ag- 
 grieved father, "and may remorse over- 
 take and dwell with you for ever !" 
 
 " Your favours, sir," returned the 
 other, " are very permanent." 
 
 Mr. Barclay now requested permission 
 of the old gentleman to accompany him 
 home. 
 
 " I know not why," said he, " we are 
 strangers. What is the motive ?" 
 
 " To administer consolation to thy 
 afflicted heart ?" 
 
 " By what means?" 
 b5
 
 10 
 "By speaking peace to it." 
 
 " Alas !" returned he, " my peace is 
 blasted! — gone for ever !" 
 
 * " I will hope to restore it." 
 
 " Come then," said he, and taking 
 him by the hand, "thou shalt be my 
 friend !" 
 
 The officer now approached Mr. Bar- 
 clay, and demanded his address. On 
 which he presented him his card, when 
 they separated; the officer and his com- 
 panion by themselves, while the old gen- 
 tleman, his second, and Mr. Barclay, 
 walked on till they came to a post-chaise 
 in waiting, which they entered, and im- 
 mediately drove off.
 
 11 
 
 CHAP. IL 
 
 Argument on Duelling — Opinions upon Seconds 
 ^-Plea for Duelling rejected — Duellists mere 
 Slaves of the World's opinion — Incompatible 
 with religion — Customs of the World — Murder 
 defined — Incentives to Duelling — Satisfaction 
 defined — Perverted reasoning exposed— Fur- 
 ther motives to Duelling found insufficient 
 to actuate a wise Man — Stability of Virtue. 
 
 " HOW lamentable a subject it is,'* 
 said Mr. Barclay, after a few minutes 
 of silence, " that man should suffer his 
 passions to impel him unto acts that may 
 ingulf him in misery — a misery which 
 time can never heal, (for time, with him, 
 might cease, and hope be known no. 
 longer). But much more lamentable it 
 b6
 
 12 
 
 is, that men, uninfluenced by passion, 
 can be found to accompany, and, indeed, 
 lead them to destruction." 
 
 Mr. Barclay, during the above sen- 
 tence, had withdrawn his eyes from the 
 old gentleman and fixed them on his se- 
 cond. 
 
 " What gentleman/' said the last, with 
 a look of reproof, " what gentleman 
 could refuse to accompany his friend to 
 what may prove the last moments of his 
 life?* 
 
 ;f When friendship," said Mr. Barclay, 
 '•' becomes hostile to the laws of God, it 
 is no a virtue and it ought to be 
 
 dissolved." 
 
 " A second, sir, attends his friend 
 from motives of humanity. He finds his 
 friend resolved to fight : by every ho- 

 
 13 
 
 nourable means he seeks a reconciliation; 
 but still the imperious principle cries out 
 for the field — to the field the second at- 
 tends him ; still with the hopes of pre- 
 venting blood." 
 
 " The principles are wrong," said Mr. 
 Barclay, "when bent on death, to call 
 in the interference of a friend, and urge 
 him to participate in so great a crime - 
 for it so happens, that the seconds them- 
 selves sometimes fight. This seems no- 
 thing less than that extravagant folly 
 which existed in ancient France, where 
 the chiefs in any quarrel called in their 
 friends, who, with themselves, engaged 
 in the sanguinary fray, till the best half 
 were /eft dead upon the field — country- 
 man with countryman. T,he savage tribes 
 of America, amid all theii; thirst for 
 blood, have nothing parallel to this. 
 
 81 But the principals themselves, of
 
 14 
 
 modern times, frequently wish to deter- 
 mine the affair without the shedding of 
 blood, provided they can attain it con- 
 sistently with honour ; therefore do they 
 commit themselves to the • guidance of 
 the second, knowing it to be his duty to 
 seek peace. 
 
 " So then an event takes place, which 
 they deem a complete incentive to fight, 
 their honour cannot dispense with blood. 
 Honour, they conceive, must be satiated ; 
 yet they are conscious that dispassionate 
 reason, and calm reflection, may procure 
 an innocent termination ; to these, how- 
 ever, they deem it ignoble to attend; 
 their honour, it seems, with reason and 
 reflection, being incompatible, anrj they, 
 blind as their idol, continue to cry aloud 
 for vengeance. Themselves are ashamed 
 to seek a reconciliation, and therefore 
 they call jn the aid of others to adjust 
 their mischief. In all this conduct I can
 
 15 
 
 discern nothing superior to that of two 
 wrangling children, whose pettish tem- 
 pers must be tamed by the authority of a 
 guardian : — the rod, sir, would be a fit 
 instrument for both." 
 
 u But do you not acknowledge some- 
 thing ingenuous in a person confessing 
 his own insufficiency,, and modestly sub- 
 mitting his case to the care of an impar- 
 tial person :" 
 
 11 Let me ask you, sir, what would 
 you think of a person crying out: ' If 
 you do not remove this razor, I will cut 
 my throat:" 
 
 " I would say that he was mad." 
 
 " And what, pray, is a duellist, who 
 does as much as say : \ I will kill that 
 man, or he shall kill me, unless you
 
 16 
 
 prevent us.' Me thinks I see a clear ana- 
 logy to both fool and madman." 
 
 "There may be a circumstance in 
 which the duellist will appear less extra- 
 vagant. Laws, you allow, were framed 
 for the protection of men; to shield 
 them from violence and injury, and, as 
 far as the law goes, it is good. But, an 
 injury may be received to which the es- 
 tablished law may prove inadequate|: a 
 man, therefore, may not be wrong in 
 doing that justice to himself which the 
 law will not afford him." 
 
 " Sir, this argument would tend to the 
 subversion of all law. -When a man be- 
 comes the judge and justifier of his own 
 wrongs, his decisions would outswell all 
 bounds, and impartial justice would ex- 
 ist no longer; brutal force must then 
 take place of equity, social concord be
 
 17 
 
 dissolved, and anarchy assume the place 
 of order." 
 
 " With men refined by education and 
 polite society, this mischief cannot en- 
 sue; and there is no apprehension that 
 the common herd of mankind will com- 
 mence duellists. The laws of honour are 
 meant but to exclude from the circles of 
 the great, any thing offensive to pro- 
 priety.'' 
 
 " And yet we see what baneful effects 
 your exclusive system produces; for the 
 duellist, although convinced that himself 
 is the aggressor, will yet force his 
 opponent to the field ; and while consci- 
 ence, that silent monitor of the heart, 
 tells him he is wrong, and that a little 
 condescension would insure peace and 
 prevent blood, yet will he persist in his 
 temerity; inexorable as the wolf, un- 
 mindful of what may follow; that his
 
 18 
 
 short-lived career may end, and that he 
 may be arraingned before a bar, where 
 far other laws will be cited, than those 
 which led him to the dreadful moment ; 
 and all this for fear — of what? — 
 why, that the world should call him 
 coward ! Now what a servile homage to 
 the world is here ! but the world is his 
 God, at whose unholy shrine he offers 
 up himself a willing sacrifice! c O! how 
 suddenly do they consume, perish, and 
 come to a fearful end !'" 
 
 " But there are among them men of 
 more equanimity ; persons who will avoid 
 fighting, when they know themselves to 
 be the aggressors ; who will, with manly 
 ingenuity, ask pardon of the aggrieved, 
 and who will only appear in the field at 
 his imperious demands. And this is 
 perfectly coinciding with the rules of ho- 
 nour. — Many such men have been, who 
 have possessed the courage of the lion,
 
 19 
 
 with the meekness of the lamb, and who 
 have attracted by the splendor of their 
 public, and the urbanity of their private 
 life, the admiration and esteem of man- 
 kind." 
 
 " Granted. But, sir, with all their 
 brilliancy, and with all their condescen- 
 sion, they were mere men of the world. 
 Their splendor will grow dim before the 
 light of truth, and their meekness will 
 blush before true charity." 
 
 " Not so, Sir. They are men who 
 reverence the cause of God, whose hopes 
 are beyond the grave, and who are not 
 ashamed the world should know it." 
 
 " Profane not that hallowed name — 
 insult not his sacred cause, by applying 
 to them the love or professions of a du- 
 ellist. ' God will not be mocked/ — 
 But I have heard of them, nay, I have
 
 £0 
 
 read some of them. Speaking of an af- 
 fair of honour, one of them says : — • If 
 you are the conqueror, express the live- 
 liest sensibility at the misfortune which 
 has forced you to shed the blood of ycfur . 
 comrade, [this is, supposing -him not to 
 be murdered on the spot,] do not leave 
 him till you have furnished him with 
 every succour in your power to afford.'" 
 A very Mentor he, to his gentle Tele- 
 machus. Now what a frigid piece of 
 iniquity is here ! This man talks too of 
 religion, and recommends it most stre- 
 nuously, as an essential to a man of ho- 
 nour. But you who can let religion flow 
 upon your tongue, say — do you acknow- 
 edge Christ as your pattern? — can the 
 dazzled senses of bewildered honour ima- 
 gine the majesty of his holiness! his 
 meekness ! his obedience ! Do you ac- 
 knowledge him as your commander? 
 and do you know of one precept from 
 him that favours duelling? ' Knowest
 
 thou not this of old, that the triumphing 
 of the wicked is but for a moment. 
 Though his excellency mount up to the 
 heaven, and his head reach up to the 
 clouds, yet he shall perish for ever !' — 
 A duellist, and talk of religion ! Arch- 
 deacon Paley may have spoken too 
 harshly of the men of honour's code : it 
 may forbid adultery, seduction, disho- 
 nesty in the withholding tradesmen's 
 debts ; but it admits of murder, and it is, 
 therefore, perfectly incompatible to the 
 pure dictates of religion." 
 
 " I d .o not profess myself an advocate 
 for duelling: I would to heaven it were 
 abolished ; but since custom has estab- 
 lished it, since it does exist, and since 
 men will fight, I would not dispense with 
 seconds ; believing them to be the happy 
 preventers of many a fatal issue." 
 
 '" So then, sir, you disprove the cus-
 
 22 
 
 torn, yet submit to it. Vice will never 
 banish itself while it has its partisans. 
 What would become of mankind, were 
 one half duellists, and the other seconds ? 
 How can you reconcile these inconsist- 
 encies? How can you disprove, and yet 
 countenance ?" 
 
 " There must be some respect paid to 
 the customs of the world, or we cannot 
 claim a title to its regard." 
 
 " The world ! alas ! ' the world is en- 
 mity against God.' It is this servile ac- 
 quiescence to the opinion of the world 
 that nurtures vice. How can it be 
 crushed when virtuous men pass by it 
 with indifference ? It was the custom of 
 the world, when the Spartans, to make 
 heroes of their youth, flogged them in 
 the temple of Diana, till their blood 
 streamed upon her altars, and they fre- 
 quently expired beneath their agonies,
 
 £3 
 
 while their mothers stood by to applaud 
 I their patience ! It was the custom of 
 the world, when the boasted^JJpmans sat 
 in admiration to witness the savage con* 
 flicts between man and beasts. And it 
 is the custom of the world, that now, in 
 modern Egypt, her depraved posterity 
 indulge in crimes from which nature re- 
 volts ! These are the customs of the 
 world ! and are such customs to be 
 sanctioned ? Your looks imply a nega- 
 tive : why then should you sanction any 
 other crime because the world permits 
 it?' 
 
 " You mistake me. I do not sanc- 
 tion it." 
 
 " Do you admit its criminality?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Then why not condemn it" — Are 
 you a christian, sir : "
 
 ^fhc 
 
 w & 
 
 24 
 hope so." 
 
 " Ala%fc0|io you only hope so ? A 
 christian will no more worship the idol 
 honour of mans erecting, than did the 
 three 'children of Judah the golden 
 image set np by the Babylonish mo- 
 narch. , A christian, Sir, is no confor- 
 mist to any custom that the world may 
 oppose to the law of his God-; one 
 of which is— \ Thou shalt do no mur- 
 der; and you, doubtless, know what 
 constitutes a murderer. He is thus 
 defined by Lord Coke : — ( When a 
 person of sound memory and discretion 
 unlawfully (not the law of honour) 
 killeth any reasonable creature in being, 
 and under the kings peace, with malice 
 aforethought, either express or implied.' 
 not deny the intent, though 
 the malice propense of a 
 duellisu You must admit that a duel- 
 list is a murderer. What man then,
 
 Sir, what christian can be a party in a 
 murder, or the second to a murderer ? 
 A christian is the champion of virtue, 
 and will plead her pure cause, and right 
 her rightful battles, in defiance of the 
 world," 
 
 "This is very excellent; but yon 
 must not hope to abolish duelling by 
 Religion. Men of honour are not al- 
 ways Christians." 
 
 " Yet, you who are a christian can 
 submit yourself to them. ' What has 
 light to do with darkness r' Duellists 
 Christians ! No, Sir ; — a Christian can-' 
 not be a duellist. Passion may prompt 
 him to a momentary crime, but he 
 rannot lie down upon, nor rise from, 
 lis pillow with revenge, or with a con- 
 sent to act in opposition to the c .. 
 band of his Maker, i^fy patience dc- 
 me when I hear of man who, 
 c
 
 £6 
 
 Avith all his mighty pride, e cannot add 
 one cubit to his stature,' dispensing 
 life and death as his own unbridled 
 judgment inclines him. What is be 
 but an empty dilated thing, driven by 
 the breath of vanity ; till, at length, a 
 puff of wind arrives which bursts the 
 bubble, and it is seen no longer. — 
 Duellists are indeed, to use the words 
 of a celebrated writer, ' The sons of 
 bluster — the children of noise.* " 
 
 The old gentleman, who had hitherto 
 sat in silence, and whose mind seemed 
 divided in attention between the argu- 
 ments of his companion, and his do- 
 mestic grief, now addressed Mr. Barclay 
 in the following words: — 
 
 " Sir, did I not remember the zeal 
 with which you opposed our contest at 
 the first, and judge from thence that 
 your motives arc purely benevolent, I 
 
 i
 
 27 
 
 should conclude you meant to offend 
 me ; so harshly do you speak of that 
 alternative which my honour has com- 
 pelled me to adopt. Suffer me, as 
 well as my afflictions will permit, to 
 argue with you on the present theme. 
 Perhaps my wrongs may suggest excuses 
 that your passiveness cannot contro- 
 vert. I will question you a little. — 
 First, for myself. You behold in me 
 a man rendered wretched. The only 
 solace of mv old a^e was an innocent 
 and lovely daughter. Like the lamb of 
 Nathan, she was my only darling. 
 Peace was in my house, and I desired 
 no more. But a villain has spoiled the 
 scene. My daughter is seduced! — 
 my honour stained ! — my peace de- 
 stroyed ! What can restore the inno- 
 cence of my child, my insulted honour, 
 and my peace of mind ?" 
 
 " God' old man!" said Mr. Bar- 
 
 c c 2 •
 
 28 
 
 clay, with a look that bore the severity 
 of virtue, " God can do all these ! — 
 Innocence — honour — peace — are in his 
 hands; he is the source of all, and 
 these he can bestow." 
 
 The old gentleman was silent awhile, 
 at length he observed, that those bles- 
 sings could not be restored to him in this 
 life. " Omnipotence himself," said he, 
 cannot undo what is already done : he 
 cannot call back the past and make it 
 present." 
 
 " Be careful," said Mr. Barclay, 
 " how you limit the power of the Om- 
 nipotent. He who can create, can re- 
 store. It is by doubting the wonders 
 of his might that we reject him; and, 
 seeking consolation from ourselves, find 
 nothing but despair." 
 
 " Nature has given us the means of
 
 29 
 
 self-defence/' said the old gentleman, 
 "I have been wounded in the tenderest 
 part, and in acting as I have done, I 
 have but performed my duty. My in- 
 jury was great, and demanded a great 
 and instant satisfaction." 
 
 " Your Creator," returned Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " never bestowed strength on man 
 for the purpose of revenge. Your 
 conduct could never repair the evil 
 you sustained, and I do not understand 
 what you mean by satisfaction." 
 
 " By satisfaction I mean a full atone- 
 ment for the wrong received. Am I, 
 the tormented, to remain in anguish, 
 while my tormentor walks at ease? It 
 is just that he should either restore me 
 the happiness he has robbed me of, or 
 else undergo a punishment whose pangs 
 .shall equal mine. If this cannot be 
 done, he should not live in triumph, 
 c 3
 
 10 
 
 He should expiate his crime by death ! 
 —This is satisfaction."' 
 
 " But how, if you yourself should 
 die?"' 
 
