with folded arms, and a stern composure in his manly form and bold features that amounted even to dignity. Feinton whispered, "I had no idea he was so much of the gentleman." The usual arrangements being made by the seconds, wo took our places. At that moment, I felt as if my heart had ceased to beat;—it seemed as though I were deprived of all the powers of sensation, and yet was I conscious of every thing I ought to do, and aware that I did it well. Back to back we measured from each other five paces— turned;—the wojd was given—we fired. I took no aim; but, on the instant, my antagonist uttered a yell of agony, sprang upwards from the earth, and fell flat upon his face. They raised the body, and turned it on its back; but it was utterly lifeless,—the ball had pierced the heart. I stood gazing on it, without the ability to move—the fatal weapon still grasped in my hand. What would I not have given for the power to undo what I had done! Gladly, at the moment, would I have laid down my own life to recall the breath to that poor body. Feinton took my arm. "Come," he said; '; we must go." I heard him distinctly; but I did not stir. "Are you mad?" he added, shaking me rather rudely,—"It is done, and cannot be altered now. You must hasten, unless you would get yourself into difficulty."—I looked for the last time at the unfortunate Bonmot. "I will never fight again," I said in a low voice,—and resigning my pistol to Feinton, I followed him to the carriage. As we rode, my friend made'repeated endeavours to excite my spirits; but, finding them all ineffectual, he at length desisted, and I spoke not a word till we had arrived at the first stopping place. Here, as I prepared to enter another carriage, which his care had provided that I might proceed without interruption, Feinton took my hand— "We part here," he said. "I would willingly accompany you further; but I must now shift for myself. Fare, well, my friend." "Farewell then, Feinton. I shall never forget your kindness to me in this unhappy affair." "Farewell!" he repeated, warmly returning the pressure of my hand; and he left me. But instantly coming back—" O, Levis," he said with an appearance of some confusion,"! have a favour to ask of you;—my necessities compel me to it.—Can you accommodate me with a thousand pounds till your return?" "Gladly !"•»—for I was delighted with the opportunity of making some return for the favours under which I stood indebted to him. I entered the little inn, and drew him an order on my banker. "Once more—farewell!" he said—his eyes filling from a sensibility that did him honour. "May you soon recover your spirits, and be as happy as—as you deserve to be." I shook my head despondingly.. "Good b'ye, Feinton. I shall hear from you often?" "That you shall!—Good b'ye." I received noi so much as a line from him, nor ever saw him afterwards. Alas, my dear Levis! said the prophet Feinton, before you are much older, you will learn to keep a guard upon yoiir pockets, even when you mingle with your friends. SIXTY YEARS OF THE LIFE oP JEREMY LEVIS. BOOK THIRD. CHAPTER I. Their bumble porch with honied flowers Warton. A Winter's dissipation, and I was sick of Paris—sick to the heart's core; for, not satisfied with drinking of pleasure till my cloyed palate refused the cup, I forced the draught upon me—seeking relief, from the bodily lassitude and mental depression consequent upon my debauchery, by applying as remedies the very causes of the disorder. Hence my health began to sink rapidly, and I became subject, during the intervals of my rioting, to fits of melancholy, which alarmed me the more that |