FRAGMENT OF A JOURNAL, 4l7 



I cursed my imprudence, my folly. I had never been accustomed 

 to pray, my heart had never known the joy of turning- to that Great 

 God who reigns above for comfort. I had always trusted in my 

 own destiny. I had not been left quite ignorant of the existence of 

 the first great Cause of all things, but I was afraid to pray. I 

 feared that the great Deity would turn from me in anger. I had 

 never trusted in his mercy ; but gradually I sunk on my knees. I 

 prayed long, uninterruptedly ; and when I arose my heart was 

 calmer. I felt now resigned. I knew I could not shrink from my en- 

 gagement. I knew I must meet my long-known friend as an enemy, 

 but I was now comforted and more prepared to meet my self-im- 

 posed trial. 



Morning began to dawn. I had seen my second the evening be- 

 fore, and, when he came to call for me, I felt as if I had been re- 

 lieved of a great weight. When we reached the spot agreed upon, my 

 adversary was already there. I could hardly look upon him. 1 could 

 not bear his gaze. Agony, dreadful agony, was written on his 

 noble features, and it was with trembling hands we took our re- 

 spective places. We were to fire both at once. As the signal was 

 given, my strength failed me. I could not raise the pistol above the 

 level of his head. Etienne staggered a few paces. I rushed forward, 

 and was just in time to catch him in my arms. His eyes turned 

 upon me with a look of heart-rending anguish. I had scarce strength 

 enough left to support his head. The ball had entered his breast a 

 little below the neck. He breathed, however. The surgeon who was 

 in attendance declared the wound not mortal. I felt relieved. We 

 conveyed him home in a carriage which had been pepared by my 

 second, and the surgeon immediately extracted the ball. I could 

 not leave his bedside. He was for a long time insensible. When he 

 came to himself the first object that met his eye was myself. He 

 started, then smiled. He took me by the hand. My eyes swam in 

 tears. I could no longer suppress my feelings. I fell on the couch 

 and wept bitterly. This seemed to distress him. He entreated me to 

 be calm. I curbed myself. I became more quiet and was enabled 

 to talk to him. 



Frederick," said he, " tell me — I am in the utmost anxiety — tell 

 me, did you wish to take my life ?'' " Believe me, Etienne," I re- 

 plied in a scarcely audible tone, " believe me, I had no intention of 

 taking aim. As the signal was given, 1 lost all firmness. I could not 

 raise my hand sufficiently high for the pistol to be above the level 

 of your head, and thus have I made myself the instrument of torture 

 to him I have best loved on this earth ! Forgive me, Etieime '. Can 

 you forgive me ? Can you believe I was in a right mind when I so 

 dreadfully disgraced myself? Can you forgive the action of a mad 

 man ? Can you feel any mercy for a repentant offender. Oh ! 

 Etieune, that I ever lived to break for one moment that hallowed tie 

 which united us together '." I again burst into tears, but he heard 

 me not. He saw not those tears of anguish and repentance. He had 

 fallen into a sweet slumber. He slept some hours, during which I 

 never moved from my seat. Reflections of different natures coursed 

 each other in my brain, but the most prominent of all was thankful- 



M.M.— No. 5. 2 H 



