About a month previous to the sad catastrophe from which Dunbar was suffering, he received an anonymous letter, charging upon his wife improprieties of conduct, and naming the individual with whom she was said to be too familiar. Long before this, all vestiges of regard for his wife, if there had ever been any in his mind, were extinguished. And it was the same with her. They had ceased to treat each other with anything more than the coldest politeness. Notwithstanding this, Dunbar was all on fire at the intelligence of his wife's infidelity. He did not go immediately to the man who was accused of doing him a deep injury, but waited until he was satisfied, by personal observation, that the accusation was just. The mode of retaliation then sought, was to go to the office of this individual with a pistol and a cowhide, and under the muzzle of a loaded pistol to cowhide him as long as he had strength to lift his hand. This was his intention, but he failed in carrying it out. On entering the office of the man who had injured him, he locked the door, and throwing the key from the window, drew his pistol and his cowhide, and with a bitter oath struck the betrayer of his wife a severe blow. But he had miscalculated his opponent when he supposed that he would tamely submit to blows even under the muzzle of a pistol. He happened to be himself armed, and instantly drew a pistol. Both fired at the same instant. The ball of Dunbar did not take effect; but he received that of his adversary in his left armpit. Still furious, he struck three or four blows with his cowhide, when he fell from two stabs with a dirk knife in the right side. When those who had been alarmed by the noise of the affray burst open the door, Dunbar was lying on the floor weltering in his blood. The other had escaped from the window and fled. On removing the wounded man to his rooms at the hotel where he boarded, his wife was nowhere to be found. When this was mentioned to him, he cursed her through his clenched teeth, and asked to be immediately removed to Philadelphia to the house of his father, which was done. Some time before this, he had fallen in with a company of gentlemen gamblers, and been stripped of every dollar he was worth. As a lawyer, he had sunk into a mere pettifogger, and his practice was chiefly confined to magistrate's and prison cases. "Fallen! hopelessly fallen!" said Doctor Hudson, as he rode thoughtfully homeward. When he next saw his patient, the change that had taken place told him but too plainly the sad truth that life was rapidly waning. Science and skill were of no avail in his hands. He could not hold back the grim monster when he came with his fatal message.