made up of the action of our own feelings or the lapse of centuries, and presently the door opened and Tom entered.

Well," said Tom, with a whimsical expression of amusement and concern upon his not very expressive face, "It's all settled-we're to meet them in the meadow behind the copse, at Brook-green-the same where Smith staked his horse last season you remember-at seven o'clock to-morrow morning. There was nothing else for it. The beast would not hear of an apology, or any arrangement. It was impawsible,' he said. The brute actually seemed to be pleased in his gruff way-so that's how its settled; and now, its getting late, I declare, let's have a bit of dinner, and then look after the tools. You'll have my pistols, I suppose ?"

"I suppose so," answered Harry, feeling half sorry that he had not broken Captain Snawley's arm, or otherwise disabled him-" but of course I shan't return his fire."

Tom remarked, that was "the correct thing no doubt," and then they discussed dinner-Harry playing a marvellously bad knife and fork, Tom exhibiting a thriving appetite. It is astonishing how little another man's danger affects one. The French have a proverb that " one always has fortitude enough to bear the calamities of one's neighbours.' After dinner, Flint, who had been Tom's servant in Canada, brought in a neat-looking mahogany case, containing "the tools," and seemed as if he knew all about what was coming off; Flint had had some experience in that line; and a good part of the rest of the evening was devoted to the investigation of "nipples" and the examination of "tumblers." Tom was proud of his pistols; they went so light when the "feather" spring was set, that a baby might pull them; and he edified Harry with consoling anecdotes, having reference to them, by which it appeared that the pistols, good as they were, had not been very lucky to those who had used them. If Harry had any faith in omens, the antecedents of the weapons were not likely to steady his nerves. "That one," Tom observed-"that's the one that's got the notch in the butt, isn't it? Yes, that oneJones-Jones of ours had, when he went out with O'Hara. Poor Jones! he had a ball in his chest all because he trod on Mrs. O'Hara's dress at a race ball, when he was too drunk to apologise. That scratch upon the shield of the other-a W you see- -Wilson had that, but Bullen, whose dog he threw out of the barrack-room window-that's what that row was about-only winged him, and—” "Were you ever out yourself?" inquired Harry, interrupting Tom's record.

"Yes, once," said Tom, "but that was with old Glass-Glass of the Commissariat. I trod on his foot one night, and said people who had corns ought to put their toes in their pockets, and one word brought up another; but that was nothing, Glass had delirium tremens now and then, and was short-sighted, and couldn't hit a haystack; not a Captain Snawley, old fellow--but you're looking sleepy, I see, you'd better go to bed; there's a shake-down for you up stairs, and we must be up early you know."

Harry did not feel at all sleepy, but he did feel sick at heart, and did not like to show it; and bored with Tom's stories, which were not very cheering, and altogether out of sorts; so he went to his bedroom, and wrote an affectionate letter to Alice, to be delivered, if

necessary, after the affair was over, and sat and looked at the fire, where the coals assumed the forms of the faces of the Captain and Mr. Murdoch, and thought-men will think at such times, if they have any capability of thought in them-of his past life; of his dead mother; of his courtship; in fact, of all there was in life to think about, and at last threw himself upon the bed to try and get a wink or two of sleep. He was just dreaming that he had knocked over Mr. Murdoch at a snap shot-there was a curious confusion, as there often is in dreams, between Mr. Murdoch and a rabbit-and was trying to get him into the pocket of his shooting-jacket, when Tom Rattleworth put his hand upon the shoulder of the dreamer

"Its six o'clock, Coverdale. Get up; it will take us twenty minutes to get to Brook Green."

Harry, roused from a vision of shooting to the prospect of being shot at-washed-swallowed a cup of coffee which Flint had got ready, there was a choking sensation in his throat which would not allow of a sandwich; recommended the letter to Alice to the notice of Tom, and took his place in the dog-cart, the back seat of which was occupied by Flint; "who," Tom observed, "was up to that sort of work, and as close as wax."

CHAPTER V.

THE MEETING.

We may suppose that there is a place for all things as well as a time for all things. If there is not there ought to be. Well, the meadow at Brook Green was not the precise place, nor that dull chill morning late in the year the precise time for a duel. We know that in saying this we are running counter to the opinions of novelists in general, but that does not much matter, as this of course is not a novel, but an "ower true tale." Besides, whatever it may be, we have a right to an opinion of our own, and being fond of rights, mean to assert them. Some dark clump of trees, dismal in their aspect, is generally selected as the spot for a fictitious murder; or some place beneath "the threatening shadow of frowning crags," where the scenery is "in keeping" with the darkness of the actions to be performed, and fitted "to inspire those feelings of melancholy which ought to be called up by folly and crime." We consider it to be all a matter of taste, and our taste does not lay that way. We prefer the grave to be lighted up by the gay, and lugubriousness to have a touch of merriment. If we could, we would make what the lawyers call the locus in quo a bright sunny spot, where a gentleman, if he was to be killed, might fall without soiling his coat, but the facts we are compelled to relate are upon the side of the sentimentalists, and we are obliged to admit that Brook Green was a dismal place, and the soil in such a state that a combatant might expect to die damp if he died at all, as there was scarcely room enough to fall without falling into a puddle.

