ntom of friendship and feeling, called up by the delirious
blood, and the wicked spells of the wine.

But to drop this strain of moralizing (in which the writer is not too
anxious to proceed, for he cuts in it a most pitiful figure), we passed
sundry criticisms upon poor Attwood's character, expressed our horror
at his death--which sentiment was fully proved by Mr. Fips, who declared
that the notion of it made him feel quite faint, and was obliged to
drink a large glass of brandy; and, finally, we agreed that we would go
and see the poor fellow's corpse, and witness, if necessary, his burial.

Flapper, who had joined us, was the first to propose this visit: he said
he did not mind the fifteen francs which Jack owed him for billiards,
but he was anxious to GET BACK HIS PISTOL. Accordingly, we sallied
forth, and speedily arrived at the hotel which Attwood inhabited still.
He had occupied, for a time, very fine apartments in this house: and it
was only on arriving there that day that we found he had been gradually
driven from his magnificent suite of rooms au premier, to a little
chamber in the fifth story:--we mounted, and found him. It was a little
shabby room, with a few articles of rickety furniture, and a bed in an
alcove; the light from the one window was falling full upon the bed and
the body. Jack was dressed in a fine lawn shirt; he had kept it, poor
fellow, TO DIE IN; for in all his drawers and cupboards there was not a
single article of clothing; he had pawned everything by which he could
raise a penny--desk, books, dressing-case, and clothes; and not a single
halfpenny was found in his possession.*

* In order to account for these trivial details, the reader
must be told that the story is, for the chief part, a fact;
and that the little sketch in this page was TAKEN FROM
NATURE. The latter was likewise a copy from one found in the
manner described.

He was lying as I have drawn him,* one hand on his breast, the other
falling towards the ground. There was an expression of perfect calm on
the face, and no mark of blood to stain the side towards the light. On
the other side, however, there was a great pool of black blood, and in
it the pistol; it looked more like a toy than a weapon to take away the
life of this vigorous young man. In his forehead, at the side, was a
small black wound; Jack's life had passed through it; it was little
bigger than a mole.

* This refers to an ill