been reached. Thus, "pistols for two, coffee for four," had come to be a sort of formula at Chalk Farm; and not seldom the rumbling hackney-coach of the period, roomy and musty, was employed to convey the survivors, supporting the bleeding and murdered man-or men-home. Home? no! for a hasty word, and then an ounce of lead, have deprived the dwelling which forms the goal of their slow and mournful cavalcade, of the blessed name it had owned yesternight. Home to the shrieking, maddened widow, to the orphaned children, hardly conscious of their bereavement, they bring the mortal part of yet another victim to the Moloch of the world's false cowardly pride.

How had Eustace remained hitherto untouched by the grim (supposed) necessity of standing to be shot at? It was probably through a combination of things, but chiefly in consequence of his own equable temper, and the innate courtesy that formed part of himself. He had passed through his London life, totus teres atque rotundus, touching but lightly, and as lightly touched by, the interests that rose to vehement passion, and heated reckless men, around him. They who could quarrel with George Eustace were few. Some there were, whom his rather lofty indifference-well-earned, mostly, on their part-had piqued, and who watched for their ignoble revenge. Foremost among them was Fitzosbert, and his moment seemed now come.

Half a dozen men, or more, stood in the room; for the disturbance in the gambling-saloon, however slight, had added a few loungers to those principally interested in the coming event. Orpington was there, and some one or two officers of the household troops; these last, with a professional interest in any rencontre, from a general engagement to a private duel, stood ready to offer their advice, or personal service, as seconds to either party.

The bully and professed duellist, from whom all anticipated a challenge to Eustace, entered abruptly, with flushed and angry brow. Our hero himself followed, neither abrupt nor angry. He had now recovered his usual composure. Deferring the Bracton mystery to a more unoccupied moment, and addressing himself to the matter in hand, he walked steadily into the room, as if he had been going to some friendly réunion. Lord Orpington wore an anxious countenance. The rest looked on with curiosity, more or less painful. Every one of them had read, in that day's Morning Post, the account of an inquest held on the body of one of their companions, a man cut off in the prime of life, assassinated by a murderer of the Fitzosbert stamp. This wretch had insulted his victim so palpably with the purpose of shooting him, that the bystanders had unanimously voted him beyond the pale of an honourable" meeting. A sound horsewhipping, they declared, would be his well-earned meed. But the man insulted was too sensitively alive to the world's opinion to take advantage of his friends' declaration. He challenged-with an agony of concern for the young wife

he had married a short year before. The antagonists met, and he fell at the first fire.

A tragedy so recent-there was not one of that half dozen, except the fire-eater, who had not left cards of condolence on their friend's widow-deepened the gravity that was on all faces. It was by an irresistible sympathy that each one thought of a career so brilliant and promising as that of Eustace being possibly cut short by a man whom all detested with a heartiness quite unanimous.

Fitzosbert stalked to the centre of the room, then turned round, and haughtily folded his arms.

"I am to demand of Mr. Eustace," he said, in insulting tones, "what he meant just now by jostling me aside in the saloon ?"

"Captain Fitzosbert," answered Eustace, calmly and courteously, "has every right to an explanation, together with others; for I fear he is not the only one whom I may have treated with unintentional abruptness."

"Well, sir?" insisted the Captain.

"I repeat," said Eustace, "that the rudeness, if it was one, was totally unmeant. I was at the moment under very unusual excitement, produced by❞—he paused, but recovered himself, and went on-"by a strange occurrence that had recently taken place: and I was much less conscious of what I was about than is generally the case with me. I must include in this explanation, or apology," added he, looking round him, "any others to whom I may have seemed equally unobservant of what we all owe to one another. Dorville," addressing a handsome young guardsman, "I think you are one; pray accept it. Lord Orpington, you must have seen the bewildered state I was in at the moment."

"Pon my honour, Eustace," Orpington replied, "if I had not known you for one who use not to tarry over the wine-cup-"

"All this is vastly well, my lord," persisted Fitzosbert, interrupting him. "It does not explain to me why I was pushed by Mr. Eustace, in the presence of other members of the Club. The explanation is not satisfactory, and, as a gentleman, I am entitled to satisfaction."

"Every gentleman," rejoined Eustace, with the most delicate shade of irony in his tone, and hardly a stress on the word, "is, no doubt, entitled to satisfaction."

"Full satisfaction," insisted the Captain, vehemently, insolently. "Certainly, full satisfaction."

"Very well, sir; then I shall know when, and how soon, to instruct a friend to wait upon you for that purpose."

He turned on his heel, and, with a sweeping bow, was quitting the

room.

"Stay, Captain Fitzosbert," said Eustace, with imperturbable calm. "If, as your language hardly leaves me room to doubt, you intend to VOL. VIII., No. 87.

36

honour me with a challenge, there seems no reason for any delay. We may as well consider it to be given and accepted on the spot."

Lord Orpington made a movement, as if to interpose between them. Fitzosbert had not hoped for anything half so good. He came back promptly.

"Good," said he, with exultation. "If Mr. Eustace will appoint a friend, I will step into the saloon, and secure one to act on my partunless I may trespass on the kindness of some gentleman present ?" There was manifest disincli

He looked round the circle of faces. nation to have anything to do with him.

"My lodgings," pursued the gallant captain, unabashed, “are not three minutes from this. I will send a messenger for my pistols, true hair-triggers, and our friends on either side can load in our presence."

"What, blaze away here, in front of the pier-glasses?" asked Sir Thomas Effingham, a great authority in such matters. "No, no, that is dead against the rules of the Club."

