fare through his antagonist's ventre,-to see daylight through his carcasse, and, finally, to plaster his wound with the hilt of his sword. And ever and anon he would stop, put himself en garde, and fence with his cane against the wall, with loud exclamations of "Ha! ha! ho! ho! un, deux. Ha! ha! un, deux. Ho! ho!" And fear was beginning to act most fearfully upon poor Mr. Cannon, when Cornelius stepped forward, and having been an ensign of an Irish militia regiment, like a dutiful son exclaimed, in what he fancied intelligible French, "Monsieur, mon père est beaucoup trop fort frappé en haut avec la physique que votre medicine Français donne lui pour encontrer vous dans le champ; et moi pas avant pour tenir debout dans ses souliers avoir pistolets pour deux dans un scie fossé!" At the word pistolet, the only one he could understand, La Tulipe suspended his fencing: La Balafre maintained that his friend, who had been the insulted party, had a right to choose his arms: it was evident that they did not relish the proposal. What a sudden effect does the hesitation, the wavering of combatants produce! Even old Cannon, who was leaning against the wall in a cold perspiration, experienced the stimulus, and ventured to look at the foe: while Cornelius exclaimed, "Je souffler votre cervelle dehors pour un poltroon.” "Monsieur," replied the Frenchman, "my business is not with you, but your father, who is une disgrace à votre marine—un CAPON !”* "A what!" roared out Cannon. "He calls you a capon, father." Now, whether or not Cornelius pronounced the word incorrectly, I cannot pretend to say; but the insult did so rouse up the feelings of the old gentleman, that he actually pushed his son aside, and swore that he would fight them all himself. Finally, the hour of four P.M. was fixed for a meeting at Napoleon's Column: the parties separated for due preparation, and all Boulogne was on the tiptoe of expectation. The publicity given to the approaching duel was not likely to prevent it; had two Frenchmen been about cutting each other's throats, the police might have interferred, but it was only un Anglais who was about receiving a lesson from un brave; and although Boulogne, once a poor dirty fishing-town, owed all its wealth and comparative splendor to its British residents, yet they are as cordially detested as benefactors gene. rally are. But where to find a second, to be third in this murderous business? the Cannons were strangers. Old Commodus would willingly have been bottle-holder to his son in a bout of fisty cuffs; but in a rencontre with deadly weapons, when he might behold his Corney receiving a mortal wound-despite a glass of noyau, crême des Barbades, and parfait amour, diluted with brandy-and-water,—the old gentleman's paternal yearnings could not bring him to the point. It was at this critical moment that a French gentleman, wearing half a dozen bits of ribands, who had met the family at the table d'hôte, and eyed Miss Kitty Cannon till her cheeks were as red as the badge of the Legion of Honor that decorated his button-hole, came forward in the most friendly manner, and in tolerably good * A dastard. English expressed his readiness to accompany them to the field; his name was the Comte des Oripeaux, and he moreover was in the gardes de corps. He assured the young ladies that he would shed the last drop of his blood for their father and brother; that he would make a rampart of his body to protect them; and that, moreover, he'd mangerait l'áme, (eat the soul,) or turn it inside out, (la mettrait à l'envers,) of any one who would dare offend them. Howbeit, as eating a soul, (and it was not a jour maigre,) is very poor sustenance, Monsieur des Oripeaux suggested that a dejeuner à la fourchette might be acceptable avant d'entrer en campagne, and the Cannons forthwith ordered the best breakfast that could be served up. The ladies were quite delighted with their new acquaintance, although the Miss Cannons were somewhat shocked at seeing him wearing various samples of hair, black, brown, and fair, in brooch, ring, watchguard, and watch-chain; and as he was altogether a very good-looking man, they collectively and individually sighed in fancying him a "gay deceiver," although the Comte paid more obsequious court to the mother than to the daughters,—a circumstance which greatly grati. fied Mrs. Cannon, who, between ourselves, was not averse to a little innocent flirtation, which, in her Malapropic terms, she would call Ple thoric affection, as she invariably, with a sweet lisp, pronounced Plato— Pletho. The breakfast was delightful; champaign sparkled in every glass and in every eye; thoughts of anything but destruction occupied the minds of the ladies, while all the male branch of the Cannons were eager for the fight, and it was with the utmost difficulty that Commodus was dissuaded by his better half from personally resenting the mortal insult he had received. The clock struck the half-hour, three carriages were at the door: the first coach contained Commodus Cannon with a bottle of brandy and a medicine-chest, Cornelius Cannon with a case of pistols, and the Count with half a dozen swords of various