 ' ' Then I am freed from shame. The 
 "world will approve my conduct, and 
 honour my last deed," 
 
 " The world will approve ! alas ! for 
 them whose glory is the world ! — Here 
 seems in all this a shadow without a 
 substance — solid wisdom is not found 
 in it. True honour and true virtue are 
 insusceptible of disgrace; a stain can- 
 not rest upon the one, nor shame at- 
 tach itself to the other. While your 
 own conduct is irreproachable, how 
 can the baseness of another fix itself 
 upon, and adhere to you?— Shame is 
 the offspring of guilt: the guilty alone 
 are the objects of shame. How can
 
 your virtue bear the ignominy of ano- 
 ther's vice ? — Will the world, bad as it 
 is, admit of this? I cannot compre- 
 hend why you should insist on bearing 
 the disgrace of a villain. If a loath- 
 some and diseased wretch breathe on 
 me his pestilential breath, the baneful 
 effects of which my health resists and 
 overcomes, must I go and tell the 
 world that I have caught the foul con- 
 tagion ? and though mv pulse beat re- 
 gularly, insist on opposing my life to 
 that of the detested object, in order to 
 terminate or charm away the imagi I 
 evil : — Pure virtue, Sir, is as the pol; 
 mirror, immaculate: the breath of ca- 
 lumny cannot remain upon it, nor the 
 deformity of vice stand unabashed be- 
 fore it.' 1 
 
 " What will you say in the case of a 
 husband who rinds himself dishonoured 
 in his wife, and the children of his 
 c4
 
 32 
 
 love made the objects of his doubts and 
 hatred r" 
 
 li I would, as in every other such 
 €¥£&£,' have recourse to the laws of mv 
 country, in order to hold up to public 
 hhame and punishment the vile dis- 
 turber. The abhorrence of all good 
 .men would be upon him, and if the 
 base should countenance him, his 
 shame is doubled. Ikit must I oppose 
 my life to that of a villain, and give 
 him, perhaps, the double triumph of 
 murder and seduction ?— With regard 
 to my own sufferings, I should not, I 
 hope, seek to terminate them by sacri- 
 ficing my eternal peace/' 
 
 " But the obtruder on your happi- 
 ness is all this time enjoying himself 
 at large :— his unequal punishment 
 is soon forgotten- — the censure of the. 
 virtuous is no pain to him — he laughs
 
 amid the circle of his companions, and 
 is happy*" 
 
 "To happiness," said Mr. Barclay, 
 " such men are ever strangers. Let 
 him laugh his short-lived reign away ; 
 let his. repeated draughts o'envhelm his 
 accusing conscience : let him parade in 
 the gay assembly ; he still descends, 
 and sinks at last in utter ruin, 'where 
 their worm dieth not, and where their 
 fire is not quenched."" 
 
 " I know not what to make of you,'' 
 said the old gentleman, " this serenity 
 of temper in you may arise from a 
 frigidity of constitution, which no man 
 but yourself possesses." 
 
 " I possess," said Mr. Barclay, " the 
 temper of a man whose joy is fixed 
 upon so firm a base, that the storn 
 cannot destroy it, The winds 
 C 5
 
 34 
 
 chill it, but they cannot bear it away ; 
 I may weep, but I cannot be unhappy. 
 I possess, Sir, the spirit of a Christian," 
 
 " Then art thou blessed already," said 
 the other. 
 
 " Even so may you be," returned 
 Mr. Barclay.
 
 35 
 
 CHAP. in. 
 
 The Journey's End— The Subject of the Duel— - 
 A Father's Reproach — The Hope — Reproof of 
 Sorrow — Happiness defined — The Alarm- 
 Innocence attacked— The Simile — The dawn- 
 ing of Peace. 
 
 1 HE carriage now stopped at the 
 gate of a neat mansion, of moderate 
 size, with a grass-plot before it, and a 
 few trees to intercept the oppressive 
 fays of the sun. 
 
 " This is my home," said the old 
 gentleman with a sigh. 
 
 A youth in livery came forth to re- 
 ceive his master, who alighted with his 
 c6
 
 companions, and conducted them into 
 his breakfast - room. Mr. Barclay 
 approached the windows — they looked 
 into a garden at the back of the house. 
 The beauties of nature were there ar- 
 ranged by the hand of art, and taste 
 seemed to preside over the whole. lie 
 had but just glanced on the scene, 
 when his attention was attracted by 
 the appearance of a young female, fol- 
 lowed by an animal he at first guessed 
 to he a dog, but which, on minuter 
 inspection, proved to be a house-lamb, 
 whose fleece might have vied with the 
 snow of the Andes. The attire of the 
 female was so simple and plain, that 
 the eye of an external observer would 
 have passed the form which it enve- 
 loped, but Mr. Barclay was not an 
 external observer; — he discovered a 
 person whose delicacy and movements 
 shewed the effects of indulgent care. 
 Her countenance was too clouded with
 
 37 
 
 sorrow to give the natural character 
 
 of the heart; it, however, proved 
 
 sufficiently that she was the fallen 
 fair. 
 
 " See, my daughter,*' said the old 
 gentleman, addressing himself to Mr. 
 Barclay, " once lovely in her vestal 
 youth ! — and see yon lamb that follows 
 — the pure emblem of unspotted inno- 
 cence. Look how its woolly whiteness 
 and unconscious gaze seem to mock 
 the aberring conduct of its mistress ! 
 — Poor simple fool ! — Why dost thou 
 not fly her presence r — And thou, O 
 wretched girl ! how canst thou fondle 
 that, whose every touch and look must 
 fill thee with reproach !"' The young 
 lady had caressed her companion dur- 
 ing her father's ejaculatory sentence. 
 " Come," resumed he, " let us look no 
 more on violation ; the subject is for me 
 too melancholy, for you too unworthy." 
 
 4
 
 " Will your daughter join us?" de- 
 manded Mr. Barclay. 
 
 " No," said the father, " she, like 
 the wounded roe, shuns all society. 1 ' 
 
 " Miss Julia, my dear Mr. Stan way, 1 ' 
 said the second, while they took their 
 seats at the breakfast table, already 
 spread for them, " Miss Julia is still 
 lovely — a short lapse of time may ob- 
 literate this seeming evil, and all may 
 yet be well.'' 
 
 " Seeming ! Mr. Wilson," said the 
 old gentleman, " Ah ! my friend ! can 
 you see my daughter deflowered — my- 
 self dishonoured — my prospects va- 
 nished — my heart torn with anguish — - 
 and call all this a seeming evil ? — If you 
 mean to console me, do not mock me 
 with fallacious hopes- — my happiness is 
 lost for ever !*'
 
 w 
 
 " What is happiness ? M demanded 
 Mr. Barclay, " whence its source? — 
 on w horn bestowed ?" 
 
 " Aye, tell me that, 1 ' said the weep- 
 ing parent, " I'll not object to hear of 
 what Fve lost. Tell me what is happi- 
 ness — whence its source, on whom be- 
 stowed ?" 
 
 " Happiness," answered Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " in this life, is the certainty of 
 future good; no perplexing doubts can 
 dwell with it ; it rises above evil ; an- 
 as the towering eagle beats its strong 
 pinions towards the sun, so does the 
 happy mind amount to glory. Its source 
 is from God, and it is bestowed on 
 all the children of his love.*' 
 
 A considerable silence ensued, which 
 was interrupted by Mr. Wilson's de- 
 manding, " May we not be filled with
 
 40 
 
 the hopes of future good, (of course 
 you mean the good of hereafter) and 
 yet be so oppressed by present ills, as 
 to be truly unhappy; or, in other words, 
 exempt from happiness ?" 
 
 " Whoever believes in eternal life, 
 and God who gives it, r said Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " can never suffer the transient 
 evils of this nether world to banish his 
 happiness ; they may divert him from it 
 for a season, but he still retains it. He 
 compares eternity to time, and is re- 
 stored.— He believes in God, and can- 
 not forget him." 
 
 " O ! fountain of truth and justice P 
 exclaimed Mr. Stanway, " restore my 
 broken peace! — he can — he can; and, 
 perhaps, he will do it/' 
 
 " You know," said Mr. Wilson. <l 
 Mr. Freeman, the author of your suf-
 
 41 
 
 ferings, loves your daughter. What if 
 the disposer of hearts should make him 
 repent, and cause him to make repara- 
 tion by marriage.'' 
 
 " O ! name it not,*' said Mr. Stanway, 
 " let me not hold the pleasing thought, 
 lest its delusion should render me more 
 wretched." 
 
 " Why," said Mr. Barclay, " do you 
 cast all consolation from you, and nurse 
 the corroding poison of your grief? The 
 hearts of all men are in the power of 
 Omnipotence : how easily can he bend 
 them to his will. But does the soldier 
 indeed love her? Your friend is right; 
 all may yet end happily." 
 
 At this moment a loud scream from 
 the garden roused them. " It is Julia !" 
 said the father, who hastened to her with 
 his companions. The youthful agility
 
 42 
 
 and benevolent zeal of Mr. Barclay made, 
 him outfly the others, and he was first id 
 the presence of Julia. 
 
 " See, see !" exclaimed the affrighted 
 girl, unconscious whom she addressed, 
 and pointed to her lamb. Mr. Barclay 
 looked on the haplass victim, and saw it 
 trembling with agony, from the bite of a 
 large serpent, that had fastened on its 
 neck. He instantly seized the noxious 
 savage in his hand, and tearing it from 
 its hold, threw it beyond the boundaries 
 of the garden. Fart of the flesh, with its 
 wool, was torn away; but the lamb was 
 safe, and Julia rejoiced. She looked a 
 thank, then snatched her favourite in her 
 arms, and retreated in silence to the 
 house. 
 
 The old gentleman and Air. V'ilson 
 had reached 'the spot in time to witness 
 the transaction. " How will this
 
 43 
 
 end ? " said the first, addressing himself 
 to Mr. Barclay, " thou commencedst it 
 with the office of peace — thou hast now 
 rescued a lamb from a serpent : delight- 
 ful task '.—what next will follow ?" 
 
 " Why, what a lesson has Providence 
 shewn us here," said Mr. Barclay, " the 
 lamb has been bitten by the serpent ! yet 
 who will regard the lamb the less? — Say, 
 man of honour, do you condemn the ser- 
 pent, or the lamb? — Is the lamb despised 
 because the serpent is vicious ?"' 
 
 " This is, indeed," said MrJ Stanway, 
 " a lesson given by Providence to me, 
 and well thou dost apply it. I will get 
 it by heart, and never lose it. Come, 
 my young and ever welcome friend, I 
 feel a ray of joy enlighten me, and dis- 
 sipate my gloom. Come, let us finish 
 our repast, and talk again of happi- 
 ness!" The old gentleman had taken
 
 44 
 
 Mr. Barclay by the hand, and they now 
 returned to their breakfast. 
 
 The company of Mr. Barclay became 
 so agreeable to his host, that he request- 
 ed his finishing the day with him, and 
 his promise of another early visit, to both 
 of which he assented. His conversation 
 had, as he proposed, proved consolatory 
 to his new friend. Passion had ceased to 
 act upon his heart, and had given room 
 to reflection. He saw clearly the error 
 of his conduct: he no longer approved 
 of duelling; nor was his second any more 
 its advocate. 
 
 The evening approaching, Mr. Bar- 
 clay rose to depart, when Mr. Stairway 
 desired his servant to prepare the chariot, 
 to convey him to town; but a stage 
 passing the house, the former declined the 
 offer, and taking advantage of that, soon 
 reached the streets of London.
 
 45 
 
 CHAP. IV 
 
 A brief History*— the Widow and Orphan— the 
 Impulse of Charity— the Watch— the Conse- 
 quence of Duelling— silent Eloquence of Gra- 
 titude— the parting Gaze — the Sigh— Revolv- 
 ing Thought — Exclamation to Charity. 
 
 jVlR. Barclay resided at a village a 
 short distance from London. He was a 
 single man, in his thirtieth year, and 
 lived upon a patrimony producing three 
 hundred and fifty pounds per annum. 
 This was the remains of a rich inherit- 
 ance, shattered hy an extravagant father, 
 now no more. The only servant he kept 
 was a lad, in a livery so destitute of 
 shew, that its wearer might even forget 
 he were a dependent. To obviate the
 
 46 
 
 trouble of house-keeping, he boarded 
 and lodged with a contented couple, 
 who had retired from business. 
 
 On alighting, he proceeded on foot to 
 a further part of the town, in order to 
 take another stage, which should convey 
 him home. 
 
 Pursuing his way, in meditation on 
 the preceding events, his thoughts were 
 interrupted by the voice of a female, 
 whom he had observed to issue from a 
 pawnbroker's. " Ah, my child!" said 
 she, to a little boy about five years old, 
 whose hand she held, " this poor sum 
 v, ill not outlast the morrow, and then ! — 
 and then, you may cry to me for bread !" 
 The melody of the tone might have 
 charmed the most callous ear, but 
 heightened by the eloquence of sorrow, 
 the most obdurate heart must have 
 melted at it.
 
 47 
 
 "Stop!" said Mr. Barclay, seizing 
 her by the hand, with all the fervour of 
 benevolence, "stop, O child of mourn- 
 ing ! whosoever thou art, and let me be 
 thy friend P 
 
 " My friend P exclaimed she, " a 
 stranger be my friend P and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " What can I do for you ?'* demanded 
 Mr. Barclay. 
 
 "What can I ask of you?' 1 returned 
 the other, " you are a stranger P 
 
 " But not, therefore, to be rejected. 
 The stranger oft precedes the friend : 
 That very child was once a stranger to 
 you. Consider me as one sent bv the 
 Almighty to assist you. Indeed he has 
 commissioned me to be the happy means 
 of conveying his bounty to you. Let not
 
 48 
 
 a false delicacy bias you. I heard you 
 address that little boy : the short sen- 
 tence contained a volume of persuasion ! 
 You are unfortunate, and I must be your 
 friend P 
 
 " I believe I am unfortunate, sir," said 
 she, "I am a widow — this only child 
 depends upon me; and we have almost 
 wanted bread !" 
 
 M You have not quite wanted it ?" said 
 Air. Barclay, in hasty accents. 
 
 " Thank my God! not quite!'' re- 
 turned she. 
 
 " Why there it isP replied Mr. Bar- 
 clay, in triumph, " does he not say, 
 1 Leave your fatherless children, and let 
 vour widows trust in me. I will never 
 leave them, nor forsake them !*'
 
 49 
 
 Mr. Barclay had applied his hand to 
 his purse, but thought its contents too 
 trivial. " Wait a moment," said he to 
 the widow, and hurried into the pawn- 
 broker s. He there produced hi§ watch, 
 and demanded five guineas upon it. It 
 Mas a gold repeater, the last present 
 from his mother, save her blessing ; and 
 it had cost thirty guineas. The shopman 
 proceeded to examine it. " Be brief, my 
 friend," said Mr. Barclay, " I would 
 not sell it for an hundred !" The man 
 immediately presented him a duplicate, 
 with the money, and Mr. Barclay then 
 hastened to the widow. 
 
 " There," said he, placing his bounty 
 in her hand, " this xvlll outlast the mor- 
 row, and the day beyond to-morrow may 
 provide a fresh supply i" 
 
 The widow strove to thank him ; but 
 
 D
 
 50 
 
 not a word!— not a word could she 
 utter. 
 
 " I shall see you again, madam," 
 said he, " tell me your name." 
 
 " Mountain," said she, scarcely able 
 to articulate. " My husband was a sur- 
 geon of the army — he was killed upon 
 the continent in a duel, leaving myself, 
 and this hapless boy, then an infant at 
 my breast, to struggle with the world !* 
 
 " Favour me with your address," said 
 Mr. Barclay. 
 
 She told it him, and he, with his pen- 
 cil, inserted it in his pocket-book. 
 
 ■' Farewell I* said he, " I will see 
 $ou again !" 
 
 Th* widow again assayed to thank
 
 51 
 
 him, but grief and commingling joy, as 
 if jealous of their silent eloquence, de- 
 nied her tongue its office. She courtseyed, 
 pikL with her child, walked up another 
 - *eet. 
 
 Mr. Barclay stopped, and gazed after 
 er, till the increasing shades of night 
 d obscured her from his view\ As 
 erved, he was not merely an 
 exk ; though, if he had, the sub- 
 
 ject c incident was enough to excite 
 
 his h admiration. He discerned, 
 
 n humble attire, a person 
 n was elegance, and whose 
 motions grace. Sentiment seemed seat- 
 ed on her eye, and sensibility of mind 
 displayed itself upon her features. When 
 Mr. Barclay had lost sight of her, he 
 seemed to feel a chasm in his peace. 
 " O ! my heart !* said he, " what means 
 thy beating?" He now hastened to the 
 stage, and taking his place, was soon 
 d 2
 
 o2 
 
 conveyed to his lodging. His servant 
 informed him, that a gentleman had 
 called twice, expressing, each time, a 
 strong desire to see him. He then join- 
 ed his friends at supper, and having re 
 lated to them every adventure of the da 
 except the last, retired to his chain 
 ber. " What a volume of incidents/' 
 said he, " has this day presented to me 
 - — Man contending for the life of man 1 — 
 virtue and innocence deserted and for- 
 lorn ! Happy thought! that the for- 
 mer are still in the paths of time : that 
 they yet may learn, they are the heirs of 
 eternity. — And, happy thought ! that the 
 widow and her orphan may suspend then- 
 tears, and smile in hope ! O charity ! 
 
 thou comprehensive good ! — thou hea- 
 ven-born ! come rear thy throne on earth, 
 and teach mankind thy peace Kj
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 The challenge— the Answer— the Reception- - 
 true Honour— the Truce— great Minds superior 
 to vulgar Applause — false Opinions exposed— - 
 a Coward may be a Duellist — Reparation for 
 Injury— a Soldier's Honour— Puerility of Duel- 
 lists— the Tale revealed— Remorse— the Pe- 
 nitent-— the Confession— the Atonement. 
 
 the following morning he arose, 
 
 ; into the fields . a cub- 
 
 tich he always indulged, when 
 
 favourable. Ketir 
 ►reakfast, he observed his ser- 
 conducting a strange gentleman to- 
 him. They were now at hand. 
 
 : This is my master, sir," said the 
 lad, and retired.
 
 54 
 
 " Your name, sir," said the stranger, 
 with polite address, " is Barclay?" 
 
 " It is, sir, answered he, returning 
 his politeness. 
 
