military men govern themselves toward each other. I see no escape. Fight you must, or your challenger will heap upon you such personal indignities as will make your life intolerable, or drive you into violence, which will amount to the same thing as accepting his challenge. I saw that in your eye to-day which convinces me that you are as brave as Julius Cæsar. Yes, I saw something there braver than mere physical courage, and I felt its superiority; but, you cannot convert the world and reform the army soon enough to answer your own ends, and you must submit to its rules, or be driven from it in disgrace. I honor your principles, for I understand them, but you cannot maintain them."

Our hero's reflections that night must be left to imagination. The difficulties which surrounded him, the compulsions that were upon him, can be known only to those who have been tempted and tried to the utmost, with the world and their own necessities against them.

In the morning he accepted the challenge.

Having the right to choose the weapons, he named the small-sword. When the Colonel heard this, with a touch of feeling, which all his bitterness could not quite extinguish, he said: 'Does the moth know that he is fluttering into the flame?" The second answered, "I told him that you are reputed the best swordsman in the army, and begged him to choose pistols, which would give him some chance of equality in the fight, but he declined. In fact, I don't know what to make of this young fellow-like the sword that he has chosen to fight with, he is so limber, and yet so elastic and mettlesome, sometimes; he is such a mixture of methodist, mule and madman, that I cannot make him out. And, Colonel, he is not a light bargain, either, for anybody. It seems to me that you were making nothing off him, yesterday, when the General interfered. The fellow actually stood

up handsomely, and made very pretty play with his weapon. To tell the truth, I'm beginning to like him a little, and I feel sorry that he must be disposed of in your peculiar way."

The Colonel muttered, grimly, "If I must kill the rascal, I'm glad he shows some pluck and capacity in the business; I don't want to be a boy-butcher."

The next morning, at early sunrise, they met on the field of honor.

When the ground was prepared, and the champions stood armed and ready, the Ensign suddenly lowered his sword point, and, addressing his antagonist, said: "Sir, I am here under compulsion, merely. I do not consent to this practice. To me it is absurd as it is wicked. It settles no right, and it redresses no wrong. Let me say, then, that if my patience has given way under my persecutions, and if I have, by a hasty word or act, justly offended you, I am willing to retract it. What is your complaint?"

'Young man, I came here not to preach, but to fight. I came here not to confer with you about nice points in casuistry, but to punish your impudence; but, if you have no relish for that, I will spare your life, on condition that you leave the army-take your choice."

The Ensign's answer was prompt and firm: "You will have it so

began.

-I am guiltless," and the fencing

The seconds and witnesses had never seen such a display of skill, and they never dreamed of such a result. In five minutes the Colonel was disarmed, and at the mercy of the insulted and outraged boy!

Heated by the struggle, and excited by the imminent peril and bloody bitterness and fury of his enemy, he turned from him somewhat haughtily, with "I have taught you a lesson in sword-play, and now I will set you another.

which you need even more-an example of moderation in success."

The Colonel's mortification and rage seemed to know no bounds.

"I accept no favors from such a canting, phrase-making sentimentalist-such a mere fencing-master—such a trickster and conjuring sword-player as you are," the Colonel burst out through his grinding teeth. "You knew well what you were about when you chose these toys to play tricks with. If you have a sentiment of honor left in you, let me have pistols. I tell you this quarrel is not made up. I will not have my life at your gift. You shall take it or I will take yours. The quarrel is to the death, and there is a blow to clinch it," striking at the Ensign in a transport of passion, which he avoided with equal coolness and dexterity.

The seconds interfered, and even the spectators cried shame; but it was clear enough that blood must flow before the parties should quit the ground. The Ensign's second, carried away by the excitement, urged him to accept the new challenge or change of conditions, for he despaired of any other adjustment.

"Will nothing satisfy this madman but my life ?" said the young officer, deeply agitated.

"You have made him mad," said the second, "and there is nothing left for it but a fatal issue. You have the right to refuse, having already spared his life, and I will sustain you; but I do not advise it, for it will be unavailing in the end."

"I have gone too far," replied the Ensign, sadly, "too far from the line of strict principle, to recover it now. I cannot any longer say that I am opposed to fighting; I have broken down that defence by yielding to an expediency which I thought a safe one. Oh, it is horrible! I did not dream this morning that I might die a fool's death to-day."

"You will accept the offer," hastily interposed the second; "you must be a good chot, with such an eye and hand, and such self-possession as you have shown to-day. If your pistol matches your sword you cannot miss him, and upon my soul, he deserves it, and I say let him have it. You accept." The Ensign stood silent. The ground was measured, the pistols prepared, and the combatants stationed. The word was given. One-two-three. The Colonel's pistol was discharged at the instant, and the Ensign stood untouched. He had reserved his fire, and had the right now to take deliberate aim. Steadily he raised the deadly weapon till it bore point blank upon the Colonel's heart, and there it rested a minute in terrible suspense; not a nerve quivered, not a limb trembled in either, and the spectators held their breath hushed as the death they waited for. But suddenly wheeling, the Ensign marked a post in a different direction, at twice the distance of his antagonist, and, pulling the trigger, delivered his ball in it, breast-high. It was a centre shot, and instantly fatal if a living man had stood there. The next instant, throwing down the pistol with decision that could not be mistaken, he cried out: "I will go no farther in this wicked folly. If there is nothing else left for me but murder or submission, I will submit."

The grandeur of his position was too striking now to be mistaken or denied. The Colonel was the first to acknowledge it. Twice within the hour he owed a life to the magnanimity of a man he had so much abused. That man stood now vindicated, even by the hard laws of war and honorhe was neither trickster nor coward. Possibly the Colonel felt something of the higher nobility of the young man's principles, but I will not be sure of that. He found him brave and generous, and that was enough, without looking deeper for the hidden springs of the nobler life within him.

Advancing to him, he offered his hand, apologized frankly for all his misconduct, acknowledged his misconception of the character which he had put to so severe a trial, and added that he was willing to owe his life to "the bravest man he had ever met, either as friend or foe."

"Brave !" said the young man with the color mounting to cheek and brow. "Brave! Colonel-pardon me— Heaven pardon me! True bravery consists in refusing to fight altogether. But I have betrayed a principle which I should have valued more than life; I have risked my lifenot for that principle, but to satisfy a caprice-I am the miserable hero of a miserable falsehood, instead of the martyr of a great truth. I have lost confidence in myself and men's praises only mock me."

BUFF.

WHEN I was a very little boy I had a very big dog. He took his name from his color-it was Buff-not from his character, for he was as remarkable for magdoganimity as for strength and courage. He was very patient, too; all the worry and work that a seven-year old urchin could inflict upon him in a long holiday never disturbed his equicanianimity. He probably had once been a puppy, but no one who knew him would think of uncoiling such an inference from the principles of natural history to his prejudice he was every inch and every ounce a dog, and one of the biggest