round and round-you know what a water-dog he is—barking and snapping at the gnats that danced about him. The superb fellow attracted much attention; some ladies-among them two very lovely girls-stopped in a carriage to watch and admire Ponto. They called him all kinds of pretty names, and one of the girls, I was inclined to think, looked as though she wished some of the praises to be shared by Ponto's master. I am not a vain man, Brown-I should despise myself if I were ; but I nevertheless felt a very pleasurable emotion as the girl, with her large black eyes, lighted up at the doings of Ponto, did now and then glance approvingly at me. All this continued for some minutes, and very pleasant it was. At length a gentleman -I suppose I must call him so-came up to the carriage, and knowing the ladies, entered into conversation with them. The girl with the black eyes begged him to look at Ponto, who was still chasing the gnats; the gentleman, however, scarcely deigned to bestow a glance on the magnificent fellow, and what is more -leaning his arms upon the phaeton door-he absolutely, and in a most marked way, turned his back upon the dog, as I am now convinced, to pass a slight upon his master. You know I am not a passionate man, Brown; certainly not; nevertheless, I felt I had attained what you are continually preaching to mesome conquest over myself—when I suffered this incivility of a stranger to pass unrebuked, unnoticed. However, this was bad enough-but matters were not to end here.

At length, Ponto came ashore, landing where the gentleman stood with his back to the water. On coming to land, Ponto -with the natural movement of a dog-gave himself a vigorous shake, and the water flew from him as from a well-twirled mop. Of course, much of it went upon the gentleman, the ladies laughing at the dilemma. My gentleman, however, in a burst of passion, flung out his foot at Ponto, and wholly forgetful of the ladies' presence, cried, "D-n the dog!"

Now, Brown, you know I am not a hasty man-no, I think not; nevertheless, I can suffer no man, under any circumstances whatever, to damn my dog. Besides, in addition to the offensive word, there was a violence attempted upon the person of the animal. It is but little satisfaction to me that Ponto, by his never-failing agility, avoided the kick intended for him,-the gentleman, by the ill-directed violence of the action, being almost flung over,—that has nothing to do with it; I feel that I—I Hector Montgomery, was attempted to be kicked through Ponto; and that when the man damned the dog, he most certainly meant the damn to reach the master.

Under these circumstances, my dear Brown, nothing remains

for me but to call out the offender. The laws of honour demand it: my position in society requires it—for how,—how, I ask,— could I ever again appear in the world unless this stain was wiped out with blood?

I enclose you the party's card: but come, come, instantly, that no time may be lost. My honour festers with delay.

Yours, my dear Brown, ever truly,

HECTOR MONTGOMERY.

LETTER XLI.

ANSWER TO THE ABOVE.

MY DEAR MONTGOMERY,-I have waited on Mr. Green, and have, I think, arranged all matters according to the very nicest sense of honour. Mr. Green would not allow himself to be in fault, inasmuch as Ponto was the first offender. Hereuponanimated by your spirit—I urged that, whatever might have been the indiscretion of Ponto, nothing could have justified a damn and a kick. Such words and acts were tabooed from good society; and therefore I begged to be favoured with the name of his friend, that we might settle the matter immediately. Mr. Green instantly complied with my desire; and, in a word, the meeting is to take place in Copenhagen-fields to-morrow morning.

We have arranged the matter after this fashion. Mr. Green has in his possession a remarkably fine bull-dog, by name Fury. Now, as Ponto was really the offending party, and I could in no way bring Mr. Green himself to meet the dog, it is decided that he shall appear in the person of Fury to fight his antagonist. True it is that Fury is in weight, breed, and bone so superior to Ponto, that I fear he will hardly escape with his life. These odds are, however, inevitable in the duello. For instance, Mr. Green never drew a trigger in all his days: now you can hit the stone out of a cherry at twenty yards. He has heard of this prowess, and therefore is content to be represented by his dog.

The meeting is to come off at five to-morrow morning, in Copenhagen-fields. Mr. Green's friend and myself have agreed, that whichever dog shall be worsted, its owner shall be declared in the wrong; whereupon-if life be spared-we have no doubt that a reconciliation of the animals may be effected, at a very small expense, at the first cook-shop.

I trust, my dear friend, that you will acknowledge the wisdom of this arrangement; and, moreover, as you are a leading man in the higher walk of the world, that you will exert yourself to the utmost to make the practice general. If fighting be really necessary, why not fight vicariously? I should like to know how many duels have taken place in which the honour, the dignity of human nature, would not have been equally well vindicated if the antagonists had been even terriers and turnspits.

As for washing out stains with blood, I for one know no process of moral chemistry that can effect it. There never was so miserable a mountebank as what is called Worldly Honour! It is this quacksalver that talks of washing wrongs out with blood, in the same way that a jackpudding at a fair vends powder of post to take out every household blot and stain. Both these creatures are imposters-with this difference, that one is a zany with a death's-head.