 "lam commissioned, sir," resumed 
 the stranger, "with the honour of pre- 
 senting you this letter. I sought you 
 yesterday, without success. You will, 
 therefore, excuse a delay that arose 
 from accident." 
 
 Mr. Barclay bowed, accepted the let- 
 ter, and read a» follows : — 
 
 u Sir.. St. James's Place. 
 
 " In your Quixotic zeal for peace, tins morn- 
 ing, you hurled upon me such a war of words, as 
 I cannot, consistently with the principles of a 
 gentleman, and a man of honour, b over with 
 impunity. I am willing to think <'y were in* 
 ad%'ertent, and will therefore p^ ri them, if 
 candidly acknowledged. Jf y QU
 
 90 
 
 you will please to appoint me a time and place, 
 for giving me that satisfaction with which I can- 
 not dispense. 
 
 " I have the honour to be, 
 " Sir, 
 M Your very obedient servant, 
 
 " H. FREEMAN/ 1 
 
 Mr. Barclay had no sooner finished, 
 than, addressing the stranger, he said — 
 " I am to consider you, sir, I presume, 
 as the second, and acquainted with every 
 particular? 
 
 " Exactly so, sir/ returned the other. 
 
 " Then, sir," resumed Mr, Barclay, 
 " you will please to consider me as a 
 novice in this matter. Your kind- 
 ness, therefore, must excuse what you 
 may observe defective in me. You will 
 my compliments to Mr. Free- 
 man, and say — That if I beg his pardon, 
 U bo acknowledging myself to be an 
 D 4
 
 56 
 
 aggressor, which, as I am not conscious 
 of, I cannot descend to. Truth forbids 
 me ! On the other hand, if he convince 
 me that I have wronged him, I shall re- 
 joice to atone for it. And, with regard 
 to the satisfaction he so imperatively de- 
 mands, on that I am firmly determined. 
 Tell him, that I request permission 
 to visit him this morning, at his house, 
 where I will he by twelve o'clock. la 
 the mean time, sir, I invite you to re- 
 fresh yourself by breakfasting with me." 
 
 The stranger politely declined the 
 offer, observing, that delay, in these 
 cases, was a breach of duty. He fur- 
 ther informed him, that his servant was 
 waiting for him, with his horse, 
 They then walked together, till 
 at the village, they bade good rnori 
 and parted. 
 
 Rash, unheeding vouth !" s
 
 57 
 
 Barclay, reading the challenge a se- 
 cond time, " is thy soul so little worth 
 thy care, that thou wouldst launch it 
 with frontless temerity, blood-stained, 
 before the holy throne of thy Creator, 
 and imprecate his awful justice?" 
 
 Mr. Barclay prepared himself in 
 time, and taking the stage, arrived in 
 town, and was at the house of his chal- 
 lenger by the appointed hour. He 
 knocked, and the door was opened by 
 a man in splendid livery, of whom he 
 enquired for Mr. Freeman. " My 
 master is above, Sir," replied the ser- 
 vant. Mr. Barclay gave his name, and 
 was, without further ceremony, ushered 
 into an elegant drawin£ : room, where 
 Mr. Freeman sai alone. He arose to 
 receive his visitant with much polite- 
 ness, presented him a chair, and bade 
 him be seated. 
 
 D 5
 
 58 
 
 " I would have you, Sir," said Mr. 
 Barclay, " attune yourself to peace ; 
 my words shall be of peace ; and this 
 interview, I hope, will be closed in 
 peace. A novel commencement this, 
 you will say, from a challenged to his 
 challenger ! — But what a wretched 
 theorist must you deem me, to imagine 
 that I would deface myself with blood, 
 whether instigated by revenge, or per- 
 suaded by what is termed the laws of 
 honour. I, Sir, have honour too ; an 
 honour I will not immolate at the shrine 
 of vanity or of the world !" 
 
 " Your honour," said the soldier, 
 " is, I imagine, as peculiar as your 
 sentiments. Whence, pray, is your 
 honour ?" 
 
 " From a source so pure," returned 
 Mr. Barclay r .'f that the anhallowed 
 tongue of defamation cannot shame it
 
 59 
 
 back; the strength of man cannot over- 
 throw it, neither can their contumely 
 make it blush; I have it, Sir, from. 
 God. He gives us life, and honour is 
 his bounty too !" 
 
 " Are you sure, Sir," said the officer, 
 " that these professions are not a bank 
 thrown up by cowardice, to hide its 
 fears behind ?" 
 
 " The fear of what?" demanded Mr, 
 Barclay. 
 
 " Of death," returned the other. 
 
 " Of death! O! how little do vou 
 know a Christian. Death is to him, the 
 beginning of life ; a life, indeed, of ever- 
 blooming honour; and never-setting 
 glory. For we know, 6 that when this 
 earthly tabernacle is dissolved, we have 
 a building of God, an house not made 
 with hands, eternal in the heavens B/ 
 d 6
 
 60 
 
 " If," said the officer, " I could read 
 your heart, as easily as I can hear your 
 words, and could I be persuaded that 
 you were sincere, I should much respect 
 you. But there is much hypocrisy in 
 Christians." 
 
 " Say not in Christians," returned Mr. 
 Barclay, " hypocrisy dwells not in them, 
 it may among them. Hypocrites, are 
 found in their societies ; it is a proof that 
 truth exists there; for wherever she 
 erects her pure altar, there will hypo- 
 crisy kneel. One only can pierce its 
 strong disguise, and he will both judge 
 and punish!" 
 
 " Come," exclaimed Mr. Freeman, 
 " I will be ingenuous. I cannot resist 
 the apparent goodness of your nature ; 
 I believe you to be sincere, nor do I 
 suspect your courage. I will forego 
 my challenge and sacrifice punctilio for
 
 61 
 
 once. Our opinions are both strong 
 and greatly contrasted ; and as you have 
 condescended to advance your banners 
 of peace, I will meet you half way : we 
 will be as much friends as our different 
 principles will admit. You really ap- 
 pear so happy in yours, that, were it 
 not repugnant to the rules of honour, I 
 would be a Christian myself. But 
 Christianity; O ! it bids us submit to aii 
 insult !" 
 
 " It teaches you to conquer it F said 
 Mr. Barclay, " the actions of the in- 
 sulter are his own. They are the pal- 
 pable index to his depraved mind, and 
 cannot attach to you. You triumph 
 over him when you pity them." 
 
 " What, 5 ' said the soldier, u would 
 you submit to a blow ! bear it in pas- 
 sive insensibility, and suffer a ruffian to
 
 6ft 
 
 proceed in violence without resisting 
 him?" 
 
 No ; if I am assaulted, I will defend 
 myself, and obey the impulse of nature 
 that excites to self-defence. If a man 
 draw his sword upon me, I will draw 
 one too, in the same manner as I would 
 secure myself from the rage of a w T olf. 
 But I will not, for an offence gone by, 
 carry rancour in my breast, and, like a 
 blood-hound, hunt down the life of a 
 man, or, like a scorpion, turn my sting 
 upon myself, when I may find a redress 
 by other means ; or terminate in peace 
 that which commenced in enmity. Man 
 boasts of his reason : 'tis the distinc- 
 tion, he says, between himself and 
 beasts; and yet he suffers this reason 
 to fall subservient, to that which go- 
 verns beasts — Passion ! and like a beast, 
 he will rush upon his fellow and worry
 
 63 
 
 him. What is his reason worth, if its 
 strength withers from every blast of 
 passion ? No, if the unruly hand of any 
 one obstruct my way, I will resist till it 
 be pinioned by the law of my country," 
 
 " We cannot always, Sir, wait the 
 tedious, and frequently unequal dicision 
 of that — heavens ! what gentleman can 
 tamely bear an insult?" 
 
 " Many gentlemen have," said Mr. 
 Barclay, 
 
 " Name the man cf honour who ever 
 stooped to so base a violation," said the 
 other, impatiently." 
 
 " I will not propose to you for an 
 example the Grecian philosopher, lest 
 you should reject him as a man of ho- 
 nour. He, on receiving a blow upon 
 the head, observed : that it was a- pity
 
 64 
 
 man did not know when to put on a 
 helmet. But, I will recount to you 
 those allowed by soldiers, to be the 
 fairest patterns .of their honour. Mar- 
 shal Turenne being in a box at the 
 theatre, some gentlemen came in, who 
 not knowing him, would insist upon his 
 resigning his seat, in front, to accommo- 
 date them. On his refusal, they seized his 
 hat and gloves, and flung them on the 
 stage. The marshal unmoved by pas- 
 sion, calmly addressed a nobleman of 
 the first rank, desiring him to hand them 
 up to him. The nobleman, while he 
 repeated his name instantly obeyed him, 
 and in a manner that proved him to be 
 proud of the office. The marshal then 
 turned to the hostile strangers, now 
 abashed at their conduct, and with in- 
 finite good-humour, observed, that if 
 tjiey would sit close, there was room 
 for them all. Now here you see, was 
 a reproof, a victory, and probably a life
 
 65 
 
 preserved- Next, your own country- 
 man, Sir Walter Raleigh, he, after being 
 indignantly treated by a headstrong 
 youth, received a challenge from him. 
 This he refused. The young man then 
 spit upon him; when the noble knight 
 taking out his handkerchief, said: 
 1 young man, if I could as easily wipe 
 your blood from my conscience, as I 
 can this injury from my face, I would 
 this moment take away your life. The 
 consequence was, that the youth, struck 
 with a sudden save of his o^\ n irnoro- 
 priety, and of Sir Wait 
 fell upon his Knees and begged forgive- 
 ness. Say, could Sir VV ave con- 
 quered so nobly by a duel? — Could the 
 i an's death have given such glory 
 me? — How noble a characU 
 would have been lost, had he folic 
 a duel. Gaston, Marquis de He 
 
 ts nobleman, would r 
 lo fight a duel when chall
 
 66 
 
 used to say: there was more true cou- 
 rage and generosity in bearing and for- 
 giving an injury for the love of God, 
 than in requiting it with another: — in 
 suffering, than revenging ; because the 
 thing was really more difficult. — Duel- 
 ling appeared so extravagant to Augustus 
 Caesar, that on receiving a challenge 
 from Mark Antony, to engage him in 
 single combat, he said to the bearer : 
 * tell Antony, that if he be weary of life, 
 there are other ways to death than the 
 point of my word.' — Would not these 
 a, ihink you, have sunken below 
 their dignity, had they ended those in* 
 cidents in a duel?" 
 
 te Modern times would not overlook 
 such conduct, 1 ' said the officer, ' nor 
 did the former,' said Mr, Barclay, 
 f< duelling in the time of Turc 
 vailed to a great degree; foi 
 -orded of him, that while be
 
 67 
 
 fortified town, he received no less than 
 twelve challenges; none of which he 
 deigned to accept. He was conscious 
 of his own courage, and cared not for 
 the reproof of the world. Fighting, to 
 avoid the reproach of mankind, is indeed 
 a truly feminine weakness : an affrighted 
 coward, who flies even to the cavern of 
 of death to hide itself from the scorT of 
 fools !" 
 
 cc It is impossible to exist," said the 
 soldier, " on such principles as these, 
 
 yvers x v~ ~~ «• w^c*ncngc, my orother 
 
 officers would banish me their society !" 
 
 No evil that," said Mr, Barclay, 
 
 u to I ( 3ed from the shackles of such 
 
 men ; x can a nation hope from sol- 
 
 diei" o thus disregard their articles 
 
 >r, v. hich expressly forbids the giv^ 
 
 ami accepting of challenges? liow 
 
 q, not having learned to obey,
 
 68 
 
 be proper to command? But nothing- 
 is more falacious than the principles 
 from which, they act. A man accepting 
 a challenge from such incentives, gives 
 no proof of his courage. Fear and 
 shame may contend within his breast, 
 and the latter prove the stronger; and 
 impel him to the fight. Yet, such a 
 man may be totally unfit for the task of 
 war: his faculties may then forsake- 
 him, and amid all his confusion, he may 
 remain a mere expletive. We know 
 that the most effeminate minds will 
 sometimes fly to desperate remedies. 
 Thus, women who would faint at a naked 
 sword, have, under the influence of 
 shame, committed suicide, and equalled 
 the boldest Romans." 
 
 " Notwithstanding this," s 
 officer, " courage being a most ess 
 tial requisite for a soldier, canno 
 too often tried, nor too well establish
 
 69 
 
 u I believe" answered Mr. Barclay, 
 " that we all understand the extent of 
 that quality within us. I do not know 
 that practice will augment it. It is 
 hard indeed, if men cannot obtain cou- 
 rage, but by becoming brutes." 
 
 " Courage, you allow to be a virtue ?* 
 
 " Not so," replied Mr. Barclay, " be- 
 cause it is attained by no effort of our- 
 selves. It is like strength, the gift of 
 nature, and the most noxious animals 
 possess it equally with man. — It is a 
 desirable quality, but not a virtue." 
 
 " But, with regard to duelling,"' re- 
 sumed the soldier, tenacious of his 
 heme, " I think it in some cases un- 
 ivoidable. I may, perhaps, pass over 
 :he insults of a bacchanalian, and yet 
 etain my character. But could you, 
 vere you an officer, submit to be stig- 
 matized as a coward ?"
 
 70 
 
 " We cannot," returned Mr. Barclay, 
 u close the lips of slander. But must 
 I, if called a coward, although conscious 
 I am not ; must I, to stop the humour 
 of a wanton tongue, throw away my 
 life perhaps, and thus deprive my coun- 
 try of the benefit it might derive from my 
 courage? A coward indeed may fight 
 from such motives, to rid himself of his 
 uneasy sensations, but a man of courage 
 should disdain the feeble provocation." 
 
 " But if a man find himself offended 
 by me, and I refuse him satisfaction, must 
 I submit to be branded by him, in every 
 company, by the name of coward | see 
 men avoid me as a reproach ; the young 
 desert me, and the old despise ?" 
 
 " If a man pester me thus, I will bind 
 him over to the peace. If his aspersions 
 be false, the world, at least the wisest part 
 of it, will acquit and applaud me." 
 3
 
 71 
 
 " And what if I injure a man : — must 
 I deny him satisfaction ?" 
 
 " No: — if you injure him, and are so 
 just as to repent the injury, repair it by 
 all means; but not by taking away his 
 life, though he insist upon it ever so 
 earnestly, neither by making him a mur- 
 derer, by sacrificing your own; I would 
 have you repair his injury by being 
 just!" 
 
 " The privilege of calling another to 
 the field," said the soldier, " is, to the 
 man of honour, the noblest defence 
 against the overbearing power of the 
 great. The haughty peer, in awe of 
 that, smoothes his contumelious brow; 
 suppresses the bitter sarcasm of his 
 speech, and checks the passions that 
 his wealth would gratify: — and thus, 
 the moderate gentleman is his equal!"
 
 72 
 
 " The moderate gentleman," said Mr. 
 Barclay, " by having recourse to manly 
 sense, instead of the murderous wea- 
 pon, would be superior to the proud! 
 whereas, by suffering his feelings to 
 betray him into folly, he sinks beneath 
 him. His passions are then but the 
 sport of his opponent, who estimates 
 the life of others by his own, for the 
 fool knows not the value of his soul 
 till it be freed from mortality. — This 
 argument of yours has been supported 
 by vitiated genius in all the adornments 
 of eloquence : — delusive eloquence, that 
 can pervert the understanding, and make 
 wrong seem right. But in vain may 
 she strew corruption with her flowers. 
 The sun of truth shall wither them, and 
 expose the foul deception i" 
 
 <f These sentiments," said the soldier, 
 11 may become the apathy of a moralist ;
 
 73 
 
 but it will never convince a man pos- 
 sessing feeling, whose passions being 
 roused, they will impel him to violence 
 ere they be appeased ; and it is but just, 
 that he who raised the storm, should 
 be overwhelmed by it!"' 
 
 " O! mighty man! what a God 
 wouldst thou make!" exclaimed Mr. 
 Barclay, " thy revenge would svvallow 
 up thyself, and all creation with thee ! — 
 But, he only is destitute of ffeelinj who, 
 callous to the ties of humaniry^locks 
 up his heart against its softening influ- 
 ence, and hurries on to mischief. I am 
 aware that the simple truths of honest 
 men, will prove unable to eradicate 
 vice. Her votaries are too numerous, 
 and, to unstable man, their gilded lan- 
 guage will be more successful. I would 
 not suppress the passions of mankind; 
 but happy are they who can bridle 
 them; who can restrain them from 
 
 E
 
 74 
 
 running riot, and make them subser- 
 vient to the cause of virtue. No, Sir, 
 I have no hope, that my humble efforts 
 can unhinge your opinion. It must be 
 a higher power that can make you 
 ashamed of error, and in love with 
 truth." 
 
 " Your ideas/" said Mr. Freeman, 
 " are so diametrically opposite to those 
 of all other men with whom I associate, 
 that it is jn vain to argue with you. — 
 You are not susceptible of a soldier's 
 honour !" 
 
 " Light and darkness/' said Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " are not indeed more contrasted 
 than our opinions: — they are as far 
 asunder as good from evil! — But what, 
 pray, is a soldier's honour?" 
 
 Cl A soldier's honour," returned the 
 other, " is dearer to him than life ; for
 
 75 
 
 his life is often sacrificed to it. — It is a 
 glorious name, worshipped by noble 
 deeds; perfectly immaculate, and pre- 
 served inviolate. — A soldier's honour is 
 his God r 
 
 "Ah! what a God is thine!" said 
 Mr. Barclay, that will not outlive 
 thyself! — the grave will close upon you 
 both! 
 