"Rules ?" ejaculated Fitzosbert, who, like the war-horse, snuffed the battle from afar; "rules and time are made for slaves. We can fire from corner to corner of the room, or across a pocket-handkerchief."

"It is not to be thought of," interposed Orpington, gravely. "Only say, Eustace, that you accept me for your friend, and when Captain Fitzosbert has also provided himself, the thing shall be arranged, if it is to be so, in the regular way. I confess myself unable to see the shadow of a reason why it should take place at all. The occurrence was an accident, and Mr. Eustace's apology seems to me to be amply sufficient."

"I can only say," remarked Dorville, stepping forward, "that inasmuch as I was pushed-if it is to be so described-quite as much as any one else"-he disliked even to name Fitzosbert, and therefore put it generally--"I consider the frank and handsome manner in which it has been accounted and apologised for, ought to satisfy any man."

A murmur of assent ran round, and Fitzosbert seemed likely to be baulked of his purpose.

"Hear me, all," said Eustace. "I am not going, gentlemen of the Club, to disappoint the gallant Captain."

Fitzosbert's hopes revived, and his face brightened in equal degree. "No," Eustace went on, his manner kindling, his nostril dilating, as he drew himself up to his full height.

His friends had never seen him exhibit such energy; and the small audience, who in common with all London had been accustomed to regard George Eustace as an incomprehensible being, compounded of cynic, ascetic, and Epicurean, looked round on each other with some surprise as he proceeded :

"No, gentlemen! we live-our lot is cast-in a state of society

where every one man's opinion tyrannises over all the rest, and suffers the like despotism at their hands in turn. It has come down to us from our fathers, that blood, or the attempt to shed it, is the only means to efface a real, ay, or a fancied stain upon our honour. The next generation of men, who stand in our places, will hardly believe

"For my part, I can hardly believe my ears," sneered the captain; "that is, I really was not aware that we had in Mr. Eustace so eloquent a preacher, or far-seeing a prophet. He has only to turn Censor of the public morals, and his character will be complete."

"My sermon, sir," answered Eustace, temperately, "has a very practical conclusion, and I arrive at it. But first, I am to ask a few questions of my friends. Lord Orpington, and Dorville, and you, Sir Thomas, is it your opinion that the apology which I lately offered, for conduct over which at the moment I hardly had control-if I could only explain a most extraordinary tissue of circumstances, affecting no one here present-in a word, do you deem that apology sufficient?" Amply sufficient," answered Orpington; "I repeat it.”

"So I said," echoed Dorville, "and I say it again."

Sir Thomas Effingham paused a moment. Eustace looked at him steadily, awaiting his answer. He was rather an advocate for the duello in general, was that worthy baronet, county magistrate, and exemplary member of society. "I am bound to say," he answered, slowly but decidedly, "that the apology was not only sufficient, but handsomely made, and ought to be accepted."

“And, after such an apology, no challenge could fairly lie?"

The two first answered at once. Effingham said, not quite so

readily: "That seems to follow as a matter of course."

"Yet it is also true that I have received a challenge ?"

"Who can doubt it?"

"I can accept that challenge, or not, at my simple choice?"

"Well," said Orpington, who did not see whither all this was tending, and was under concern for his friend, "I hardly know. I think a sufficient apology must be held to close the affair altogether."

"I await your decision, Sir Thomas," said Eustace.

Sir Thomas Effingham hemmed once or twice. "It is an unusual case," he then said; "but, if I am called to pronounce off-hand-why, supposing the party challenged to feel himself in any way aggrieved by the fact, eh? by Jove, I know no reason why he should not still accept it, even after he has tendered his apology. That is my judgment, at least, for want of a more competent authority."

"One more question," pursued Eustace. "The person so challenged, and so accepting, would have the choice of time, place, and weapons ?"

"Oh, certainly."

"Come, Eustace," pleaded Orpington, "you really are pushing all this too far. "Why, you might be a preux chevalier of the middle ages, settling some fantastic punctilio, or Don Quixote himself. Gentlemen, it is not very late: I vote we return and have a rubber of whist. Sir Thomas, I challenge you for two-guinea points. Eustace, you and I will be partners, instead of principal and second-a much pleasanter basis of combination, and a more sensible one, believe me.”

friend's arm, to draw him away.

Turning his falcon's eye on Fitz

He glided his hand under his But Eustace remained immovable. osbert, who still stood with arms folded, looking in suspense from one to the other in this strange colloquy, he said:

"I accept your challenge, Captain Fitzosbert, and I will name time and place."

'At your service," said the other, with a formal bow, trying to repress a gleam of satisfaction; while several of those present shook their heads.

"The time shall be, as soon as any necessary affairs we may have to arrange shall allow us to be present-at the seat of war. The place shall be"-he paused for a moment, then added, quietly"Salamanca."

THE INFIRMARIAN SISTERS; OR, SŒURS DU
BON SECOURS.

BY THE EDITOR.

THE Catholic Church is like that queen-or rather the Catholic

gilded clothing, surrounded with variety." Amongst her fairest adornments is the wonderful "variety" of religious vocations by which her children seek to gratify every desire of the Heart of Jesus for the glory of his Father and the good of the human race. Those desires of the Sacred Heart are not for the spiritual interests only of his creatures. God indeed deserves still to be addressed as in the eleventh chapter of the Book of Wisdom, where He is called "the Lord who loves souls." Domine qui amas animas! His cry is still, though with a different meaning, Da mihi animas. But He loves his creature, man, in the whole extent of his complex creaturehood, body and soul and all. When He went about doing good on earth-pertransiit benefaciendo -how much of that good was wrought for the mortal body rather than for the immortal soul. And so those who study best his Heart