He suddenly dropped _The Young Christian_ and _The Weekly Rambler_, and purchased penny dreadfuls; and taking no further interest in the welfare of the heathen, saved up and bought a second-hand revolver and a hundred cartridges.

His ambition, he confided to me, was to become "a dead shot," and the marvel of it is that he did not succeed.
Of course, there followed the usual discovery and consequent trouble, the usual repentance and reformation, the usual determination to start a new life.
Poor fellow, he lived "starting a new life." Every New Year's Day he would start a new life--on his birthday--on other people's birthdays.

I fancy that, later on, when he came to know their importance, he extended the principle to quarter days.

"Tidying up, and starting afresh," he always called it.
I think as a young man he was better than most of us.

But he lacked that great gift which is the distinguishing feature of the English-speaking race all the world over, the gift of hypocrisy.