 M Xo, Sir," fame may preserve it, and 
 posterity do it homage ! 
 
 " Ana what is posterity, but like thy- 
 self, the beings of a moment ! — the-', 
 too, will follow thee to dust. Alas ! 
 how poor is thy ambition ! I would not 
 rest my glory on the breath of man : my 
 honour pants for life beyond the grave, 
 and worlds beyond the sun ! where my 
 fame shall rest upon the everlasting 
 lulls ! The honour of a soldier ! — I fear 
 E 2
 
 76 
 
 it is an idol of his own creating, and nurs- 
 ed by his vanity to such a gigantic size 
 that it outswells his reason ! Honour, 
 Sir, is advenient to man : it is derived 
 from other sources than his own opi- 
 nion. The honour of a soldier is be- 
 stowed by his country or his king." 
 
 " Granted, my country supplies it, 
 and my king bestows it. 1 ' 
 
 " How, then, can you dare to trans- 
 gress those laws which your country has 
 ordained, and your king has sanctioned? 
 The duellist is hostile to them both, and, 
 by servilely conforming to the customs 
 of the world, in opposition to thern, he 
 renders himself impervious to honour. 
 The Romans built a temple which they 
 dedicated to Honour. It adjoined to 
 that of Virtue; and so ingeniously was 
 it contrived, that to arrive at the for-
 
 11 
 
 mer, you must pass through that of the 
 latter. But in modern times, the temple 
 of Vice would be more appropriate.* 
 
 M I allow, 1 ' said Mr. Freeman, " thai 
 my country and king are the fountain 
 and patron of a soldiers honour; but 
 still, there is another honour, distinct 
 from this, and independant ; acting and 
 judging from itself." 
 
 " Ah !" said Mr. Barclay, smiling, 
 " you multiply your idols, and advise 
 with each as caprice may direct you, 
 till, like the ancients, you u ill at length 
 have a God for every separate passion. 
 Look you now, how vain a thing is 
 duelling ! — A person accidentally of- 
 fends you : — your manner of demanding 
 satisfaction is more offensive than his 
 accident ; and he, in his turn, expects 
 an apology from you : — you will not 
 submit; — he will not submit: — then, 
 
 \ E 3
 
 78 
 
 you will have his life, which perhaps, 
 he is fool enough to risk, and the affair 
 of honour terminates in the everlasting 
 ruin of one, or possibly of you both.— 
 What savage effects from a puerile ob- 
 stinacy! Now, how sad a thing it is, 
 that a man, perhaps eminently useful to 
 his country; or one on whom a family 
 depends for support, must thus become 
 a traitor to the former, or a base de- 
 serter of the last" 
 
 " It is curious, methinks/' said Mr. 
 Freeman, " that a Christian who hopes 
 so much from death, should, yet, be so 
 much in love with life as you appear." 
 
 M The Christian," returned Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " wishes every man to live till he 
 he prepared for death. Then death 
 will be a triumph. — The levity of youth 
 may exclaim, a short life and a merry 
 'one; but they forget, that at the end of
 
 79 
 
 this short life, begins a long eternity; 
 where the voice of mirth will be heard 
 no more." 
 
 " Well, then, to close the argument," 
 said the officer, " let the evil of duel- 
 lists rest upon themselves. The world, at 
 all events, suffers but little from them." 
 
 " And are you," said Mr. Barclay, 
 " so enamoured of self] as to have no 
 regard for the feeling of your surviving 
 friends ? — It was but last ni^ht that I 
 met an object, moaning on her way. 
 I heard her complaining to a hapless 
 child, and talk of wanting bread. I 
 addressed her, and bestowed my mite. — 
 She told me her sad tale. — It was brief, 
 yet, full of interest. Her husband had 
 been a surgeon in the army, and had 
 fallen in a duel on the continent." 
 
 lJ ' u His name?" said the soldier, with 
 wrong emotion. 
 
 ;• 4
 
 80 
 u Mountain!" said Mr. Barclay, 
 
 " Sacred heaven !'' exclaimed the 
 other, and starting from his seat, "you 
 have pierced me with remorse! — I am 
 his murderer !" 
 
 " Mr. Barclay fixed his eyes upon 
 him with reproach; yet mingled with 
 pity. He remained stationary for a 
 time ; his countenance transmitting the 
 feelings of his mind. At last he grasped 
 the hand of Mr. Barclay, and exclaim- 
 ed : " Christian," I reverence thy virtue ! 
 O ! thou hast softened my callous heart ! 
 — thou hast aroused my dormant con- 
 science ! — I am awake, and am a man ! 
 — But, ah! how 'full of guilt! — canst 
 thou admit me to thy friendship?" 
 
 " Rise r said Mr. Barclay, embrac- 
 ing him, and scarcely able to articuL'y? 
 for joy, at his repentance, " rise, roj
 
 81 
 
 brother! this is indeed a triumph! — 
 now art thou indeed a man of honour I 
 — A higher power has now made thee 
 ashamed of error, and in love with 
 truth." 
 
 " On the continent it was," said the 
 converted, " that I deprived Mr. Moun- 
 tain of his life : — his wife of her husband : 
 — his infant of a father! Grief, Mr. Bar- 
 clay, may have preyed on the fair features 
 of his wife : but she was then, lovely as 
 the spring's full blossom, and chaste as 
 she was lovely. My desire prompted 
 me to seduce her ; but as soon might a 
 demon subvert the child of li<>;ht ! — She 
 repulsed my advances with indignant 
 reproof. — Her husband learned my at- 
 tempts, and summoned me to the field. 
 — He called me coward! and I could 
 not then resist his daring — Our wea- 
 pons were our swords. — He pressed me 
 so hardly, that I was obliged to act on 
 E 5
 
 m 
 
 the offensive, and in the end, reached 
 his heart. — He fell, and as he expired, 
 uttered a curse upon my head! — Alas! 
 I hear it now ! O heaven ! avert its 
 horrors ! — I deprecate its justice ! — - 
 Teach me to avoid it. His widow — 
 his child ! — they shall be freed from po- 
 verty! — I have amply sufficient! — they 
 shall be independant ! — You Mr. Bar- 
 clay, shall be my agent. — This day it 
 shall be done. — I feel myself in love 
 with justice ! And Mr. Stanway, too ! 
 How can I repair his wrongs?" 
 
 " By marrying his daughter!" said 
 Mr. Barclay. 
 
 " Alas! said he, " that is a task in- 
 deed ! — Would you have me w r ed dis- 
 honour ?" 
 
 " I would have you be just T replied 
 Mr. Barclay; " though the world should
 
 83 
 
 resound with the loud laughter of unfeel- 
 ing levity. — If she be dishonoured, you 
 are her dishonourer : — be then her re- 
 storer. The noblest office of humanity 
 is to raise the fallen. — You yourself, have 
 cast her from the fair throne of simpli- 
 city :— replace her there, and reverence 
 it ! — Poor girl 1 she sacrificed all to you ! 
 — her person, and her peace ! — ennoble 
 the one by union, and you will re-esta- 
 blish the other !" 
 
 " And by my honour," exclaimed the 
 soldier, " my new and beauteous ho- 
 nour, I will do it! — I cannot be a loser 
 by restoring what I've seized ! — This 
 day I devote to justice! To-day all is 
 resolved : to-morrow; all shall be com- 
 plete : — the widow shall dry her tears, 
 and Julia shall be mine. — Go you and 
 carry the glad tidings !-~ the happy task 
 becomes you. I will have every thine 
 ready. But, stay: lot us prepare them 
 e6
 
 84 
 
 before you go : — your errand will be 
 more satisfactory." 
 
 He instantly ordered his servant to run 
 to his attorney, andrequesthis immediate, 
 attendance. The attorney soon came, 
 when Mr. Freeman, desired him to pre- 
 pare the title-deeds, of a freehold estate 
 at one hundred and forty pounds rent, 
 in the name of the widow Mountain ; 
 also to procure a marriage licence. 
 Things being thus far adjusted, Mr. 
 Freeman, ordered his chariot for the 
 use of Mr. Barclay, to convey him 
 to Mrs. Mountain, and to Mr. Stan- 
 way's. Mr. Barclay, at the desire of 
 Mr. Freeman, promised to return to 
 him, and remain at his house till all 
 should be, as he said, complete. He 
 then took his seat in the carriage, and 
 drove off to ex tcute his task.
 
 85 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 The Change of .Fortune — To-morrow — the Sub- 
 ject of Reading— -the Return — the Secret di- 
 vulged — the Postponement. 
 
 XxE soon reached the lodging of the 
 widow. Her apartment was a back 
 room on the second floor. Its furniture 
 was mean and scanty; but clean and, 
 in perfect order. He found her em- 
 ployed at needle-work, while her little 
 boy was reading a lesson to her. 
 
 She rose to receive her visitant. 
 
 " I come to you, Madam, 1 ' said he, 
 11 as I promised, and to exemplify my
 
 86 
 
 proposition, that the day beyond to- 
 morrow might provide a fresh supply. 
 Forgive my reviving to your memory 
 the tender subject; but necessity com- 
 pels me: — what was the name of the 
 person by whom your husband fell ?" 
 
 " The melancholy subject, Sir," said 
 she with a sigh, " is ever present with 
 me! — The name of the person, whose 
 imprudence in giving rise to, and whose 
 rash compliance to my husband's impe- 
 tuosity, was Freeman 1" 
 
 "It is enough!" said Mr. Barclay; 
 he then explained to her the whole story, 
 and concluded by intreating her to be 
 in readiness at nine the following morn- 
 ing, when he would call again, and take 
 her to the house of Mr. Freeman, in 
 order to receive the writing that would 
 put her in possession of the estate.
 
 87 
 
 The widow listened to this relation 
 in silent astonishment, till Mr. Barclay 
 had ceased to speak ; when she burst 
 into tears. Her feelings having subsid- 
 ed, so as to admit of utterance, " And, 
 whence,* said she, " does this arise? It 
 is like one of those pleasing dreams 
 that mock the repose of weary sorrow ; 
 and which, deserting us, leave our hearts 
 in greater anguish from the bitter con- 
 trast: such, alas! I have often expe- 
 rienced !" 
 
 " And henceforth, deserving woman," 
 said Mr. Barclay, taking her respect- 
 fully by the hand, " your past sorrows 
 shall appear but as a vision, from which 
 you are awakened to a happy reality ; 
 which like a summer's day, shall pass in 
 peace, and bring you to another still 
 more happy, whereon the night shall 
 never close."
 
 88 
 
 u Such a day as waits for you," said 
 she, " O happy man ! — What title shall I 
 give you : — what thanks conceive worthy 
 your acceptance ?" 
 
 " Your opinion," returned Mr. Bar- 
 clay, affected by the gracefulness of her 
 manners, and the glow of her gratitude, 
 " your opinion exceeds my humble 
 merits. Bestow on me the title of 
 friend, and number me among your ac- 
 quaintance: this will be ample reward." 
 
 " Indeed, they are poor returns; but 
 the first you have stamped upon your- 
 self, and that generally leads to the 
 last." 
 
 ' Well then, we shall meet again; and 
 e/ery visit, and every happy hour shall 
 be the prelude to another, and thus our 
 friendly converse shall never end."
 
 8.9 
 
 " We shall meet again, no doubt, 
 Sir," said the widow. 
 
 " Yes, Madam, we shall meet again, 
 and that to-morrow. In the interim, 
 permit me to leave you this for present 
 use : it is necessary, therefore, you must 
 not refuse it." Saying thus, he laid 
 upon the table, a note of thirty pounds, 
 then kissed the child, bowed to its mo- 
 ther, and withdrew 
 
 " Love !" said he to himself, as he 
 descended the stairs, " hast thou com- 
 menced thy reign upon my heart? — 
 Well, and I'll not dethrone thee. To- 
 morrow wq shall meet again! — To- 
 morrow !" responded he, reproving his 
 unconditional promise, — " to-morrow 
 may never come ! — To-morrow, time 
 may cease to be — to-morrow, this globe, 
 these worlds above our head, with all 
 the vast Creation may be extinguished,-
 
 90 
 
 and eternity may commence its reign 
 with man !— All this may be to-mor- 
 row r 
 
 Mr. Barclay, re-seated himself in the 
 chariot, and in another hour was at 
 the house of Mr. Stanway. He was 
 ushered up to the drawing-room, where 
 he found the old gentleman reading to 
 his daughter. On his entrance, Julia 
 curtseyed, and withdrew. 
 
 " Welcome, my friend !" said Mr. 
 Stanway, " I was reading to my child 
 the words of truth !" — The book that 
 lay upon the table, was the Bible. 
 
 " Read on, M said Mr. Barclay, " and 
 may its divine author give you to un- 
 derstand it. It is an ever-shining sun 
 that lightens the pure soul to happiness. 
 Dim -eyed folly will not look upon it; 
 while from its splendor vice recoils, and.
 
 91 
 
 immersed in its own deformity, rails at 
 the glory that reveals it! — But I am 
 come to bring you news. Did I not tell 
 you, that all was in the hands of God? 
 Innocence, Honour, Peace ! — Ail is re- 
 stored to you ! To-morrow, your daugh- 
 ter will be the wife of Mr. Freeman 1" 
 
 The old gentleman amazed, desired 
 him to explain. He complied, and re- 
 lated to him every particular, 
 
 " O youth !'' exclaimed the happy 
 father, embracing him. " My praise 
 would prove unequal to thy worth J" 
 
 "Remember/'said Mr Barclay, "I am 
 but the humble instrument of our hea- 
 venly Father's goodness.— In fixing praise 
 upon the creature, forget not to honour 
 the Creator !" 
 
 " I do, I doy honour him P said he, 
 " and therefore will I love the man.
 
 92 
 
 whom he has deigned to choose as the 
 blessed means of bringing about his 
 gracious purposes." 
 
 " I must leave you now !" interrupted 
 Mr. Barclay, " the day grows late. Go 
 make your daughter happy. I must 
 return to Mr. Freeman. In the morn- 
 ing we shall meet again, and the day 
 will end in joy !" The politeness of the 
 old gentleman would not detain him, 
 and Mr. Bo relay, after accepting some 
 refreshments, drove back to his friend's. 
 
 Mr. freeman was alone, and glad- 
 ness smiled upon his features, as Mr. 
 Barclay entered. 
 
 " I rejoice to see you/' said he, shak- 
 ing him by the hand, " I do not appre- 
 hend a relapse ; but, in your company, 
 I shall acquire more confidence. Tell 
 me how you have fared. Say, is the 
 widow happy, and will Julia be miner'*
 
 93 
 
 il Both," replied Mr. Barclay, and 
 more; for, the widow shall be mine. 
 
 " What mean you ?" demanded Mr. 
 Freeman, " can your rigid virtue con- 
 descend to love and wedlock I" 
 
 " Love," replied Mr. Barclay, " is 
 the Christian's essence, and marriage 
 a sacred bond, ordained by his Creator. 
 When two hearts meet in unison, mar- 
 riage is the happiest incident of their 
 lives : it being, indeed, a completion of 
 terrestial joy; a concentration of the 
 purest passions of our nature, and 
 which are comprized in love/' He then 
 proceeded to recount the particulars of 
 the day, and ingenuously told his regard 
 for Mrs. Mountain. " It must be so l". 
 exclaimed the soldier, in sudden thought. 
 " To-morrow, my friend! to-morrow, 
 you and the widow must accompany me, 
 and Julia, to the altar ! A licence shall 
 be procured this night !"
 
 94 
 
 tf No, my friend, said Mr. Barclay, 
 I'll not agree to that ; nor would the 
 widow, whom I have seen but twice- 
 I would not be the slave of form ; but 
 while custom is established by proprie- 
 ty, I will respec t it. In the mean time, 
 prepare for your own happiness, and 
 suffer mine to advance in decent order." 
 
 Mr. Freeman, now mentioned the v 
 urgent necessity of seeing a gentleman, 
 in order to postpone an engagement 
 which he had made with him, for the 
 following day. The gentleman resided 
 at Chelsea, whither he must go him- 
 self. Mr. Barclay, immediately pro- 
 posed to accompany him : this being 
 gladly accepted, and the night remark- 
 ably fine, they agreed to walk.
 
 95 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 The Fight — The Passionate Man — The Court of 
 Honour — Night Scene --Time — The Robbers 
 —An important Chapter. 
 
 JL HEY had not passed many streets 
 before they heard the shouting of a mob, 
 and approaching it, they perceived two 
 men fi^htino*. The combatants were 
 stripped to the waist, and their skin 
 shockingly disfigured by blood, commin- 
 gled with dirt. The one possessed a 
 calm resolution, and had greatly the 
 advantage over his antagonist, who 
 though sadly bruised and lacerated, 
 would persist in the unequal contest 
 The friends of the latter were persuad- 
 1 •
 
 96 
 
 ing him to desist, while the savage spec- 
 tators urged him to the hattle. 
 
 " What is the subject of your quarrel, 
 my friend ?" said Mr. Barclay, excited 
 by his usual benevolence, " believe me, 
 they are your true friends who advise 
 you to give over/' lie had taken him 
 by the arm while he spoke. The pugi- 
 list struairled to £ct free ; but finding 
 
 DC ~ * O 
 
 himself still detained, he uttered an oath, 
 and struck Mr. Barclay, so violent a 
 blow as for a moment to deprive him of 
 sensation, and he would have fallen had 
 not his friend supported him till he re- 
 covered. The indignant spirit of the 
 young soldier panted to revenge the in- 
 jury; but his anger subsided on seeing 
 theinsulter rush upon his adversary, who 
 instantly cast him motionless on the 
 stones. The shock decided the contest, 
 and the poor wretch was borne away, 
 scarcely conscious of his existence.
 