If men must fight, let them fight by deputy. Let us leave what is called "gentlemanly satisfaction" to be worked out for us by the lower animals. Your very high folks might settle their disputes with a couple of lions; whilst the vulgar might have their quarrels satisfactorily worked out by cocks and terriers.

Indeed, how many a feud, that was tragically ended with a bullet, might not have been settled by a maggot-race !

Yours truly,

JAMES BROWN.

P.S.-I shall send to-morrow morning, at half-past four, for Ponto. Let him be well washed and combed for the field, in case of the worst.

LETTER XLII.

FROM A SCHOOLMASTER IN WANT OF AN USHER, TO A FRIEND. DEAR WILKINS,-I am getting on pretty well-boys are dropping in--but I am terribly in want of an usher. The fellow I have just got rid of spoke disrespectfully of our suet-dumplings, and so set a fatal example of insubordination to the pupils. Moreover, when the boys played at trap-ball and cricket, he had, I discovered, a knack of lying down upon the grass, and doing

nothing but stare at the sky—as if he had any business with that. So he's gone, and a capital riddance.

I never can thank you enough, my good friend, for your advice to go into the academy business. I had no notion that the trade was so easy. When I failed in my own line-and from no defect of mine, Wilkins, for there wasn't a bootmaker that I'd turn my back upon-I thought I was ruined outright. Little did I then dream that the trade of schoolmaster seemed made by Providence for unfortunate tradesmen who had failed in everything else. Little did I think that so many nice academies I could name— with their venetian blinds and bright brass knockers, and hearthstoned steps, and all so nice as if learning was the neatest and cleanest employment in the world,-little, I say, did I think that these places were little more than very handsome almshouses, supported by good-natured parents, for the unfortunate and helpless. But it is wonderful to see the confidence of fathers and mothers! When I was a bootmaker, the trouble I used to have with my customers !-now, all goes as smooth with 'em as neat's-foot oil.

I'm certain of it, Wilkins; yes, it does seem to me in human nature, that folks think more of their own corns, than of the children of their flesh. When I was in business, the fuss and fuming I used to have if a boot pinched a little! How my customer would storm and bluster! What anxiety, too, would he show when being measured; how many questions would he put to me, as though to come at my abilities for a good fit. I've known, too, some bold-faced people ask for references. Ha! those were days of worry and weariness; nothing of the sort now. No, no; fathers and mothers bring their little boys, and take it as a matter of course, that they'll have all manner of Greek, and Latin, and mathematics, and geography crammed into them. The parents have made up their minds to pay for the articles, and with a trustingness, which in this mean world is quite delightful, they believe the things will be delivered. It is quite enough for them, that the schoolmaster offers the goods -they never stop to inquire if the commodities are of the right sort. Folks don't buy even cabbages after this fashion; but then, children are not cabbages.

You will see, dear Wilkins, that I am in the best spirits with my new business; and I never can forget what I owe to you as an old academy master-a venerable birch, as I have heard you called with the deepest respect. Learning is, indeed, a delightful refuge against the disappointments and vexations of the world. How little did I think, when I paid sixpence in the pound, of the future cosiness in store for me in Crichton House! How little

did I dream that, having been tossed upon the deceitful waves of trade, I should here sit in a nice library-(according to your directions, I make it a sort of show-room for my boys' parents : when they see so many books on my shelves, they of course think I've a good many of them in my head)—a library smelling so of russia-leather, that it's difficult not to think one's-self a scholar. And all this, my excellent friend, I owe to you.

Pray add to the kindness, and find me out an usher. You know exactly the sort of animal that is required in so handsome an establishment as mine. Hoping that you will soon pick him up for me, I remain, your obliged friend,

JACOB AWL.

LETTER XLIII.

ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING.

DEAR JACOB,-I am by no means surprised to hear that your usher is gone. I never liked the fellow: there was a great deal too much conceit in him. I once heard him talk very high about gentlemanly feelings ; and so prepared myself to be startled at nothing. However, there is plenty of such cattle as you want in the market, and depend upon it, you'll soon be suited.

I am glad to find that you like your new business; but ha! Jacob-good as it is for folks in your strait, boarding-school work isn't half so good as it was. I remember when I was flourishing forty years ago: those were the times! Then there was no talk of march of intellect―no slang, vulgar nonsense about a schoolmaster being abroad; as if, indeed, he has any business to be abroad! no impudent interlopers setting up proprietary schools to the injury of the regular master. No: in those days the people who had been sent to school were at once acknowledged to be people of the better sort-people of education. There was no disputing about the matter. And then for the Universities, why then they were places for gentlemen. It was enough to say "an Oxford man,” “ a Cambridge man ;" and folks at once allowed him to be a superior, a very extraordinary person. But now, what a revolutionary change! A man now, whether from Oxford or Cambridge, can't pass for a conjuror, unless he shows his tricks. People in these uncivil times have a vulgar habit of asking. "What has he done?" It was not so in my day.

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