As Harry and Tom, after leaving the dog-cart (over which Flint mounted sentry) waded on, they became aware of the presence of the other party. Mr. Murdoch loomed through the morning mist a formidable size, drawing a wish from Tom that Harry had to fire at

him, and Captain Snawley stood by his side like a dwarf consorting with a giant. There was a third person, whom Mr. Murdoch introduced as Dr. McIntyre, a "freend," whom he had brought in case of accidents. Everybody looked cold-but Murdoch's party, so Harry thought, looked in addition cold-blooded.

The "men were placed by their seconds. There was no sun to dispute about, and Rattleworth was satisfied with Mr. Murdoch's measurement of the ground. While this operation was going on, indeed, Tom was looking at the pistols, and handled, as though casually, those which Snawley was to use. The combatants in position-Harry looking a shade paler, the Captain a trifle more rigid, the given signal was agreed upon, and, in a moment after, one report was heard-only one. Harry had fired in the air, Captain Snawley's pistol had missed fire. Mr. Murdoch bestowed some fervent execrations upon the cap, part of which being in Gaelic we cannot record, and the rest we decline noticing, as they would not conduce to the elevation of the reader's morals, and this is a strictly moral work. Mr. Murdoch himself was sensible of their being rather out of place, for he begged Tom's "pawdon," and excused himself on the ground of its being "awfu vexaticus,"―as though it were a calamity that somebody had not been transferred to the hands of Dr. McIntyre. Tom now proposed that hostilities should cease, all having been done that "honour" required; but that was an opinion Mr. Murdoch did not share in. "It was no cawmon case," that peaceful gentleman remarked; "it was just a deedly insult." The affair must go on; "it wasna a flash in the pan that would atone for a blow;" and Tom was overborne by the determination of the other side to have it out. Fresh pistols were handed, Tom whispering, as he gave his to Harry, "it's all right-it will be the same next time."

Sure enough it was the same next time. Coverdale again fired in the air,-Snawley again missed fire. Harry could not at all comprehend it; Snawley looked reproachfully at his second; Murdoch swore the most complicated oaths in a polyglot dialect, and the doctor expressed his notion that he might as well have stayed at home. But Mr. Murdoch did not confine himself to swearing,-he produced a pricker and proceeded to probe the defaulting weapons. The operation resulted in his discovering both the nipples to be choked with dirt; the fact being that, while he was stepping the ground, Tom had managed to remove and replace the caps with the addition of a small piece of clay in each, which stopping up the hole rendered the pistols harmless. This was done partly out of a desire to save Harry-partly out of an inherent love of fun; but, when he saw Murdoch's eye resting suspiciously on him, Tom felt that he had been playing a dangerous game. However, the Scotchman could not prove anything, and was too "canny" to make the accusation in the absence of proof, so he contented himself with swearing that it was "vary strange-something a'thegither beyond ordinair," and proceeded to reload. Tom again proposed peace, but without any better success. The gentlemen had come out to fight, and to fight they were determined. Tom would have removed his man at all hazards, but he was told that if he did there would be "mair dools than ane that morning."

Coverdale's blood had by this time got up. He was enraged at the persevering hostility exhibited, and he called out, disregarding etiquette, "Let it be so, Rattleworth, if they will have it." Then Tom yielded; and as he gave Harry the loaded pistol said, "You'll fire, of course, this time—aim low.” Harry answered, with a flushed cheek and a brightened eye, "I'll hit him as sure as he's alive."

(To be continued.)

A FEW THOUGHTS ON SOCIAL ECONOMY.

Ir this be essentially the age of physical improvement, not less so is it that of salutary advance in moral, economical and social science; and one significant proof of the mental elevation of the great body of the community consists in the fact that many of those objects which were formerly supposed to be included in the duty of political governments, and which governments egregiously failed to achieve, are attained, or in course of gradual attainment, by the associated exertions of the people themselves. Perhaps the Building Societies are destined to do more for the cause of sanitary reform than could ever have been effected by all the excogitations of the commissioners, if those gentlemen had not been assisted by the intelligent good will of the public; and philanthropists might have long spoken, and spoken vainly, about the necessity of governmental interference to make men sober, frugal and thoughtful of the future, if means had not been taken to make these blessings popularly attractive by exhibiting, in an unmistakeable manner, the certainty and amplitude of their reward.