 §7 
 
 * : Observe," said Mr; Barclay, en- 
 circling his arm in that of his friend's, 
 and pursuing his walk: " Observe in 
 that man the spirit of a duellist, and in 
 the gross mob, that of his abettors. Poor 
 fool ! his heart, too, was full of fame 
 and honour ! and see, to what it has 
 brought him P 
 
 li An obstinate stupid fellow P said 
 the soldier. 
 
 " And what are duellists ?" said Mr. 
 Barclay, " they only attire their folly 
 out in tinsel, and its faint glitter dazzles 
 the weak senses of vanity. *■ — What a 
 noxious being is a passionate man," 
 continued he ; " he should be expelled 
 from society, and confined to rocks and 
 caverns, where he might vent his canine 
 temper, without molesting the peaceful 
 circle of his companions. In the years 
 of maturity, he retains the infirmities of 
 childhood : he is a volcanic plague, for- 
 
 F
 
 95 
 
 ever belching its mischief on surround- 
 ing objects." 
 
 " One more word on duelling," said 
 Mr. Freeman, " and then we will drop 
 it for ever ! There are men so infa- 
 tuated with their darling principle of 
 honour, that they will, at present, only 
 forego it with their lives ; and, as they 
 reject all laws but their own, it would 
 be charity to suggest a plan to which 
 they might accede, that would obviate 
 the fatal catastrophes which so frequent- 
 ly attend their meetings. What would 
 you substitute for duelling?" 
 
 "lam glad,"repliedMr. Barclay, "that, 
 this is to be the last sentence upon the sub- 
 ject : for I am heartily tired of it. Why, 
 what say you to the establishment of a 
 court composed of your men of honour, 
 who should select approved umpires to 
 judge in every case. Before this, the
 
 99 
 
 aggrieved should cite the aggressor, and 
 there relate the truth. I will believe, 
 that, in general, they are superior to a 
 lie. — Well, the aggressor being declared, 
 the society shall denounce the required 
 reparation. — If he refuses, he shall be 
 banished the place where men of honour 
 frequent, and all shall be forbidden to 
 associate with him, till he make the ad- 
 judged atonement. If, after a certain 
 period, he remain inflexible, he shall be 
 posted, and for ever excluded the ho- 
 nourable circles. And if an a^oressor 
 
 CO 
 
 refuse to attend the summons of this 
 tribunal, the same punishment shall fol- 
 low him. Such might be for the lesser 
 .incitements to duelling. But, for the 
 . fc >:re serious ones, when a man, by a fla- 
 grant act of villainy indelibly blots his 
 character, he should not only be excluded 
 from all intercourse, with the honourable; 
 but consigned over, unanimously, to the 
 more adequate laws of his country,"
 
 100 
 
 " I wish, with all my heart, '"' said Mr. 
 freeman, " that this amicable adjust- 
 ment could be established." 
 
 They had now passed the streets of 
 London, and entered upon the road. — - 
 An unclouded sky revealed to them the 
 majesty of night. The moon, just in 
 her wane, appeared in silvery brightness, 
 while the distant worlds glittered o'er 
 the vast expanse, and seemed to invite 
 the eye to every part, till it was bound- 
 ed by the circling horizon. 
 
 " What a scene is here !" said Mr, 
 Freeman, " how full of wonder and 
 magnificence ! — I have often gazed upoi? 
 it with delight. But never did I under* 
 stand it so well as now. — Immensity Y-^ 
 Eternity ! Author of all, where art thou ? 
 — The heaven of heavens cannot con- 
 tain thee r 
 
 " Thou dost rightly/" said Mr. Bar-
 
 roi 
 
 clay, " Beautiful and grand as are 
 these worlds, the Christian will not 
 stop at them : — his eager soul out-flies 
 their systems, and dwells with their 
 Creator! — There his hopes rest, and 
 there he pants to be. ' To him that 
 overcometh/ said the Lord, ' I will give 
 to eat of the Tree of Life, which is in 
 the midst of the Paradise of God ! — He 
 shall be clothed in white raiment; and 
 I will confess his name before my fa- 
 ther, and before his angels. — I will grant 
 him to sit with me in my throne. He 
 shall inherit all things, and I will be his 
 God, and he shall be my s*on.'" 
 
 u Those words, my friend ! M exclaim- 
 ed Mr. Freeman, " are music to my 
 soul ! Ah, me, what a lethargy has hi- 
 therto hung over me. — The voice of 
 the charmer has, at length, dispelled it." 
 ' Awake ! awake !' said he, < thou 
 that sleepest, and arise from the dead ! 
 F 3
 
 102 
 
 and Christ shall give thee light, life, and 
 immortality! — I follow thee, O Prince 
 of Peace : — thou art the way, and the 
 truth, and the life!'" 
 
 They had now reached the limits of 
 their walk. Mr. Freeman explained to 
 his friend the subject of his errand, and 
 requested that his attendance might be. 
 dispensed with. This being agreed to, 
 they, after half an hour's conversation, 
 took leave and returned on their way. 
 " Observe," said Mr. Freeman, " how 
 wide a circuit the moon has traversed 
 toward the west !" 
 
 " And toward the east our earth," 
 said Mr. Barclay, " so speeds our time. 
 Time, that swift courser whose back 
 we mount the moment we are born. 
 He flies with us along, nor stops his 
 impetuous career till he flings us on 
 eternity ! And yet, we call hi in slow ! —
 
 103 
 
 Where is yesterday?— Gone, for ever! 
 And who can call to-morrow his own ? 
 — No one. — Thou canst not say : this 
 moment is mine ; for, ere the sentence 
 is finished, the moment is Hed ! — O! 
 that some celestial being would lift us 
 to the regions of space ; shew us the 
 revolving motion of our earth ; and, 
 while our sight pursued the wondrous 
 scene, teach us the more than golden 
 worth of time. ' Behold !' methinks I 
 hear him say, ' Mortals behold the pro- 
 gress of your life ! — See how your world 
 flies o'er its bounded orb, and brings you 
 to your end. A few revolutions, by you 
 termed years, it shall perform, and then 
 you -die ! — Another, and another race 
 succeeds, till the doomed number shall 
 be made complete, and all the dead once 
 more emerge from dust to meet eter- 
 nity!' — We should then, my friend, 
 perhaps, affix some value on our hours ! 
 f 4
 
 104 
 
 If time were to be bought, what a price 
 would it fetch!— How would the miser 
 draw forth his pilfered hoard, to add 
 another year to his existence ! How 
 would the slave of pleasure pawn his 
 last estate, to add another month to his 
 giddy round; and how would the ensan- 
 guined plunderer exhaust his stores to 
 gain a lingering day from his devoted 
 hell! Amazing! — that man should talk 
 of killing time! — And old men, too, 
 whose tottering steps can scarce sustain 
 life's load : — that they should waste their 
 hours with idleness, and talk of killing 
 time ! — Poor wretches, they mistake 
 their aim ! — their weapons are inverted, 
 and, instead of time, it is themselves they 
 kill ! O ! how different will be the last 
 moments of the man who has given his 
 day to virtue, to him who has devoted 
 them to vice. Gloomy will be the first, 
 but sweet the prospects of the last. —
 
 JOr> 
 
 The one in writhing agony, will sink into 
 despair; the other, winged with hope, 
 will ily to the mansions of the blessed." 
 
 Mr. Barclay had no sooner closed his 
 sentence, than there sprang upon them 
 three men, armed with bludgeons, who 
 peremptorily demanded their money. 
 " Villains!" exclaimed the soldier, and 
 seized the one who stood before him, 
 when he instantly received a blow that 
 felled him to the ground, and two of the 
 ruffians proceeded to plunder him. Mr. 
 Barclay was totally unarmed. But he 
 instantly grappled with the third man, 
 and after a violent struggle, wrested 
 from him his weapon, with which he iiew 
 to the rescue of his friend, and struck 
 one of his annoyers with such a force, 
 and well directed aim as laid him sense- 
 less at his feet. The other then turned 
 and closed with him, leaving Mr. Free- 
 man at liberty, who, now recovered from 
 F 5
 
 106 
 
 the blow that had stunned him, attacked 
 the remaining desperado. The contest, 
 for awhile, seemed equal, till Mr. Bar- 
 clay again disarmed his opponent^ who 
 instantly knelt to deprecate his venge- 
 ance. The conqueror appeared divided 
 between justice and pity, when the man 
 whom he had, at the first onset, beaten 
 down, revived, and drawing a long clasp 
 knife, advanced unobserved, and stabbed 
 him in the breast contiguous to the heart. 
 Mr. Barclay fell, and the villains were 
 now masters of the field. Bent on plun- 
 der and murder, they were proceeding 
 on their object, when the rattling of an 
 approaching coach alarmed them, and 
 the" assassin dragging his fellow from 
 Mr. Freeman, they all fled. " What 
 do I see !" said the soldier, observing 
 his companion on the ground, and plac- 
 ing his hand upon him. " Here is blood ! 
 — Oh, my friend! — my brother ! where 
 art thou ! — What, must we part so soon?
 
 107 
 
 — Hast thou just shewn me what man 
 ought to be;— just shewn me thy ex- 
 alted self, and led me to the road of 
 peace, and glory ! and shall I lose thee 
 thus?"' 
 
 During this sentence, he had torn off 
 his neckcloth, and having joined it to 
 his handkerchief, applied it to the wound, 
 bringing it round the body of his friend, 
 in order to stop the effusion of blood. 
 
 " See," said Mr. Barclay, "how many 
 impediments rise up between man, and 
 his promises of earthly happiness. We 
 had nearly sunk in view of the glittering 
 prize. But be not alarmed ; the villain 
 has, indeed, stabbed me; but has missed 
 my vitals, and I am safe. 
 
 The carriage had now reached them. 
 " Stop!" cried Mr. Freeman, to the 
 coachman, " stop, my friend, I charge 
 j6
 
 108 
 
 thee, by the duties of humanity! and 
 assist me P The man instantly alighted, 
 arid, with the aid of Mr. Freeman, lifted 
 Mr. Barclay into the carriage. " I have 
 just taken my master home," said the 
 coachman, " and was now returning to 
 the stables, but I will drive wherever 
 you desire me.' 1 — " Generous man I* said 
 Mr. Freeman, " carry us to the nearest 
 surgeon." 
 
 u No," said his friend, " convey me 
 to your own house. Your precaution 
 has stopped the bleeding of my wound, 
 and, for awhile I shall be well." Mr. 
 Freeman, then told the coachman his 
 place of residence, and bade him pro- 
 ceed with all dispatch. 
 
 The man needed no other incentive 
 than his own benevolent disposition. 
 The horses flew beneath his guidance, 
 and quickly reached the house. Mr.
 
 109 
 
 Barclay was then borne up to bed, 
 while his friend, having desired the 
 coachman to call upon him the first op- 
 portunity, hastened himself for a sur- 
 geon, with whom, in a quarter of an 
 hour, he returned. 
 
 The wound, at a short inspection, was 
 pronounced, not mortal. The weapon 
 which had made it, appeared to have 
 been rugged on its edge, for the purpose 
 of rendering it fatal ; but a from its direc- 
 tion, no serious injury could arise, al- 
 though it might occasion some week's 
 confinement. 
 
 The surgeon having applied his styp- 
 tic, and fastened on his bandage, gave 
 directions for his regimen, and orders 
 for his being as little as possibly dis- 
 turbed by conversation : he then took 
 his leave.
 
 110 
 
 Mr. Freeman now advancing, took 
 his friend by the hand, and said, " Since 
 you are safe, I will confess, that not- 
 withstanding the evil, I feel a glorious 
 satisfaction at what has passed. You 
 have saved my life ! — You have, in the 
 strongest manner, proved that you pos- 
 sess undaunted courage ! In all things 
 you appear a man of honour, though 
 yet — no duellist. How generous are 
 your sentiments ! — how noble are your 
 actions ! — With the eye of a brother do 
 I behold you — with the ear of a son do 
 I listen to you !" 
 
 " Indeed, }'Ou over-rate me," said Mr, 
 Barclay, " you have but newly under- 
 stood the beauty of Truth : and her hum- 
 blest votaries inspire you with respect. 
 When you become more familiar, you 
 will find the most exalted of her mortal 
 children, so distant from perfection as 
 to contemplate them with regret, and
 
 Ill 
 
 wonder, that they should be so tardy, 
 and so cold. You must fix your eyes 
 on Truth herself, and aspire to her fair 
 summit, where no clouds obscure, and 
 where the day for ever rests." 
 
 " I will, my friend," said Mr. Free- 
 man, "and now, good night: it is time 
 that you were left to rest, and so fare- 
 well. Julia, you must wait awhile, I 
 will not partake of pleasure, while my 
 friend remains in pain." 
 
 " O, not so !" exclaimed Mr. Barclay, 
 with energy. " Not so ! — to-morrow, 
 as affixed, you must marry her: do not 
 procrastinate that desired event: — do 
 not delay my triumph, as you respect 
 me : — its completion will accelerate my 
 recovery. I desire to see you happy. 
 To-morrow, my friend; to-morrow, you 
 must lead Julia to the altar, and there 
 let Honour do reverence to Virtue."
 
 112 
 
 " But Mrs. Mountain !" said Mr. 
 Freeman. 
 
 u Your attorney can bring her hi- 
 ther. My accident may dispense with 
 idle form. I will present to her the 
 proof of your sincerity, and justice. But 
 the time grows late. Read to me the 
 fifteenth chapter of the first Corinthians, 
 and then we will bid good night." 
 
 Mr. Freeman, reached the Bible from 
 an upper shelf in the chamber, the dust 
 lay thick upon it. lie blushed as he 
 wiped it off, then opened it, and read 
 the chapter. 
 
 " O book of truth !" said he, as he 
 closed the sacred volume, I would that 
 thy words were graven on my heart. 
 Let me die the death of the righteous, 
 and let my last end be like his !"
 
 113 
 
 " Read it continually, my friend,"' 
 said Mr. Barclay, " It will prove to you 
 a well of living waters, springing up to 
 everlasting life." 
 
 Air. Freeman now parted from his 
 friend, and sent up to attend him a 
 nurse, for whom he had sent, and one 
 of his own domestics. 
 
 Mr. Barclay, during his conversation 
 had experienced excruciating pains, but 
 uttered no complaint. About an hour 
 after Mr. Freeman had retired, he hap- 
 pily sunk to sleep. 
 
 Information of the event had been 
 sent to the Police Office, whose emissa- 
 ries had, in consequence, been dispatch- 
 ed in various directions; but in vain; 
 the desperadoes eluded their keenest 
 search.
 
 114 
 
 CHAP. VIIL 
 
 The Interview— The Deed of Justice— The Wi- 
 dow's Story — The Domestic-— The wedded Pair 
 ---The Hope Corrected — The Invitation — A 
 Master's Duty. 
 
 XlE awoke not till the hour of nine, on 
 the following morning ; the surgeon, 
 now attended by another gentleman of 
 his profession, was waiting to re-examine 
 him. The opinion of the former re- 
 ceived the coincidence of the latter : 
 the wound, though dangerous, was not 
 mortal. Mr. Barclay inquired for Mr. 
 Freeman, and learned that he had de- 
 parted at an early hour, to fulfil his 
 promise. He smiled amid his pangs 
 at the conformity of his friend. The
 
 115 
 
 surgeons having taken their leave, he 
 dispatched a messenger for his servant, 
 and to inform the good pair with whom 
 he lived, of his accident. 
 
 In about an hour the attorney came, 
 and, after lamenting the calamitous 
 event, gave into his hand the title-deeds 
 of the estate for Mrs. Mountain, who, 
 he observed, was then in the house. 
 Mr. Barclay, thanking him for his at- 
 tention, begged he would introduce her 
 to him, on which he withdrew for Mrs. 
 Mountain, and conducting her into the 
 chamber, retired. 
 
 The widow, accompanied by her lit- 
 tle boy, approached the bed. Her 
 dress was now changed : it appeared 
 the choice of simplicity fashioned by 
 taste : its elegance was alone derived 
 from its wearer.
 
 116 
 
 " Welcome, Madam," said Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " such events as these, may dis- 
 pense with ceremony." 
 
 The complexion of Mr. Barclay was 
 greatly changed since last Mrs. Moun- 
 tain saw him. The glow of health had 
 fled, and given way to a pallid hue, that 
 bore the resemblance of, and, to her ima- 
 gination, seemed to utter death. Her 
 heart turned cold; her features pale; 
 her limbs trembled under her. She had 
 been informed of all by the attorney, 
 and in the time elapsed since the reci- 
 tal, her heart had experienced sensa- 
 tions not to be described. The first 
 incident she had witnessed with Mr. 
 Barclay, and the sentiments that had 
 followed his generous zeal in her hap- 
 less cause, together with his present 
 condition, had upon her mind the effect 
 of an overwhelming torrent. She, lately 
 so deserted, dejected, and forlorn, could
 
 117 
 
 scarcely believe her change of fortune, 
 and when reflection confirmed its rea- 
 lity, her gratitude, admiration, and sor- 
 row for its author again overpowered 
 her feelings, and joy gave way to an- 
 guish. Her opinion of Mr. Barclay, 
 was the aggregation of all good thoughts, 
 and love made up the climax. He was 
 young, his person manly, his features 
 marked with thought; his soul beaming 
 through his eye. — How could she less 
 than love him? 
 
