remorse, and his terrors and woes, that they were obliged, in self-defence, to get him to drown his sorrows in wine, or any more potent beverage that came to hand; and when his first scruples of conscience were overcome, he would need no more persuading, he would often grow desperate, and be as great a blackguard as any of them could desire—but only to lament his own unutterable wickedness and degradation the more when the fit was over.
"At last, one day when he and I were alone together, after pondering awhile in one of his gloomy, abstracted moods, with his arms folded and his head sunk on his breast,—he suddenly woke up, and vehemently grasping my arm, said,—
"'Huntingdon, this won't do! I'm resolved to have done with it.'
"'What, are you going to shoot yourself?' said I.
"'No; I'm going to reform.'
"'Oh, that's nothing new! You've been going to reform these twelve months and more.'
