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There was a brief silence, which was broken by Mrs. Fife, saying—

"I must now leave you, Mr. Bunting: excuse my haste, but you know I am a mother;" and here she spoke in a tone of the bitterest sarcasm.

At this moment the moon was beginning to peer above the hills, and displayed the figure of Mrs. Fife retreating from the arbour, while the editor as rapidly followed. She turned suddenly, and exclaimed

"Leave me, sir, or I will alarm the neighbourhood!"

The horror-stricken Borel abruptly paused, while Mrs. Fife tripped lightly over the grass on her way home, leaving the unfortunate but romantic scribe to his own painful reflections.

CHAPTER XII.

It has a strange quick jar upon the ear,
That cocking of a pistol, when you know
A moment more will bring the sight to bear
Upon your person, some twelve yards off, or so,
A gentlemanly distance, not too near,

When you have got a former friend for foe.

Don Juan.

THE next afternoon I was accidentally thrown into the company of Bunting. He was morose and silent, as might have been expected: he had lived long enough to know that reputation, in a country village, is held by a very precarious tenure; and it was not without well-grounded apprehensions that he feared his career in Essex might soon terminate, should his adventure with Mrs. Fife be made public. Myself, of all others, he would probably have wished to keep ignorant of the secret; and it was not a little amusing to observe the hauteur which he manifested towards me on the occasion of this meeting. I resolved, however, to punish his insolence as it best deserved.

"Mr. Bunting," said I," it is whispered that you had an agreeable promenade last evening?"

"An agreeable promenade !" repeated he, with an air of surprise.

"Ay! and with a charming lady."

"I am quite ignorant of your meaning,” replied he, turning angrily away.

"Then I must explain," said I, observing that the bystanders bent eagerly forward to listen. "And in the first place, Mr. Bunting, it appears that you were greatly enchanted with the lady's beauty, but, unfortunately-"

"You are an insolent puppy !" interrupted the editor, violently enraged.

I need not describe the progress of our quarrel; it was a war of tongues, without our coming actually to blows. We were too refined for a catastrophe such as that. We believed not with beau Fielding, that the arms which nature allotted us were the proper weapons to decide a quarrel. Like the hero in the play, we merely requested the pleasure of exchanging a few words in private on the ensuing morning. Time, nine o'clock: place, the pines, at the western extremity of Essex.

"There is nothing like notoriety !" said I to myself, after having left the company. "A duel with

VOL. I.-L

Borel Bunting, Esquire, editor of the Village Herald, is no trifling affair; at least, there is some consolation in having so distinguished an adversary. After all, it is rather an unpleasant business. No matter! I will affect indifference as to the result; although, like honest Bob Acres, 'I feel my courage oozing out at the palms of my hands.'"

I called a few friends around me to deliberate upon the measures which the exigency of the moment required. I was advised, among other things, not to eat or drink previous to the encounter, lest it might render me feverish or nervous. This caution, however, was unnecessary; for I felt no disposition either to eat or drink-except water, which I swallowed in large and frequent draughts.

My second was chosen-a surgeon ordered to be in attendance-and a brace of hair-trigger pistols procured for the occasion.

My friends suggested the propriety of my exercising in the afternoon, by firing at a tree. To this I consented; but out of a dozen shots there was but one ball that grazed the trunk-notwithstanding it was unusually large-and that was at least fifteen feet above the ground; so that, had my antagonist been a very Goliah, I should not have harmed a hair of his head. I would have sworn that I had been firing with leadless pistols,

had it not been that I saw each ball properly adjusted.

I began to reflect upon my parents for expending so much money in perfecting me in the art of dancing, and similar accomplishments, instead of a few lessons in pistol-firing. Alas! how that inestimable art, upon which my very existence now depended, had been overlooked! And what was to be the result? If I could not hit the trunk of an enormous tree in a dozen trials, I could not reasonably hope to touch the lean body of the editor in one. I did not believe I was deficient in courage; still, these reflections would force themselves upon my mind. In short, I had a presentiment that I should fall—and this was more than enough to awe a stouter heart than mine.

Evening set in; I had not yet informed my parents of the approaching contest. I hastened to the drawing-room, where I found my father alone, reclining upon the sofa. At my entrance, he said, in rather a good-natured tone

"They tell me, Paul, you are to fight a duel with Borel Bunting? Is it so ?"

I answered in the affirmative.

"Well, my boy," he continued, very composedly, "I trust you will not suffer your courage to desert you: it would never do to bring disgrace upon the

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