 He observed her sensations, and con- 
 tinued. " The little accident, Madam, 
 that relates to me, ought not to cloud 
 the features of my friends. The wound 
 I have received is not dangerous, I shall 
 yet live to see, and perhaps, the close 
 of a scene so happily begun." 
 
 I The heart of the widow revived, and 
 gladness re-animated her whole frame*
 
 113 
 
 One of the attendants now presented 
 her a chair. She seated herself, and 
 fixed her eyes upon her patron. 
 
 " Here/' continued he, after a short 
 pause, and holding to her the deeds, 
 " Here is a token of justice from a young 
 man, whose altered nature renders him 
 worthy of your respect: — accept it from 
 him at my hands ; but devote your thanks 
 to the Author of all good.' , 
 
 u I feel concerned, Sir," said the wi- 
 dow, " that, at such a season as the 
 present, you should trouble yourself 
 for me, who have no claim to your 
 thoughts." 
 
 " Your claims," returned he, " are 
 great; you are virtuous, and you are a 
 widow. I shall rejoice to see you placed 
 above the evils of poverty, and the de- 
 pendence on a world that knows not
 
 119 
 
 how to appreciate your worth; and had 
 not similar incidents come under my 
 observation, and did I not know that it 
 is no novelty, I should wonder how so 
 much excellence could have fallen to a 
 state so unworthy of itself." 
 
 The state in which you found me," 
 replied the widow, " was not much infe- 
 rior to that in which I was born. My 
 parents were in humble life ; my father 
 renting a farm which barely supported 
 his family. My education I owe to the 
 kindness of an uncle, a captain in the 
 West India trade, who placed me at a 
 boarding-school, and supported me 
 there from the age of twelve, till seven- 
 teen. Here, among other things, I be- 
 came a proficient on the harp, and hav- 
 ing completed myself in every female 
 accomplishment that the school taught, 
 I, at the desire of my uncle, returned 
 to the protection of my parents. It was 
 1
 
 120 
 
 on my journey home that I first saw 
 Mr. Mountain, who was one of my 
 companions in the stage. He conduct- 
 ed himself towards me with great respect, 
 and solicited so earnestly to accompany 
 me to my father's, that I could not deny 
 him. He there explained who he was, 
 and demanded me in marriage. My 
 parents were elated at the prospect, and 
 pressed me to consent. In short, we 
 were married in less than a month. This 
 taking place without aski-ig the advice 
 of my Uncle, he entirely withdrew his 
 affection from me, and desired to see 
 me no more. He shortly after married, 
 and has since died, leaving the whole of 
 his property to his wife. . I then follow- 
 ed the fortune of my hushand, and lost 
 hoth my parents before the fatal duel; 
 so that on my return to England, I had 
 no friend. Mr. Mountain was entirely 
 dependent on his profession, and indulg- 
 ing himself in the prospect of promo-
 
 121 
 
 tion, he made no provision for any emer- 
 gency, and there remained barely suf- 
 ficient for my travelling expences. On 
 my arrival, I attempted to procure pu- 
 pils for the harp ; but failed from the 
 wantofrecommendation. I, therefore, ap- 
 plied to an eminent master, who appeared 
 enraptured on hearing my performance; 
 but his conditions of serving me were 
 too base to accede to; so that I might 
 be said, indeed, to hang my harp upon 
 the willow, and weep. I next had re- 
 course to needle-work, by which I hap- 
 pily preserved myself, and this dear boy 
 from want. But this existence was pre- 
 carious, the most rigid economy, at 
 times, scarcely preventing hunger. Nor 
 could I retain a sum sufficient for my 
 rent : this rendered my landlord clamor- 
 ous, and drove me to the sad alternative 
 of the money-lender's, from whom I 
 was returning with a sum inadequate to 
 the occasion, and which when paid, with 
 
 G
 
 K2 
 
 the trifle I possessed, would leave me 
 unprovided for the exigences of the fol- 
 lowing day. Thus did that necessity 
 which I so loudly bewailed, bring me to 
 the knowledge of you. — This, Sir, is 
 my simple history." 
 
 " Well, well T returned Mr. Barclay, 
 " we are but pilgrims, and strangers 
 here, and must not expect the comforts 
 of a home. These things are frequently 
 decreed by the unsearchable wisdom of 
 our Father. An uninterrupted course 
 of ease might prove an evil ; we should 
 perhaps, grow too fond of the world; 
 should wander from the path of light, 
 forgetful of the glory to which it leads, 
 and thus excite the rod of afflictive jus- 
 tice." 
 
 The poignancy of his wound here 
 disturbed the placid character of his 
 countenance. His philosophy was not
 
 123 
 
 that of the stoic. — He effected not to 
 despise pain ; but he bore it with resig- 
 nation. — He concealed his features from 
 observation. 
 
 In a short time his servant arrived, 
 and entered the room where his master 
 lay. He saw Mrs. Mountain in tears, 
 and observed her making motion for 
 silence. This youth had lived with him 
 from the age of fourteen, and had now 
 attained* his eighteenth year. He was 
 the offspring of parents extremely poor, 
 who had apprenticed him at the age of 
 eleven to a chimney-sweeper. It was 
 in that miserable occupation Mr Bar- 
 clay first saw him. He found him one 
 winter's morning half naked, shivering, 
 and crying from the cold, and seated 
 on the stone before his door. He ob- 
 served that his frame was tender, and 
 inadequate to the sufferings of his rigid 
 employment. He inquired who his
 
 124 
 
 master was, bought out his indentures, 
 and received the boy into his own ser- 
 vice. No child's affection for his parent 
 could exceed that of this poor lad for 
 his master. What a scene was here for 
 him! — He had parted from his bene- 
 factor the preceding morning in perfect 
 health : — he now found this benefactor 
 brought near to death, by the hand of 
 an assassin. — He retired in silence to a 
 corner of the room, while his heart over- 
 flowed with grief. 
 
 Nearly an hour had passed in con- 
 tinued silence, when there entered the 
 chamber Mr. Freeman, Julia, and her 
 father. All were mute ; they looked at 
 each other, bowed, and seated them- 
 selves. They gazed upon the bed: — 
 the stillness of its occupier alarmed 
 them. The nurse ventured to with- 
 draw the counterpane from his face: 
 inexpressible sensations of anxiety pos-
 
 125 
 
 sessed the company daring this incident. 
 " He breathes P whispered the matron; 
 — " he sleeps! ' 
 
 Gently as this was done, it awakened 
 him. He opened his eyes, and saw his 
 friend with Julia: he smiled. " My tri- 
 umph is complete," said he, " now thou 
 art indeed, a Man of Honour !" 
 
 " Yes, my friend," said Mr. Freeman, 
 " she is my wife! My Julia, thank the 
 noblest of men ; — the best of friends !" 
 
 Julia obeyed, and approaching the 
 bed's side, took the hand of Mr. Bar- 
 clay, kissed it, and watered it with her 
 tears. " There is nothing wanting," 
 said she, u to perfect our happiness, 
 but the restoration of our friend, and 
 for which I shall most anxiously hope." 
 
 " I thank you, dear lady, 1 ' said Mr, 
 G 3
 
 126 
 
 Barclay, " you may hope for my resto- 
 ration to health; but do not hope for 
 perfect happiness. Believe me, it is not 
 the blessing of mortality. The frailty 
 of our nature can never secure it ; hap- 
 piness lives in a purer atmosphere, than 
 that which surrounds this globe. It is 
 the being of another world, and to enjoy 
 it unalloyed, we must be transformed 
 into more glorious creatures. Let us 
 then sow no hopes of perfect happiness, 
 or we shall reap a certain disappoint- 
 ment/' 
 
 " Indeed, my friend," said Mr. Stan- 
 way, " you have rightly said : I have 
 found it so through life; and I question, 
 Julia, whether we shall ever know a 
 happier moment than the present; 
 though now, before our eyes, we be- 
 hold a dear friend wounded and in 
 pain. Such is the state of things on 
 earth/
 
 F27 
 
 After a little more conversation, on 
 the one side of condolence, on the other 
 of congratulation, the nurse interposed, 
 and observed to them, how requisite 
 rest was to her charge. They thanked 
 her, and assented. 
 
 Mr. Freeman now turned to Mrs. 
 Mountain, and entreated her to reside 
 at his house while their friend remained 
 in his present state, and Julia urging 
 the invitation^ she agreed, and with the 
 rest withdrew for the present; leaving 
 James, the servant of Mr. Barclay, with 
 the nurse. 
 
 Mr. Barclay, observing the anxiety 
 of his faithful lad, and willing to seize 
 any opportunity of instruction, took the 
 present occasion to impress upon him 
 the importance, and beauty of virtue, 
 when, he saw the vicissitude, and insta- 
 bility of human life. Having finished. 
 g 4
 
 1528 
 
 his advice, and exhortation, he sought 
 rest in sleep; but it was some hours 
 before the pain of his wound gave way 
 to weary nature : at length, however, he 
 closed his eyes in peace.
 
 129 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 The Morning Visit — A Subject interesting to all 
 — A parent's consolation in the decline of life. 
 
 JiARLY next morning, the bride- 
 groom re-visited the chamber of his 
 friend, whom he found awake. His in- 
 quiries had been scarcely answered, 
 when there followed him, Julia, Mr. 
 Stanway, and Mrs- Mountain, fully as 
 anxious as himself. They gazed, for 
 awhile, upon the object of their concern, 
 in silence, and solicitude: he viewed 
 them each alternately, and smiled; 
 " Welcome, my friends," said he, " the 
 sun, you see, has once more risen upon 
 us. But, swift as he is, many a soul 
 
 G 5
 
 130 
 
 will outfly his bounds^ ere he sinks into 
 the west. — Many a soul, ere then, will 
 be in eternity ! O, what a subject for 
 man is eternity, and its God ! — What 
 tongue can do it justice ?— -The song of 
 Seraphs, and the praise of saints cannot 
 attain to it. The soul may, indeed, 
 conceive what the clogged senses ean- 
 not describe; mine, my friends, has 
 busied itself this night past, in thoughts 
 of heaven : it pants for the regions of 
 peace. There to behold its Prince, and 
 see the beauty of his holiness; there to 
 find the meek son of David, clothed in 
 the majesty of his Godhead, dispensing 
 his rich blessings around him. — There 
 to become learned in all his divine myste- 
 ries ! — Yes, my friends, our Jesus there 
 shall lead us to his throne; crown us 
 with victory, and make us perfect. Then 
 with our blessed companions shall we 
 say: ' Great and marvellous are thy 
 works, Lord God Almighty; just and
 
 131 
 
 true are thy ways, thou King of Saints.' 
 These should be the subjects of the 
 living; but, alas ! the living too oft re- 
 ject them, with a promise to commence 
 them on their death-bed! Presumptu- 
 ous, and ungrateful ! — thus to devote 
 their youth, and health. to pleasure, and 
 their old age and infirmities to their 
 maker! But^ ' God will not be mock- 
 ed!* Let us, my friends, apply ourselves 
 to the fountain of Truth, nor waste the 
 time upon the wandering opinions of 
 fallible humanity. The Bible we shall 
 find all sufficient; the learning, of the 
 world, compared to that, is vanity; all 
 the learning of the ancients, could not 
 prove the immortality of the soul. — 
 Religion gives the assurance of it ; 
 learning cannot conquer the errors of 
 man ; religion makes him perfect : — 
 it teaches him his duty to himself, his 
 neighbour, and his God. ' Her ways 
 g 6
 
 132 
 
 are the ways of pleasantness, and all 
 her paths are peace.' Neither, let us 
 be laughed out of our duty, by the levity 
 of Fashion; her votaries are impervious 
 to Truth. — Callous, and vain, they heed 
 not the music of her song, nor under- 
 stand the wisdom of her word. ' The 
 harp and the viol, the tabret and the 
 pipe, are in their feasts; but they re- 
 gard not the works of the Lord/ Giddy 
 fools, their day of riot will soon have 
 whirled its course ! when, a gloomy 
 night awaits them. ' Then, woe to their 
 crown of pride, whose glorious beauty 
 will be found a fading flower.' O happy 
 you, my friends, and happy they, who, 
 \vd by religion in the paths of light, pro- 
 ceed to certain glory. These, I say, 
 should be the themes of man, in the 
 very vigour of his life ; thence would he 
 go on, ' Shining more, and more unto 
 the perfect day/ when he might exclaim,
 
 133 
 
 1 Arise, O my soul,' arise, and shine, 
 for thy light is come, and the glory *of 
 the Lord is risen upon thee V n 
 
 " Ah, my friend," said Mr. Stan way, 
 " how you have been reproaching my 
 former life ; when, dwelling in lazy ease, 
 I knew not God nor thought upon eter- 
 nity." 
 
 " Be happy that you have grown wise 
 though late," returned Mr. Barclay; 
 " look around you here, consider your- 
 self the father of a happy pair, and ac- 
 knowledge all to be the working of your 
 Maker. Did I not tell you, that all was 
 in his bounty; ' Yea, every good, and 
 every perfect gift is from above, and 
 cometh down from the Father of Light.' 
 Be joyful then, and wait your appointed 
 time; when you will fall, like the full 
 fruit of Autumn, which scattering itself
 
 134 
 
 i*pon the earth, shall again take root, 
 and regenerate in youth, and beauty." 
 
 The surgeons again attended, and 
 found no reason to alter their opinion, 
 the wound was in the fairest stage, and' 
 wanted nothing but the hand of time to 
 effect its cure.
 
 135 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 The Recovery — Retirement from Town — The 
 Country-house — The setting Sun — The Sen- 
 timent repeated — The Comparison — The De- 
 claration — The Marriage-day. 
 
 AT the end of three weeks, Mr. Bar- 
 clay was in perfect health. He forsook 
 his chamber in the day, and mixed in 
 the circle of his friends. During the 
 period of his confinement, the care of 
 Mrs. Mountain had been unremitting ; 
 she administered his medicines, and 
 prepared his diet — in all her actions 
 blending gratitude with charity. The 
 sentiments which he at first conceived 
 of her were now confirmed, and he
 
 136 
 
 found that those sentiments were com- 
 posed of love. 
 
 Mr. Freeman now proposed their re- 
 tiring for a season to his country man- 
 sion. Mr. Barclay willingly acquiesced, 
 nor could Mrs. Mountain resist the im- 
 portunities of Julia to accompany them; 
 and the third day from the proposal 
 they were all at Freeman Hall. 
 
 This venerable domain had sheltered, 
 for two ages, the ancestry of its present 
 possessor. It was situated on the ac- 
 clivity of a hill, whose summit screened 
 it from the boisterous north, while its 
 front commanded a noble prospect to 
 the south, and the orb of day was seen 
 the whole of his diurnal course, when 
 first emerging with the orient morn, till 
 he dropt his golden splendor in the west. 
 Here was a park of moderate size, en- 
 livened by the bounding deer* An or-
 
 137 
 
 chard, producing all the variety of Bri- 
 tish fruit, and an extensive garden, with 
 summer-houses, arcades, open walks, 
 and a fine fountain, branching into va- 
 rious rivulets. It was, indeed, as 
 much a paradise as man, in his fallen 
 state, could hope to enjoy ; and such 
 as, in a Christian's heart, must awaken 
 his desire for those blissful scenes which 
 know no end. 
 
 One evening the company, after en- 
 joying a walk, seated themselves, and 
 in mute attention watched the setting 
 sun : — his lingering rays now faintly 
 touched the hills, till at length they dis- 
 appeared, to carry day to other realms. 
 Mr. Freeman now fixed his eyes on 
 Mr. Barclay, and, while he smiled, re- 
 peated, " So speeds our time ! — Where 
 now is yesterday ? and who can call 
 to-morrow his own?'' He then looked 
 at Mrs. Mountain, and reverting his
 
 \3S 
 
 eyes again upon his friend, continued 
 with peculiar emphasis, in the words 
 of Mr. Barclay; " Love is the Christians 
 essence, and marriage a sacred- bond, 
 ordained by his Creator. When two 
 hearts meet in unison, marriage is the 
 happiest incident of their life; it being, 
 indeed, a concentration of the purest 
 passions of our nature, and which are 
 all comprized in love !"' 
 
 Not a word more passed. They alL 
 arose, and retired to the haLL 
 
 A few days after, while walking hr 
 the garden, Mr. Barclay observed Mrs. 
 Mountain, seated in an arbour, with no 
 other attendant than her son. The 
 child had plucked a red daisy from the 
 border of a parterre. His mother was 
 comparing it to the simple state of youth, 
 and reminding him, that he, like that, 
 would, one day, be plucked by a superior
 
 139 
 
 Being from the humble parterre of life. 
 " But not like that poor flower, my 
 love," said she, " the beauty of that 
 will decay to revive no more, while you 
 will be transplanted- to a happier soil, 
 and bloom for ever!'* 
 
 Mr. Barclay plucked from the same 
 bed, a white daisy, which binding 
 with the red one, he bade the child 
 carry them to Air. Freeman, and re- 
 quest that he would read them. 
 
 " What, read a flower ? w said the 
 artless boy, and smiled. 
 
 " Yes," returned Mr. Barclay, " has 
 not your mother already read a lesson 
 from them ! Now carry them to Mr. 
 Freeman, and bid him read them like- 
 wise." 
 
 The child being gone, Mr. Barclay
 
 140 
 
 advanced to the widow, and seating 
 himself by her, thus addressed her. 
 
