could bring me to. On the other, that awful tyrant, the world, now, as it were, put forth his hand and claimed me for his own. To lose my character for courage, and be branded as a coward, was what I could not anyways endure. I went with my father in the carriage to sleep at Loughborough; and when, at the inn, I retired from him to my bedroom, the tumult of my mind was at its height. I had all but determined to set off and go that very night to the place assigned me by this gentleman, who by one disdainful expression had now mysteriously become, as it appeared, the master of my doom; and, renewing the quarrel, take my chance of the consequence. But again, I saw this would {26} not save my honour, if it were already compromised. It was clear that a change of mind like that would hardly satisfy the world, which does not forgive a breach of its awful laws on such easy terms. I finally slept off my trouble for the present; but my soul remained oppressed with a new load, which almost made me weary of my life. I remained convinced that I had not reached the standard of courage in this affair; and I felt, therefore, that it depended on the good-nature of this gentleman whether my character should be exposed or not. He did not reply to my letter of explanation. Was he satisfied or not? During my first term at Cambridge he was expected there, and I was even invited to meet him at a wine party, as one who was known to be one of his neighbours and friends. I dared not show any reluctance to meet him, lest the whole story should be known at Cambridge; and if I did meet him, was he again to treat me with disdain? If he did, how should I avoid a duel? I knew that having anything to do with a duel was expulsion by the laws of the University; but if I, coward as I was, had not yet made up my mind, as I had, that I must run the chance of his shot, if he chose still to resent the affront, no wonder, if the spoiling of my prospects in life, by expulsion from Cambridge, was not much regarded. The present distress was evaded by his not coming, as was expected. After this I desired one person who knew him as a friend, and to whom alone I had explained my case, to write and ask whether my apology had appeared to him sufficient. The answer to this was an assurance that the thing had been no more thought of; but it was two years before I met him in person, and by his courteous manner was finally satisfied that all was right between us. I might think it impossible that the great question could be overlooked by men, what is to become of them in eternity, if I had not had the experience of my own feelings in such an occasion as this. In that memorable evening at Loughborough, I did not indeed altogether overlook the moral question--Is a duel wrong? I had made the most of what I had heard said in palliation of it by some moralists; I could not find any ground, however, to think it