There was a custom, which yet, I believe, exists in the southwestern new settlements, for a man to claim the exclusive privilege of hunting on a certain extent of ground, in the vicinity of his habitation. This right is as much insisted on, in certain parts of those states which I have visited, as are the game laws in England; and every one, every stranger-hunter, observes it, and recognizes the right by quitting the grounds, so soon as informed that an individual holds reasonable claim to them. This Ralle had, in open defiance of this knowledge, and against the reiterated, yet polite admonitions of Glenning, trespassed on his lands; and once shot a tame doe, which Glenning had kept for two or three years, the care of which had devolved on, and was a source of amusement to Isabel—and on that account it seemed a double injury. Glenning, as cool a man as ever laid claim to the qualities of honor and honesty, at this, rode down to the plantation of Ralle, and mildly, yet earnestly, expostulated with him, on what was esteemed a breach of faith—careful at the same time to express his belief, that the shooting of his tame animal was undesigned, yet requesting, for fear of a similar occurrence, that he would hunt elsewhere in future, which thing he could do without incommoding himself. To this mildness in Glenning, Ralle opposed the remark—‘That he would do as he pleased—that the woods were free, and that he should hunt towards the north or south, without asking leave of Yankee interlopers.’ This remark struck on the temper of Glenning, at an unlucky moment. The very consciousness of rectitude on his own part, made the insult fasten and rankle; and gave to it a barb, which, perhaps, in any other circumstances, would not have pained him. Glenning, I have said, was a gentleman. He was such, if there ever was one—a man of good morals, charitable in his disposition, and could not bear to inflict pain, even on a dumb beast. But there is, within the human heart—and philosophy may reason it over till doomsday, without explaining it—a something to quiet conscience, even in the best men, at times, and force them to acts, which in other circumstances they would shudder at. Dueling is one of them. Dueling, Glenning despised from his soul. I have heard him say so a thousand times, and sternly express his abhorrence of the man who could stain his hands with a fellow’s blood. He even rose once, and left an agreeable company, because he was told that such a gentleman present was a duelist. With such notions—and they were not mere talk with him—it is a thing I cannot explain, that he so far forgot himself as to hurl back the insult he had received, and in a manner calculated to lead to so sad a termination. He did so, however, and retort calling forth retort, they both lost their tempers—when, Ralle springing forward with a knife, Glenning knocked him down with the butt of his whip. He then turned and rode home.