 " Madam, the moment is arrived 
 when I must declare I love you. When 
 I first saw you, my heart made its 
 choice, and seemed to say, ' I have 
 found my partner. Time has strength- 
 ened this sentiment, and experience has 
 approved it; I will not, like the idlers 
 of the world, fall down at your feet, 
 worship your beauty, and swear you are 
 a deity. Such affections as these, are 
 as unstable as the flattering breath that 
 utters them; such follies are incompa- 
 tible to the simplicity — to the dignity of 
 truth. There is but one object worthy 
 of the bended knee, and of the adoring 
 heart, to whom be all our homage: — 
 all our praise ! — It is in your power to 
 complete my state of happiness in this 
 life. Shall we then join hands, and pass 
 on in peace; cheering each other to our
 
 141 
 i 
 
 journey's end, until the gates of ever- 
 lasting life shall open, and admit us to 
 the glorious presence of our King?" 
 
 Mrs. Mountain essayed to speak: — 
 she could not, but she presented her 
 hand to Mr. Barclay. 
 
 He kissed it. " Dear Madam, I 
 thank you;" said he; " this is a happy 
 day to me P 
 
 At that moment, Julia appeared in 
 view. " Adieu, adieu," said he, " I 
 leave you with your friend." Saying 
 which, he directed his steps to Mr. Free- 
 man, while Mrs. Mountain, soon joined 
 by Julia, remained behind, and unbo- 
 somed to her all that had passed. 
 
 Mr. Barclay found his friend in com- 
 pany with his father. " I read your 
 daisies through, at a single glance," said
 
 142 
 
 he. " It is a neat and simple preface ; 
 but, the author being here, I would 
 have him proceed with the volume/ 1 
 Mr. Barclay, then seating himself re- 
 lated what had passed. 
 
 " Aye, then," exclaimed Mr. Free- 
 man, with impetuous zeal, and springing 
 to embrace him, " let there be no de- 
 lay, for why should Virtue be the slave 
 of form, and why should happiness be 
 procrastinated ?" 
 
 " I have in my Own mind fixed the 
 time of marriage," replied Mr. Barclay, 
 M It shall be this day week." Mr. Stan- 
 way approved of the amendment; the 
 parties soon joined, and severally anti- 
 cipated the coming time. 
 
 The day, at length, arrived, and the 
 bride appeared in the presence of her 
 future lord. Joy sparkled in his eyes
 
 14* 
 
 as he beheld her ; he saw Beauty attired 
 by Grace, and conducted by Virtue. 
 Soon they stood before the sacred altar, 
 where by its hallowed ceremony, they 
 became one. Mr. Freeman performed 
 the office of father, and presented with 
 triumphant satisfaction, the rich gift to 
 his friend. All was solemnity and re- 
 verence. At the conclusion, they re- 
 turned to Freeman Hall; the clergy- 
 man accompanied them, and at the 
 hospitable mansion, no levity was found 
 to banish from its walls the servant of 
 God. 
 
 The day was closed in joy, and Peace 
 and Harmony seemed there to have 
 taken their abode.
 
 144 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 The little Farm— The School— The Philosopher 
 —The Lectures—The Harp— The Song— The 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 AT the expiration of a month, Mr. 
 Barclay purchased an estate at a short 
 distance from Freeman Hall. It was 
 humble when compared to the latter, 
 yet amply commodious for its new pos- 
 sessors. It consisted of a little com- 
 pact farm, comprising about twenty- 
 five acres of ground, well stocked both 
 with vegetable and animal treasure. 
 The family was now composed of the 
 master mistress, and young Mountain, 
 the faithful James, another man-ser- 
 vant, and two maids ; and every one, 
 6
 
 145 
 
 even to the child, (whose province it 
 was to feed the poultry), took an active 
 share in the labour. The little mansion 
 might be called the temple of Industry, 
 Health, and Charity. 
 
 The friends frequently met, and their 
 society was augmented by the Curate, 
 a man of classical erudition, and, what 
 was more, of genuine piety. A variety 
 of amusements seemed to spring from 
 this country life. The improvement of 
 agriculture occupied a considerable por- 
 tion of their time. They would mix 
 among the farmers of the adjoining 
 village, offering and listening to ad- 
 vice ; and frequently would they seek 
 instruction of the ^ l-practised cot- 
 tager. They soon discovered, that there 
 was no school in the village, and la- 
 mented the neglected state of its juve- 
 nile inhabitants. A plan was instantly 
 formed, and a school-room projected 
 
 H
 
 146 
 
 in their minds. Till this, however, 
 could be completed, Mr. Freeman 
 would devote a spacious room, in 
 his own house, to the purpose. The 
 Curate was appointed the master, while 
 the rest resolved to divide the necessary 
 expences. The scheme was immedi- 
 ately put in execution, and, for about 
 six hours each day, in the hall, was 
 heard the voice of instruction and the 
 progress of knowledge. That the la- 
 bour might not lie too heavily on the 
 Curate, although he remained the prin- 
 cipal teacher, Messrs. Stanway, Free- 
 man, and Barclay, alternately devoted 
 the dav to this service. Some other 
 gentry in the neighbourhood, hearing 
 of the laudable undertaking, and, 
 ashamed to remain mere spectators of 
 it, proffered their assistance, and re- 
 quested permission to share in the ex- 
 pence. This was freely accepted, and, 
 in a short time, a school-room was
 
 147 
 
 erected adjoining the Curate's dwel- 
 ling. 
 
 Mr. Stanway had, at the solicitation 
 of his children, consented to spend 
 the remainder of his days with them. 
 He was a man of science ; well skilled 
 in the theory of the earth, in astrono- 
 my, and the various branches of natural 
 philosophy. He had sent for his 
 globes, with all the apparatus of ex- 
 tensive learning, and commenced and 
 went through a variety of lectures- 
 His friends attended with delight, while 
 pleasure and instruction descended 
 from his tongue. Air. Stanway deli- 
 vered and explained with such perspi- 
 cuity and ease, that his friends, from 
 their desire of dispersing knowledge, 
 requested he would indulge the neigh- 
 bours with liis lectures. To this he as- 
 sented ; when it was agreed, that one 
 night in the week should be devoted to 
 h2
 
 148 
 
 this purpose, till the whole course was 
 finished ; and that the hall, a spacious 
 dome, should be prepared for the oc- 
 casion. Accordingly, all the neigh- 
 bours were invited, both rich and poor, 
 and even such of the children as could, 
 in the least degree, comprehend the 
 subjects. 
 
 Mr. Stanway now commenced his 
 public lectures. With surprise his au- 
 dience listened to hear what caused 
 the day and night, the change of sea- 
 sons, the fluctuation of the tides, and 
 all the common incidents of nature, to 
 them unknown till now. They admired 
 to hear of the long days and nights of 
 the poles, and expressed their delight 
 at the antipodes. The wonders of the 
 telescope now engaged the eager sight, 
 and worlds beyond worlds, systems 
 beyond systems, still opened to their 
 view ; and they seemed to feel, how
 
 149 
 
 poor a worm was man in all his pride. 
 The astonishing properties of the mi- 
 croscope were next displayed, and na- 
 ture was sought at both extremes; but 
 sought in vain ! unbounded to the 
 search of mortals ! Here the practised 
 farmer might perceive the curious pro- 
 gress of vegetable life; how the porous 
 plant received its sustenance, and dis- 
 persed its juice through numerously 
 branching veins. And here too were 
 seen myriads of little animals, full of 
 activity and vigour. A drop of Water, 
 scarcely perceptible, was an ample sea 
 to its minute inhabitants, who were 
 seen labouring, w r ith repeated motions, 
 to reach their distant shore. The vast 
 Atlantic to the sporting dolphin seemed 
 not more lar^e, than did this little 
 aquatic world to them — this world, that 
 a poor fly could sweep, with all its 
 tribes, to nothing ! Astonishing to re- 
 late, that animals should be found so 
 h3
 
 150 
 
 minute in bulk, that to them a common 
 insect is, when compared, what the 
 huge elephant is to that! But in those, 
 who understand that nature is, at least 
 to human perception, unlimited, these 
 wonders will not excite a doubt. 
 
 Mr. Stanway continued his lectures, 
 exciting both wonder and delight; but 
 amid all the admiration of his humble 
 auditors, at his learning, he was careful 
 to teach them the greater importance 
 and virtue of labour and industry. 
 u They, my friends," said he, " are the 
 base of all these things ; without them, 
 genius would be useless, and learning 
 
 One evening Mr. Barclay, on his re- 
 turn from the Curates, with whom he 
 had spent the latter part of the day, in 
 conversation, to them, the most desirable 
 of all others, was aroused at reaching
 
 151 
 
 his own house, by the sound of music 
 that seemed to surpass the efforts of 
 mortality. On his way home, his soul 
 was full of heaven, and when first he 
 heard the strains he stopped, and invo- 
 luntarily raised his eyes toward the sky, 
 expecting to behold a messenger of 
 light attuning his heaven-strung harp. 
 He saw, indeed, the harmony of the 
 spheres, but the enchanting sound evi- 
 dently proceeded from his own house. 
 Still he listened till he identified the 
 tones to be those of a pedal harp ; but 
 so bold were the touches on its strings, 
 and yet so exquisitely. tasteful, that he 
 doubted whether a woman could have 
 attained such perfection on it. It seem- 
 ed, indeed, the hand of a master ! He 
 remained till the charm had ceased, 
 when he entered the house, and pro- 
 ceeded to the parlour. There he be- 
 held the harper, before the noble instru- 
 ment, just preparing to re-touch its 
 h 4
 
 strings, and the harper was his wife. 
 Another source of joy was opened to 
 him, and he found new cause for hap- 
 piness. His eyes were full of enquiry, 
 when Mrs. Barclay,without further ques- 
 tioning, said: " My harp no longer 
 hangs upon the willow; for I have 
 ceased to weep 1 I have received this 
 from London ; I had written for it, and 
 it fully answers my desires. For some 
 years past, I have neglected it; but 
 hope soon to gain, at least my former 
 merit. It will be infinite pleasure for 
 me, to gratify your ears with my hum- 
 ble sounds, when the music of wisdom 
 has delighted your soul." 
 
 " Excellent woman !" said he, " every 
 day is improved by you. But you must 
 charm our friends, as well as me, and 
 to-morrow, Freeman Hall shall echo to 
 your strains !"
 
 153 
 
 Mr. Barclay, anxious that his friend 
 should participate in his pleasure, had, 
 as he proposed, the harp carried to Mr. 
 Freeman's, where the company were no 
 less delighted, than they were surprized, 
 to find such exquisite execution in a per- 
 son who, from her unassuming manner, 
 appeared quite ignorant of the science. 
 " And now, my fair friend," exclaim- 
 ed Mr. Stanway, rising from his seat, 
 and taking the hand of the minstrel, 
 " a good thought has struck me. — You 
 shall play a concerto in public, each 
 night of my lectures, and thus, by shar- 
 ing the labours of an old man, you will 
 stand pre-eminent in chanty, as well as 
 in music." This proposition was stron- 
 ly approved of by the rest, and as zeal- 
 ously urged, while the interesting min- 
 strel expressed a willing consent. At 
 the next lecture she therefore commenc- 
 ed, and sung to her harp the follow- 
 ing;— 
 
 n5
 
 154 
 SONG. 
 
 What is thy end, O man ! on earth ?— 
 
 Arise, O man, and say : 
 What is the object of thy birth ? 
 
 And what thy present day ? 
 
 'Tis not with things of sense to dwell, 
 Nor here with Time to stay : 
 
 'Tis not thy treasure hoards to swell, 
 For, these shall all decay. 
 
 Soon shall their ev'ry charm be o'er,— 
 From thee, for ever fled, 
 
 And thou to them be known no more j 
 But, number'd with the dead ! 
 
 Awake thee then ! — Awake and hear, 
 (Most worth thy care to know,) 
 
 Awake \ and bid thy listening ear 
 Attend thy task below. 
 
 Thou must prepare for worlds to come, 
 Where Virtue dwells with Peace; 
 
 Thou must prepare to seek a home, 
 Amid the climes of bliss I 
 
 To walk, in triumph crown'd, above, 
 
 Where never evil trode ; 
 To reign enthroned in endless love, 
 
 And be a Son or God! 
 
 y
 
 155 
 
 Rise then from death ! — Arise, and sing ? ■ ■ 
 
 And be thy theme divine ; 
 Arise, and stretch thy mounting wing, 
 
 Eternity is thine ! 
 
 Far from these time-doom'd worlds that roll, 
 Where grov'lling worms would stay ; 
 
 Go, led by Truth, and Gracf, O soul! 
 And mount the Realms of Day ! 
 
 Where ever rests unclouded light, 
 
 Where pleasures flow around, 
 Where perfect beauty hails the sight 
 
 And Wisdom's Self is found ! 
 
 There shalt thou hear the Seraphs swell 
 Their golden harps, and high ; 
 
 There shalt thou list, while Angels tell 
 Of joys that never die ! 
 
 Glory and honour wait thee there, 
 If Faith but teach the road ; 
 
 Glory and honour, thou shalt share, 
 Before the throne of God ! 
 
 This is thy end, O man ! on earth ; 
 
 Let not the world deceive, 
 
 This is the object of thy birth ; 
 
 Believe, O man ! and live ! 
 h 6
 
 156 
 
 Such were the amusements of this 
 amicable society, and such their efforts 
 to transfuse their happiness to all around 
 them. They might truly be said to 
 love their neighbours as themselves. 
 Like another Goshen was this little vil- 
 lage; the tempest might roar, and dis- 
 cord reign abroad ; but here the sun of 
 Peace rested his beams, and lightened 
 every heart. 
 
 Month after month, passed on in this 
 manner, till, within the year, Julia was 
 delivered of a daughter, when, for a 
 time, the evening parties were suspend- 
 ed, and Freeman Hall was left to re- 
 pose. 
 
 It was nearly a month before Mr. 
 Barclay entered the presence of Julia; 
 though his lady, with the solicitude of 
 female friendship, had seen her daily. 
 He found her in the parlour, perform-
 
 157 
 
 ing the tenderest duty of maternal af- 
 fection — suckling her own child ! 
 
 " Happy mother!" exclaimed he, 
 gazing on her with admiration ; " thine 
 be the love of thy grateful child, and 
 the reward of heaven ! Thou mayest 
 look on thy smiling innocent, and say, 
 with truth: ' My child, it is thy mother 
 who thus feeds thee ! — It is thy mother 
 who thus loves thee, and who hopes to 
 find a sweet return for her unceasing 
 care! — For she who brings a child into 
 the world, and then abandons it to a 
 hireling, is but half a mother! — she 
 alone is the accomplished, and complete 
 one who cherishes from her breast its 
 infant days, and administers to all its 
 wants. But O ye abandoned crew ! — 
 ye lost to true charity! — ye apostates 
 to nature ! who refuse this kindlv ser- 
 vice, and cast the struggling infant from 
 its tender embrace, what hopes can you
 
 15H 
 
 expect of future joy? — what duty, from 
 a child, can you expect to whom you 1 
 have denied the offices of a parent? 
 Look around the whole course of ani- 
 mal creation, and point out one so base, 
 so faithless as yourselves? O, for a 
 voice to reach the callous ear, and 
 njelt the obdurate heart of every shame- 
 less mother. Ye wives of humbler life 
 what palliation can you bring for the 
 deserting your own offspring ; of con- 
 signing it to a lower hireling than your- 
 self; of depriving it of the food you have 
 received in trust for it, and of pressing 
 to your unnatural breast, in its place, the 
 child of Luxury ? Let the feelings of a 
 mother awaken you, when you press the 
 stranger to that breast, and remind you 
 of your own deserted charge, pining, 
 perhaps, in the presence of a pitiless 
 nurse, and in piercing, yet unheeded 
 accents, demanding its right ! See its 
 declining health; its wasting limbs; 
 3
 
 159 
 
 perhaps, it dies ! — dies the victim of a 
 remorseless parent ! O, let the wolf no 
 more be called a savage ! — Madam ! a 
 woman never appears with greater dig- 
 nity, than when fulfilling the office of a 
 mother. And remember, that when 
 God bestowed that child upon thee, he 
 committed to thy charge, a soul that 
 must live for ever ! An immortal soul, 
 contained in a mortal body ! In thy care 
 for the external case, think on the rich 
 gem which it contains P
 
 160 
 
 CHAP. XII 
 
 The friendly controversy — Premature exultation 
 — The Stranger — General amaze — Frenetic 
 revenge — The discovery — The peaceful inten- 
 tion — The challenge. 
 
 1 HE harmony of the society was still 
 unbroken ; and one evening, at Free- 
 man Hall, when Mr. and Mrs. Barclay 
 were the only visitants, the company 
 were congratulating themselves on their 
 uninterrupted state of earthly felicity. 
 Julia, in particular, exulted. — " You 
 told me once," said she, addressing her- 
 self to Mr. Barclay, " that perfect hap- 
 piness was not the lot of mortality. — 
 This, you see, is but an hypothesis which 
 5
 
 16*1 
 
 you must now deny; for look around 
 you: — behold plenty administering to 
 health, and both endeared by friend- 
 ship!" 
 
 " Well, Madam," said Mr. Barclay, 
 u you possess friends, health, and plen- 
 ty ! — but for how long will you insure 
 them ? Each of these is unstable, and 
 if one should desert you, where is then 
 your happiness ? — Let one of them de- 
 part, and Sorrow will make up the num- 
 ber." 
 
