He took my hand, and looking me earnestly in the face, ‘Do you really think,’ said he, ‘that I have made up my mind (if such should be my sentence) to consign myself to the hands of the common executioner?—If you think so, you do not know me; they may condemn me, but they shall never make a gazing-stock of me. I have struggled with nature, reason, and religion, until my brain is nearly turned. I have only one alternative, and that I shall embrace.’ We were here interrupted by the turnkey locking up the cells; but I needed no farther explanation of his determination. I could not see him next day; but I determined to write to him, and sat down when I got home for that purpose; but what could I say? When I imagined myself in his situation for the purpose of trying the question, I was obliged to own that I would have been in danger of forming the same resolution;—still, however, I endeavoured by every argument I was master of, to sway him from his purpose; but when I gave the letter next morning to a comrade, for the purpose of conveying it to him, I felt it was of no use. The second day after, when I got off guard, I hastened to the court-house; his trial had commenced,—the house was crowded, and the greater number of the officers of the regiment were present. The evidence adduced proved clearly that he had fired the shot; but no malice or forethought of the crime was established: so far from that, the prisoner and the deceased had been on the best terms. Several officers came forward and gave him an excellent character—the Jury retired, and during the interval, I am certain there were many there who felt the dreadful suspense nearly as much as the prisoner—they again appeared, and gave in a verdict of manslaughter—a weight was relieved from my heart,—he was sentenced to nine months’ imprisonment. Will it be believed, that on my next seeing him he seemed to feel disappointed? Such is the strange inconsistency and vanity of human nature, that after working his mind up to the pitch necessary to take away his own life, and throwing a colouring round the deed that had strongly excited his imagination, he felt a kind of regret that the sacrifice was not now necessary. It is needless to enter more at large into his story: he survived his imprisonment, but he could not endure the stigma which was attached to his character. In an evil moment he deserted—was afterwards apprehended and drafted to a corps stationed in the Grecian Islands, where he soon after died, leaving an example of the awful consequences which may proceed from one unguarded burst of passion. Few men in the regiment had better prospects—a common mind might have regained in a great measure its equilibrium; but how often is it the case, that when a mind of sensibility and genius errs, ‘it falls, like Lucifer, never to rise again.’ CHAPTER X. DETACHMENT.