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How many thoughts crowd into the mind when a human being is menaced with the possibility of a sudden summons to another world! – This rush of thoughts becomes greatly increased, when he who experiences it is in the full vigour of youth and health, when the prospects of life are but opening to him, and Hope, the Syren, ⁴⁷ points to future happiness, and whispers honeyed words. To feel the heart throbbing high, the young blood flowing swiftly through the veins, promising lengthened years, yet to know that in a few hours all may be over – that this animated frame may be but as a clod of common earth to be quickly consigned to its native clay, to be shut in for ever from the light of day, the breath of summer, to become food for the worm, is indeed an appalling thought to all, but how much more especially to one who had never before contemplated death, but as an event so distant, that no definite notion had been formed of it, no dread entertained. Neglected duties, time misspent, and oh! most terrible of all thoughts, the Almighty forgotten until one may be summoned to His dread presence, rise up in / fearful array, filling the heart with terror of “that bourne whence no traveller returns,” ⁴⁸ and of which the profound mystery, may, in a few fast fleeting hours be solved! And yet but a short time before, I had felt satisfaction in the anticipation of these duels. Not from a desire of vengeance on my adversaries, not from a vain-glorious spirit, but simply and solely, from a desire of vindicating myself from the slights I had experienced, without sacrificing my pride by avowing my sense of them. How may a few hours, nay more, a few minutes change the feelings! The revolution in my mind had been effected by writing to my mother. I could not take a farewell of her that might be eternal, without sentiments of natural affection being awakened, which once aroused, gave rise to serious reflections and sadness. The written words of adieu, as they marked my paper, dimmed my eyes with tears; and as I brushed them hastily away, I was glad that my door, being locked, no intruder could enter to be a spy on my deep emotion, and probably to misjudge its cause, attributing that to want of courage, which in truth originated in filial affection. My letter concluded, I placed it in my desk, and had only done so, when a knock at my door announced a visitor. When admitted, a tall thin elderly man, with scanty locks, whitened by time, stood before me – he wore a black stock, a blue coat, and military boots. “Your / name, I believe, Sir, is Herbert,” said he. I bowed assent, and requested him to be seated.