True, there were benefit clubs, and savings' banks, and innumerable analogous institutions, all professing to confer on the industrious populace the power of effectuating self-provision; and there were the public funds, in which persons whose means were more ample might deposit their accumulations, and receive a minute rate of interest. But all this was found insufficient. The friendly and benefit clubs, besides proving very frequently the foci of dissipation, and the nurseries of bad habits ending in destruction to their frequenters, have turned out to be so absolutely rotten in their original construction, that ultimate bankruptcy, spreading desolation amongst the poor people who trusted to them, is the inevitable fate of the majority, and has already, indeed, been the fate of nearly every one of them which has existed so long as to attain the successive stages of youth, fallacious maturity, and final and inevitable collapse. The system of the benefit clubs is, in short, a terrific evil, one against which no language of denunciation and warning can be too strong, but to the viciousness of which both the legislature and the people are at length, happily, awakening.

Then the masses had another resource-that of the savings' banks. But these institutions are found to hold out little inducement. In the first place, their terms for the usufruct of money being very low, the investor of a small sum found its increase so slow as to be all but literally imperceptible. Moreover, the experience of the last few years has lamentably demonstrated that, besides the disadvantage of so low a rate of interest as to be inappreciable to the ordinary multitude, they do not possess the prime requisite of inviolable security.

These were serious drawbacks both to industry and thrift amongst the humbler classes, whilst persons possessed of more capital, finding an equal difficulty in procuring what they deemed an adequate return on their investments, were driven to all kinds of apocryphal adventures and hazardous loans, ending frequently in disastrous discomfiture. In short, as the sum total of national wealth increased, as a larger portion of the community obtained that inestimable possession-property-it became more and more difficult to employ it with the certainty of fair profit; and the perplexity consequent upon this disappointment threatened to produce effects not slightly detrimental to society.

Meantime government stood powerless to provide a remedy for this confessed defect to supply this acknowledged want. But here, as in many other cases, the spirit of the age-the spirit of self-dependence and association-stepped in to do the work which no political organization could accomplish; and the operations of one

or two eminent London institutions have opened for all classes those facilities for safe and lucrative investment which statesmen in vain sought to provide.

Since the period-now several years back-when the "National Assurance and Investment Association" first commenced the system of receiving money, in small and large sums, on deposit, investing it, in combination with policies of assurance upon the most substantial and lucrative description of securities, and paying its own investors the highest rates of interest which it might be enabled to secure by an operation combining a duplicate profit, we have not ceased to look with interest on the proceedings of an institution the success of which secured much that was required in order to accomplish that which was admittedly one of the "wants" of the era. And truly cheering have been the results. When the plan was first put into practice, it was in some degree an experiment; it was scientifically and theoretically sound, but it was not yet a tested fact. It is now a fait accompli of the most grand and auspicious character-a great fact, fraught with blessing and benefit, daily growing with the increasing numbers of those who avail themselves of it. The rate of interest now obtained and paid by the association is no less than five per cent being nearly double what private investors could procure without incurring more or less risk. In fact, by no other process, save that embracing the double profit inherent in an assurance loan-namely, the profit on the loan and the profit on the assurance policy-could the society procure such terms for those who invest their money with it. One of the most laudable characters of this useful and excellent establishment is, that it does not exclude even the poorest from participation in its advantages; and the few shillings or few pounds of the industrious artisan are treated on the same terms with the thousand invested by his wealthy neighbour. In the principles and proceedings of an institution like this-in the fact of its marked and conspicuous prosperity, and in the circumstance that its active managers include men of the highest note, rank, and fortune in the realm, we recognise one of the symbols of the spirit of our epoch-an epoch which, if not one of sentiment and poetry, is one, after all, of as great practical wisdom and benevolence as any that has preceded it.

ORNAMENT AND ORNAMENTATION.

THE time has been when any topic bearing directly upon art, would have been considered wholly unsuitable to, and quite out of place in a cheap popular miscellany like ours. Happily those dull, though not exactly dark periods, are now gone by, nor need we offer any apology to our readers for introducing a subject that ought to possess interest for all who make any pretensions to taste-as almost every one is now expected to do. It certainly has become the fashion, within the two or three last years, to talk a great deal about art and various matters connected with it; but unless accompanied and guided by some study, much of the zeal so shown in its behalf is likely to evaporate in mere talk.

Efforts are being made for establishing a systematic course of training for designers and other artificers in various branches of industrial art; for whom manual skill and technical knowledge of their respective specialties of practice have hitherto been thought amply sufficient-in this country at least. So far so well; for that is undoubtedly one important step forward in the right direction. Still, unless it be followed up by another, it will be but of comparatively little service; and that other is, the providing something like systematic art-education for the public, since it is upon their taste and intelligence that we must look for that proper appreciation and encouragement of talent, without which talent itself is called forth only to experience neglect.

It is a great fallacy to suppose that superior ability in art has only to manifest itself in order to be instantly hailed with plaudits and duly patronised. Times are now changed: so long as art looked chiefly to potentates, princes, and popes, and to wealthy religious communities for encouragement and employment, it could afford to dispense with any care for, or intelligence of it on the part of society in general, if only because, brought forward under such imposing auspices, it awed them into admiration. Whereas now the destinies of art may be said to be lodged in the hands of an exceedingly numerous and wealthy middle class, whose tastes, be it whatever it may, the various producers find it more profitable to them to consult