idered on my part; but fate decided it
otherwise. If I had lain still when they dropped me, I should have done
well, but I was anxious to get up the breach, that is, my mind was so
bent; but as soon as I got on my legs, confound them if they didn't run
away with me, and then I was found half a mile from the fort with a
pretended wound. That was enough; I had a hint that the sooner I went
home the better. On account of the family I was permitted to sell out,
and I then walked the streets as a private gentleman, but no one would
speak to me. I argued the point with several, but they were obstinate,
and would not be convinced; they said that it was no use talking about
being brave, if I ran away."

"They were not philosophers, Talbot."

"No; they could not comprehend how the mind and the body could be at
variance. It was no use arguing--they would have it that the movements
of the body depended upon the mind, and that I had made a mistake--and
that I was a coward in soul as well as body."

"Well, what did you do?"

"Oh, I did nothing! I had a great mind to knock them down, but as I knew
my body would not assist me, I thought it better to leave it alone.
However, they taunted me so, by calling me fighting Tom, that my uncle
shut his door upon me as a disgrace to the family, saying, he wished the
first bullet had laid me dead--very kind of him;--at last my patience
was worn out, and I looked about to find whether there were not some
people who did not consider courage as a _sine quae non_. I found that
the Quakers' tenets were against fighting, and therefore courage could
not be necessary, so I have joined them, and I find that, if not a good
soldier, I am, at all events, a very respectable Quaker; and now you
have the whole of my story--and tell me if you are of my opinion."

"Why, really it's a very difficult point to decide. I never heard such
a case of disintegration before. I must think upon it."

"Of course, you will not say a word about it, Newland."

"Never fear, I will keep your secret, Talbot. How long have you worn
the dress?"

"Oh, more than a year. By-the-bye, what a nice young person that
Susannah Temple is. I've a great mind to propose for her."

"But you must first ascertain what your body says to it, Talbot,"
replied I, sternly. "I allow no one to interfere with me, Quaker or not."

"My dear fellow, I beg your pardon, I shall think no more about her,"
said Talbot, rising up, as he observed that I