dimensions; the second carriage contained Mr. Cannon junior, with another case of pistols, a couple of bottles of champaign, and a French surgeon with a case of instruments; the third and last coach bore Peter Cannon with a French and English dictionary to correct mistakes, Sam Surly, who swore he would see fair play, with a blunderbuss, and an English surgeon with all the necessary apparatus for amputation, extirpation, incision, and excision. It had become necessary to put up the doctors in separate conveyances, or a duel might have arisen on the road; the English surgeon swearing that the French barber had been merely brought by his countryman the Count, and the French officer of health, proudly maintaining that the English knew better than to place their wounds in the hands of a British apothecary. Indeed, it occurred to every one present that the French operator must have proved the most valuable in case of need; for he had put into the carriage at least half a pound of lint, a set of splints for fractures, a pair of crutches, two tourniquets, six rollers, an eighteen-tailed bandage, and four sponges, the very sight of which would have made any courage ooze out: he, moreover, on the road, described the various wonders he had performed in gun-shot wounds, slugs cut out of hearts, splinters of shells out of lungs, grapeshot out of eyes, and canister out of heads,-for all of which he had obtained La croix des braves, nageant dans le sang sur le champ de la victoire. At last the party arrived upon the field. There is something some. what nervous when a combatant casts his eyes upon the ground which may shortly take his measure; Commodus Cannon could not help heaving a deep sigh when he thought of his once tranquil fire-side at Wick-hall, and looked upon his son Corney, of whom he shortly might be bereaved. The fumes of champaign were beginning to evaporate, and leave the brain clear for more sober impressions; but Comte des Oripeaux assisted him to a little cognac : the old gentleman coughed, shook himself, and, stretching out his trembling hand to his son, exclaimed with a faltering voice, which he in vain sought to strengthen, "Corney, my boy, behave like a man-like an Englishman!" They soon discovered their adversaries: La Tulipe had thrown off his coat, and tied a yellow handkerchief round his head, which, contrasted with his black grisly whiskers and beard, gave him an unearthly appearance: he had stuck four swords in the ground, and was pacing up and down like a warrior of old on the eve of knighthood; his companion, with a cigar in his mouth, and an old paste-board spy-glass cocked to his eye, was on the look-out for the enemy's approach. And now sadder thoughts crowded on old Cannon's sensorium, ay, on his very pineal gland, in which portion of the brain Descartes very properly lodged the soul, a little insignificant gland, oftentimes choked with earthly matter that would check the growth of any good, and, moreover, of no apparent use or benefit to the wearer, in this world at least. The triumphant column of Napoleon stood before him,—a mo. nument of glory and death, ambition and misery: the day was dark and windy; black clouds were flitting in rapid scuds over the pillar, casting it in gloom, or emitting a faint sunbeam to shed a transient lustre on its destinies; it was now a commemorative record of the Bourbons' return!-in short, the scene around him spoke a very De profundis-when he was roused from his absorption by the loud voice of La Tulipe, who, having snatched an enormous sabre out of mother earth's bosom, bellowed out, "En garde, Jean Bull!" as he threw himself into a terrific tragic and melodramatic posture,—one and the same thing in the present classic state of the drama. The Dragon of Wantley must have been a mere child's bugaboo to him; he would have staggered the very Moore of Moore Hall, despite the "thing on his foot ;" no wonder, then, that all the Cannons pointed their countenances at each other, I shall not say in terror,-they came from Shropshire, but in instinctive amazement. Not so with their friend the Frenchman, Comte des Oripeaux; he drew out his "lorgnon," suspended round his neck by a pie-bald chain of black and fair hair, and calmly requested the ferocious gymnasticator to put up his sword and prepare his pistols. The injunction, sternly delivered, acted like magic; the vaporing bully attempted to explain, to discuss the point; talked of un brave insulté, un soldat Français, le choix des armes. The Count insisted, M. de la Balafre assured him they had no pistols; the Count persisted, and at last he drew forth from a leathern bag a brace of old persuaders, one of which, from its length, might have been taken for a baby of the Egyptian culverin in the Park,-exclaiming with a shrug of humility, "Nous n'avons que ça," which in plain English meant to say, "We can't afford to shoot people with anything better." Now the pride of England was very properly roused at such a miserable pettifogging subterfuge; for no gentleman can be possibly expected to give satisfaction to any person unable to pay at least five-and-twenty guineas for a pair of Mantons, and Cornelius Cannon felt at