 " There now," replied Julia, " the 
 very idea of that disturbs me !*' The 
 company smiled at her involuntary con- 
 fession of imperfect felicity. " I much 
 object to this," continued she; M a pro- 
 pensity to check the happiness we find 
 in our present enjoyments, is a kind of 
 fastidious, aye, an ungrateful virtue."
 
 1 6% 
 
 11 Not so, dear friend,'' returned Mr. 
 Barclay, " I would have you always 
 happy ; and, therefore, would I restrain 
 that delight which fixes itself on perish- 
 able objects ; that we may become, in a 
 degree, independent of them, and rest 
 it upon those that will never deceive 
 us." 
 
 " I am happy now !" exclaimed Julia 
 glancing at her husband, and then kiss- 
 ing her infant, " I am perfectly happy 
 now !" 
 
 The door instantly opened, and a 
 stranger entered tiie room. Mrs. Bar- 
 clay shrieked, and fell lifeless into her 
 husband's arms. " Eternal heaven V 
 exclaimed Mr. Freeman, starting from 
 his seat unnerved by horror. " What 
 art thou — the spirit of Mountain? 1 ' 
 The stranger immediately turned round*
 
 16 3 
 
 and retired in silence. " What can 
 this mean ?" said Mr. Stanway. " My 
 husband ! speak to me !" said Mrs. Free- 
 man. Mr. Barclay still supported his 
 beloved wife, and as she revived ; " alas, 
 Julia F! said he, where is now thy per- 
 fect happiness ! " My husband ! my 
 husband 1" repeated Mrs. Barclay, 
 M could it be my husband I' 
 
 " What ! who else could it be Ma- 
 dam !" exclaimed Mr. Freeman. w O ! 
 
 what has unmanned me thus ? — Why did 
 I not follow him? — him!- — impossible ! 
 — it could not be ! — I saw him dead ! 
 • — Yet what — who then could it be ?" 
 
 Mr. Stanway rung the bell, and call- 
 ed up all the servants ; he inquired con- 
 cerning the stranger, but none of them 
 had seen him. 
 
 (i I will follow faiia!" said Mr. Bar-
 
 164 
 
 da}', and rushed out of the room. Mr. 
 Freeman was instantly hastening after 
 his friend ; but the screams of Julia de- 
 tained him, and Mr. Stan way remained 
 to console, if possible, the distress of 
 Mrs. Barclay, whose mind was agitated 
 with contending doubts. 
 
 Mr. Barclay pursued his course down 
 the hill, and across the plain at its base ; 
 while the moon, faintly glimmering 
 through the clouds, afforded just suffi- 
 cient light to discern any object on the 
 path. His mind, also, was filled with care. 
 A mystery enveloped him, which he could 
 not divine, and which he trembled to see 
 revealed. By turns he condemned him- 
 self of premature conduct, in marrying, 
 and censured the seeming inadvertency 
 of his wife. Before he had paced half 
 a mile, he discovered the figure of a 
 man, which stopped as he approached. 
 He quickened his steps, and found it
 
 16*. 
 
 was the stranger. " Stop," exclaimed 
 he, 4t and explain to me a mystery, which 
 has so disconcerted .us." 
 
 " Art thou the villain Freeman?" de- 
 manded the other, in an imperious tone. 
 
 " Villain does not belong to that 
 name," said Mr. Barclay; " but what if 
 my name be Freeman ?" 
 
 " Yes, thou art doubtless he," re- 
 turned the stranger, drawing forth two 
 brace of pistols, and presenting them to 
 Mr. Barclay. " Take thy choice," con- 
 tinued he, while Mr. Barclay instinc- 
 tively obeyed. " These weapons are of 
 the same size, and equally prepared ; 
 thou art, doubtless, an excellent marks- 
 man, and the season is as fair for thee as 
 me. I will have no parleying — my ho- 
 nour cannot waste itself in words — this 
 is the hour of retribution, and one of us
 
 m 
 
 shall die !" He then retired a few paces. 
 — " And now," said he, " be bold; let 
 justice preside; or, if villanymust reign, 
 why, then let my fall add another tri- 
 umph to its empire !" 
 
 " Stop!" said Mr. Barclay, " and 
 learn, that revenge is blind ! w 
 
 u Villain P exclaimed the other, and 
 discharged his weapon at him. 
 
 Mr. Barclay felt that the ball had 
 grazed his right shoulder. " Rash man !" 
 said he, " you have wounded me \ n 
 
 M Well," returned the other, " you 
 stabbed my brother!" 
 
 M I never saw your brother !" 
 
 " Your name is Freeman ?"
 
 \67 
 
 " No, my name is Barclay." 
 
 " Stranger!" said he, approaching 
 Mr. Barclay, and seizing his hand, 
 " pardon me!" 
 
 " The injury is trivial," said Air. Bar- 
 clay, " and unworthy of concern." 
 
 " I rejoice at that;" resumed the 
 other; " I was too impetuous. Cau- 
 tion shall guide my revenge in future ; 
 and shall lead me to its devoted object 
 — My name is Mountain. — I had once 
 a kind, and generous brother, whose 
 person so nearly resembled mine, that, 
 apart, no person, even our relatives, 
 could not distinguish us. Of this bro- 
 ther, after having attempted the virtue 
 of his wife, has the villain Freeman de- 
 prived me. Wonder not then, that my 
 sudden appearance, and strong similitude 
 should fill him with remorse. Unobserved
 
 168 
 
 did I enter his house to seek immediate 
 vengeance; for my breast has almost 
 burst with it; but the terrors of the fe- 
 males checked me. Still, however, he 
 shall meet me ; a brother's death de- 
 mands a brother's revenge, and it shall 
 fall upon his guilty head. I pray you 
 pardon me, I would not have injured 
 you for the world." 
 
 " Alas," said Mr. Barclay, " will you 
 punish a crime, by committing one still 
 more heinous ? I reverence your frater- 
 nal love, as much as I abhor your spirit 
 of revenge. But the unhappy fate of 
 your brother, was the effect of his own 
 temerity; he forced Mr. Freeman to 
 the fight, and fell the victim of his own 
 vindictive nature. You cannot benefit 
 him now. — He is in the awful regions of 
 eternity; of which you or I just now 
 had nearly been a subject. Think of 
 this, and do not rush offending on its
 
 169 
 
 God. Is revenge worth the anger of 
 eternity's God? O do not lift thy arm 
 against Omnipotence, lest he crush thee 
 into ruins." 
 
 " The death of my brother must be 
 atoned. — The death of his murderer 
 can alone atone it ! Away ! — revenge 
 is virtue when directed by justice !" 
 Saying thus, he hurried from the spot ; 
 leaving Mr. Barclay to regret, that man 
 was more the slave of passion, than the 
 wildest beast. 
 
 The wound he had received was very- 
 slight, but to stop its bleeding, and to 
 prevent alarming his friends, he stripped 
 off his coat, and wrapping his handker- 
 chief round his arm, re-dressed himself, 
 and hastened back to the hall. About 
 halfway on his return, he met Mr. Free- 
 man ; " I rejoice to see you, my friend," 
 said the latter, " my servants are scare h- 
 i
 
 170 
 
 ing for you in all directions. — Say, have 
 you divined this mystery?" 
 
 " The stranger," returned Mr. Bar- 
 clay, " is the brother of Mr. Mountain, 
 whose death he is come to revenge." He 
 then related what had passed, and Mr. 
 Freeman had again to rejoice at the es- 
 cape of his friend. They now consulted 
 upon the means whereby to appease his 
 revenge, and at last agreed, that Mr. 
 Freeman should write a simple state- 
 ment of the fatal event, with what had 
 followed, and, acknowledging contrition 
 for his rashness, ingenuously entreat his 
 pardon. " This will be jus.t," sajd Mr. 
 Freeman, -t for the evil originated with 
 me." Mr. Barclay was to seek his. re- 
 sidence, take the letter, and enforce it.s 
 object with all the power he possessed. 
 They next considered the necessity of 
 concealing from their families, the true 
 motive of Mr. Mountain's arrival, when
 
 171 
 
 having framed such answers as would 
 prevent alarm, they proceeded to the 
 hall. At the gate they found their an- 
 xious wives with Mr. Stanway, enquir- 
 ing with eagerness for them of the ser- 
 vants, when their desired appearance at 
 once hushed their questions, and their 
 fears. The family now all retired within 
 doors, and the company were no sooner 
 re-seated in the parlour, than Mr. Bar- 
 clay explained who the stranger was, 
 concealing the violence of his conduct, 
 and concluded by a hope, that all would 
 be well: " and you, Julia," said he, 
 " may again be happy." — Mrs. Barclay, 
 before the return of her husband, had 
 anticipated who the stranger was. She 
 had heard of his wonderful unifonmty 
 of features, and person to his brother; 
 but having never seen him, did not con- 
 clude they were so exact. 
 
 Next morning, i the purposed letter 
 i 2
 
 172; 
 
 was written, and Mr. Barclay, mounting 
 his horse, went forth in the exalted cha- 
 racter of a peace-maker. He proceed- 
 ed in a direct road to the nearest town ; 
 but no stranger was there. At the se- 
 cond, he heard of the object of his in- 
 quiry, and learned that, he had, at an 
 early hour taken post-chaise, with the 
 promise of returning in the evening, or 
 on the following day. Of this the land- 
 lord had no doubt, he having left in 
 his care a large portmanteau ; Mr. Bar- 
 clay then gave the letter, charging, that 
 it should be given to no one but Mr. 
 Mountain, and requesting, also, that he 
 might be sent for on the moment of his 
 return. The business being thus far 
 adjusted, he rode back to his friend 
 whom he found painting a landscape in 
 his study ; this he did as an excuse from 
 joining his family, in order to prevent 
 any possible means of alarm by the ar- 
 rival of a messenger. The evening
 
 173 
 
 came; but with no tidings of Mr, 
 Mountain, Mr. Barclay waited in im- 
 patient expectation with his friend, and 
 left him not till the sun had again re- 
 signed the land to darkness. He had 
 not, however, been gone an hour, when 
 a person brought the following letter, 
 addressed to Mr. Freeman ; he opened 
 it, and found inclosed, w ? ith the seal 
 unbroken, the one he had written to 
 Mr. Mountain. He then read as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " Ere this, you have doubtless, learned the 
 intention of my visit, which a tenderness for the 
 feelings of the females prevented me from ex- 
 plaining. But now, let me remind you, that the 
 death of my brother is yet unrevenged ; at the 
 time of its perpetration, I was in the East Indies, 
 but even there I heard of it ; on your side all was 
 villany;— on his all honour:— on mine shall be 
 all justice. — I know you to be brave, the only 
 \2rtue, you perhaps, possess.— Meet me then, to- 
 i 3
 
 174 
 
 morrow morning by five, on the North side of the 
 hill, on which your house stands. With regard to 
 a second, do as you shall judge proper;. I have 
 no friend at hand, and if 1 had 1 have no wish to 
 embroil him in my quarrel, or to endanger his 
 safety. Pistols are a noisy tell-tale weapon, and 
 might attract obtruders : the sword would do 
 better ; but in this, suit yourself. I shall bring 
 both. The letter which your friend left for me, 
 I return ; you can say nothing that can extenuate 
 yourself, or change my resolves. 
 "I am, Sir, 
 
 " Your determined, 
 
 " Wm. MOUNTAIN/' 
 
 Mr. Freeman burned the letter, and 
 wrote the following answer. 
 
 " Sir, 
 u I will meet you at the appointed time, and 
 jplace. 
 
 " Your's 
 
 " Not less determined, 
 " H. FREEMAN." 
 
 Having given this into the hands of
 
 175 
 
 the bearer, he now joined the company 
 of Julia and her father, and on retiring 
 to rest, he observed to the former, that 
 he should, on the morrow, take an early 
 walk. 
 
 ?4
 
 176 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 The Meeting— Contumacy of Revenge—The As- 
 sault—The disarm — Triumph of Charity — An 
 Enemy's Applause— The Future Hope— Har- 
 mony Restored— The best Wish. 
 
 IN the morning Mr. Freeman arose, 
 and, armed with his sword, proceeded 
 to the spot, which he reached a few 
 minutes before the time. He looked 
 around, and saw his foe advancing; on 
 his nearer approach, his heart sunk with- 
 in him, and he seemed to stand before 
 the spirit of the man he had slain. 
 
 " I thank you for this," said Moun- 
 tain, " you now see the brother of the 
 man you have murdered !''
 
 Ill 
 
 Mr. Freeman's heart sunk deeper at 
 the charge, while he gazed on him in 
 silence. 
 
 " Villain l p resumed the other, " I 
 have no better word to give you ; — draw, 
 and satisfy the justice that demands 
 blood for blood; or let me complete 
 my duty in my death !" 
 
 " Death!" responded Mr. Freeman, 
 V does not his presence appal you ? — Is 
 death so nigh? — Know you not, that 
 behind him stands the regions of eter- 
 nity! — Everlasting day, and everlasting 
 night comprehends those regions, and 
 ■ a great snalf divides!' — Would men 
 but think of these, there would be no 
 duellists." 
 
 " Coward !" exclaimed the revenge- 
 ful Mountain, " What thoughts possess- 
 ed you when you attempted to seduce
 
 17S 
 
 my sister, and when you pierced the 
 heart of her husband? I will not be 
 mocked by your religious cant* — You 
 are a soldier ! — let the name of coward 
 rouze you, or, I will hunt you through 
 the world ! — In vain shall you fly from 
 that ignominious title! — No distance 
 shall impede, no time shall efface my 
 hatred and revenge ! — Defend your- 
 self!" 
 
 " I will not fight you !" said Mr, 
 Freeman. 
 
 " You will not? — Look you, I have 
 come far for this. — I will not return 
 unsatisfied ! Prepare then to expiate 
 your crime by submitting to honour. " 
 Saying thus, he instantly drew his sword, 
 and Mr. Freeman, unconscious of the 
 act, unsheathed his likewise. — " Now, 
 for justice, or for death P exulted Moun- 
 tain*
 
 179 
 
 " Stop !*' gxclaimed Mr. Freeman, 
 " what am I about? — I swear by the 
 duty that I owe my God ! I will not 
 light ! Hear me but speak ! — All men 
 are subject to error. — I offended, and I 
 have atoned by every means in my 
 power. — Your sister is happy! — her 
 child secure from ill ! — Your brother — " 
 
 " My brother's blood cries venge- 
 ance !" exclaimed Mountain, and rush- 
 ed impetuously on the object of his re- 
 venge. 
 
 To be passive now would have been 
 a vice, Mr. Freeman retired a few 
 paces, gained a firm position, and stood 
 solely on the defensive. Ineffectual was 
 the violence of Mountain. He seemed 
 to exhaust himself in vain, till, at length, 
 his sword was struck into the air, and 
 spun to some distance behind him. He 
 sprung to it, and seizing it, again re-
 
 180 
 
 newed the assault with renovated fury, 
 while revenge, unsatiated, glared from 
 his eye. Thrust, after thrust was par- 
 ried off, till at last, collecting all his 
 hopes and force, he darted out a full 
 lunge, when Mr. Freeman caught his 
 arm ere he could recover, disarmed 
 him by the hand, and both the weapons 
 remained in the possession of the con- 
 queror. " Rejoice ! rejoice O generous 
 brother ! yet, misguided man !" exclaim- 
 ed Mr. freeman, " The disposer of life 
 has spared you ; he has reserved you for 
 a happier state, than that which awaits 
 the ensanguined soul of an expiring 
 duellist." 
 
 " Indeed, you are no coward," said 
 Mountain. " Perhaps I have trans- 
 gressed the law of Honour, by returning 
 to the charge after being disarmed ; par- 
 don me that. — My intentions are frus- 
 trated. Twice has my life been in your
 
 181 
 
 power, and twice have you withheld 
 your advantage. To think of further 
 revenge, would indicate a savage na- 
 ture; and lam no savage. You have 
 behaved nobly here : — a pattern, indeed, 
 of Honour. I wish I could regard you 
 as a friend ; — but never can I press the 
 hand; in amity that slew my brother. — 
 Keep that sword as a memento of your 
 gallantry. — I will praise it wherever I 
 go. — If ever we should meet again, we 
 shall be strangers. — Farewel." 
 
 " And farewel too ! — my best wishes 
 attend you through life. — I should re- 
 joice to be your friend. — Indulge me, 
 however, in one favour. — Accept this 
 letter which, before, you refused to 
 open ; and when you are at a distance 
 from me, read it. It is the simple truth, 
 and though we be strangers here, I shall 
 hope to dwell with you hereafter, in 
 perfect brotherhood."
 
 182 
 
 " I will read it," replied Mr. Moun- 
 tain, " and, once more, farewel 12 He 
 then hastened whence he came, while 
 Mr. Freeman returned to his home. 
 
 In the evening, the friends met, when 
 he related the whole of the incident 
 Each rejoiced that the danger had pass- 
 ed, and his fair partner, while she em- 
 braced him, laughed and cried alter- 
 nately. 
 
 " Ah, Julia!" said Mr. Barclay, 
 what an emblem art thou now of 
 
 human life.— -Laughter and tears divide 
 
 thee!" 
 
 Again the Hall resumed its harmony. 
 — The Philosopher renewed his lectures.' 
 — The minstrel, once more, attuned her 
 harp, and, while she sung of life beyond 
 the grave, her hearers, as they listened
 
 183 
 
 ;o her strains, wished for that day, when 
 3very evil would cease, and when per- 
 fect joy would begin. 
 
 miNTED BY JAMES CV^'EF^ 
 
 Paternoster- Row 

 
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