But, in the mean time, what is the situation of the young man and the seconds? Divinity and Law have long ago settled the question—they are murderers. A warrant is issued for their apprehension; they possess, however, good friends who have spare attics, and the warrant cannot reach them. But their mothers, sisters, mistresses, and maiden aunts, who read in the papers that the coroner’s inquest has returned a verdict of “Wilful murder against John Smith, Charles Jones, and William Brown,” are in despair. The horrible visions of black caps, chains, and gibbets, flit before their eyes; and, in short, whole families are thrown into unaffected and very severe affliction. In the midst of all this suffering the assizes approach, and the accused surrender themselves for trial. The “unfortunate gentlemen” (to use the phraseology of the newspapers) appear at the bar, “dressed in genteel mourning, and deeply affected with their awful situation.” The counsel for the Crown details the case, lays down the law, “under the authority of his Lordship,” and then concludes by telling the jury, that, “if the facts are as he has stated them, he cannot see how they will avoid pronouncing the verdict of _guilty_; but he fervently hopes that something may arise to relieve them from so painful a duty.” In the examination of the evidence everybody is aware that the Judge, the counsel on both sides, and the witnesses, are straining all their ingenuity to prevent a verdict against the prisoners; and everybody sympathises with their endeavours. His Lordship, in his charge to the jury, explains to them again that every man killed in a duel is murdered; but he at the same time shows that there are some technical defects in the evidence, which he places before them in a strong light. The jury “turn round for a few minutes,” and find a verdict of “Not guilty.” Upon this there is considerable applause manifested among the auditory, “which meets with the marked reprehension of his Lordship,” who threatens to commit the offenders. The court is now cleared, all the world is pleased to find that poor Smith is acquitted, agrees that duels are horrid things, and hopes that, as they become so common, the Judge will direct the very next man who fights one to be hanged. In this little sketch, extravagant as it would appear to any rational being who had never heard of the practice of duelling, we have tried not to “o’erstep the modesty of nature.” How we have succeeded, our readers must determine; but if we have erred we shall at least have no excuse; for, judging from what has been done by others, it should seem impossible either to preach, legislate, or write on the subject without being betrayed into some absurdity.