intained, had it not been that the scene,
instead of being permanent, was in some sort perpetually changing. The
man who was brought before him was vehemently accused by the brother of
the deceased as having acted from the most rooted malice. He swore that
there had been an old grudge between the parties, and related several
instances of it. He affirmed that the murderer had sought the earliest
opportunity of wreaking his revenge; had struck the first blow; and,
though the contest was in appearance only a common boxing match, had
watched the occasion of giving a fatal stroke, which was followed by the
instant death of his antagonist.

While the accuser was giving in his evidence, the accused discovered
every token of the most poignant sensibility. At one time his features
were convulsed with anguish; tears unbidden trickled down his manly
cheeks; and at another he started with apparent astonishment at the
unfavourable turn that was given to the narrative, though without
betraying any impatience to interrupt. I never saw a man less ferocious
in his appearance. He was tall, well made, and comely. His countenance
was ingenuous and benevolent, without folly. By his side stood a young
woman, his sweetheart, extremely agreeable in her person, and her looks
testifying how deeply she interested herself in the fate of her lover.
The accidental spectators were divided, between indignation against the
enormity of the supposed criminal, and compassion for the poor girl that
accompanied him. They seemed to take little notice of the favourable
appearances visible in the person of the accused, till, in the sequel,
those appearances were more forcibly suggested to their attention. For
Mr. Falkland, he was at one moment engrossed by curiosity and
earnestness to investigate the tale, while at another he betrayed a sort
of revulsion of sentiment, which made the investigation too painful for
him to support.

When the accused was called upon for his defence, he readily owned the
misunderstanding that had existed, and that the deceased was the worst
enemy he had in the world. Indeed he was his only enemy, and he could
not tell the reason that had made him so. He had employed every effort
to overcome his animosity, but in vain. The deceased had upon all
occasions sought to mortify him, and do him an ill turn; but he had
resolved never to be engaged in a broil with him, and till this day he
had succeeded. If he had met with a misfortune with