that moment such a proper spirit of superiority, that rather than submit to the degrading thought of exposing himself to the muzzle of a vulgar, rusty, "mark. ing-iron," that a highwayman's groom in former days would not have carried, he drew himself up like a true-born Briton, opened his splendid case of "Eggs," and, pointing to the highly finished weapons with pride, exclaimed with a becoming contemptuous look, "Je suis pardessus prendre un malpropre avantage de cet homme pauvre.' Now Cor nelius meant this in all the warmth of a generous heart, and really intended to call his antagonist a "poor man" without any illiberal allusion to his poverty: but his unfortunate application of the adjective bore a different construction; and, had the pioneer been even poorer than he actually was, he would have prided himself on his rusty old pistol, as much as any gay and gallant cavalier of former days on one of the most elaborate suits of Benvenuto Cellini, and roaring out, "Vas, chien de boutiquier; si je n'ai pas d'or, j'ai du plomb.-Sacré Nom!" he foamed, kicked, and loaded his pistol with such determination and fury, that he seemed resolved to fire away pistol and all; and took his ground. Cornelius was equally rapid in his movements, scarcely giving time to his father to shake hands with him, perhaps for the last time. The Count was to give the signal of one, two, three. By one, Commodus had engulphed a draught of brandy; at two, he put his hand to his face, and turned his back to the approaching horrible scene; at three, a terrific shout followed the report of fire-arms, and Cornelius Cannon was struck with terror, not in beholding himself, but his worthy father and his ferocious antagonist stretched upon the ground. SONNET TO FRIENDSHIP. АH! who can tell what joy it is to meet Is in its silence eloquent; the wrong And injuries which we have borne depart, OLD NICHOLAS, TWO OF A TRADE. He A FRESH Mohamedan, transferred at once from his own country to ours without the intervention of any other land, is a most pleasant object of observation. Every thing to him must be new; language, manners, modes of life, buildings, climate, mode of conveyance, men, women,-every thing must be new. He leaves regions where the face of woman is not permitted to be seen abroad, and where her person stalks about in disguise; and arrives in a country where we need not say how much she is seen. It is as much as his life is worth to be observed talking to her in his own streets; here he finds the sexes in a most promiscuous state. Then, his fellow men are so different to his own countrymen!-here, active, alert, busy; there, inert, passive, and indifferent to every thing but their own individual welfare. He has always been accustomed to sit on the ground; here all are mounted upon chairs. No medium has he ever known between himself and his food but his own fingers; now he must cut, and thrust, and pitchfork it, if he wish to do like the rest of the world. Then, what a world of carriages, carts, and conveyances of every sort,-things he has never seen before! None of his dear camels to greet his eye, none of their philosophical faces and grave motions; all is hurry-scurry, running, pushing, and tearing about, as if no one dared to stop, not even for a moment. falls into the middle of a multitude as ignorant of him and his belongings as he is of theirs. Every man with a long beard, a turban, and floating robes, is a Turk in their eyes, be he Persian, Tartar, Georgian, or Affghan; be he Syrian, Egyptian, or African. Then, what a host of miseries he has to endure before he settles down into new habits! Here he bids adieu to his beloved sun-that constant friend and promoter of cheerfulness, in lieu of which he inhales an atmosphere denser than the steam of his hummum. "Tis true, if he pleases to be lax, he gets rid of his prayers five times a day, his genuflexions, and dispenses with the prescribed lustrations. But, on the other hand, he has been taught from his infancy to look upon all infidels as unclean; and, when he touches and eats with one, he feels that he is providing for himself much penance and mortification. Then, what does he not undergo concerning his food? Has the chicken he is called upon to eat, bled in the proper way? Has the sheep, of which he is eating the mutton, had its throat cut? Is there no infusion of the unclean beast in his soup? He meets with none of his beloved pillaus, is refreshed by none of his delicious sherbets, and never sees that one source of his comfort, a chibouk or a kalian! He has to undergo an entirely new education, and must submit to be laughed at, and stared at, and criticised, and cross-questioned from night till morn-for an Englishman has no compromise to make with his national feelings and prejudices. We have made these observations because it is our intention to submit a short sketch of matters relating to Orientals, who were in London some seventeen years ago, to the notice of our readers. It so happens that we are acquainted with the gentleman who had the care (the mehmandar, as he was called,) of the last Persian embassy to England. He had lived in Persia, was acquainted with the lan |