aveled a
great deal. As my ill luck would have it, he stood in no need of my
instructions. On the two or three occasions when he amused himself
with my foils and my pistols, he proved to be one of the most expert
swordsmen and one of the finest shots that I ever met with. It was not
wonderful: he had by nature cool nerves and a quick eye; and he had been
taught by the masters of the art in Vienna and Paris.

Early in July--the 9th or 10th of the month, I think--I was sitting
alone in my gallery, looking ruefully enough at the last two sovereigns
in my purse, when a gentleman was announced who wanted a lesson. "A
_private_ lesson," he said, with emphasis, looking at the man who
cleaned and took care of my weapons.

I sent the man out of the room. The stranger (an Englishman, and, as I
fancied, judging by outward appearances, a military man as well) took
from his pocket-book a fifty-pound banknote, and held it up before me.
"I have a heavy wager depending on a fencing match," he said, "and I
have no time to improve myself. Teach me a trick which will make me a
match for a man skilled in the use of the foil, and keep the secret--and
there are fifty pounds for you."

I hesitated. I did indeed hesitate, poor as I was. But this devil of a
man held his banknote before me whichever way I looked, and I had only
two pounds left in the world!

"Are you going to fight a duel?'' I asked.

"I have already told you what I am going to do," he answered.

I waited a little. The infernal bank-note still tempted me. In spite of
myself, I tried him again.

"If I teach you the trick," I persisted, "will you undertake to make no
bad use of your lesson?"

"Yes," he said, impatiently enough.

I was not quite satisfied yet.

"Will you promise it, on your word of honor?" I asked.

"Of course I will," he answered. "Take the money, and don't keep me
waiting any longer."

I took the money, and I taught him the trick--and I regretted it
almost as soon as it was done. Not that I knew, mind, of any serious
consequences that followed; for I returned to London the next morning.
My sentiments were those of a man of honor, who felt that he had
degraded his art, and who could not be quite sure that he might not have
armed the hand of an assassin as well. I have no more to say.

No. 3.--Thomas Outwater, servant to Captain Stanwick, testifies and
says:--

If I did not firmly believe my master to be out of his senses, no
punishment that I co