The Code of Honour

TWO young men, one with a leather cap on his head and military buttons on his coat, sat in close conversation, long years ago, in the bar-room of the--Hotel. The subject that occupied their attention seemed to be a very exciting one, at least to him of the military buttons and black cap, for he emphasized strongly, knit his brow awfully, and at last went so far as to swear a terrible oath.

"Don't permit yourself to get so excited, Tom, interposed a friend. "It won't help the matter at all."

"But I've got no patience."

"Then it is time you had some," coolly returned the friend. "If you intend pushing your way into the good graces of my lady Mary Clinton, you must do something more than fume about the little matter of rivalry that has sprung up."

"Yes; but to think of a poor milk-sop of an author--author?--pah!--scribbler!--to think, I say, of a spiritless creature like Blake thrusting himself between me and such a girl as Mary Clinton; and worse, gaining her notice, is too bad! He has sonneteered her eyebrows, no doubt--flattered her in verse until she don't know who or where she is, and in this way become a formidable rival. But I won't bear it--I'll--ll"--

"What will you do?"

"Do? I'll--I'll wing him! that's what I'll do. I'll challenge the puppy and shoot him."

And the young lieutenant, for such he was, flourished his right arm and looked pistol-balls and death.

"But he won't fight, Tom."

"Won't he?" and the lieutenant's face brightened. "Then I'll post him for a coward; that'll finish him. All women hate cowards. I'll post him--yes, and cowhide him in the bargain, if necessary."

"Posting will do," half sarcastically replied his friend. "But upon what pretext will you challenge him?"

"I'll make one. I'll insult him the first time I meet him and then, if he says any thing, challenge and shoot him."

"That would be quite gentlemanly, quite according to the code of honour," returned the friend, quietly.

The young military gentleman we have introduced was named Redmond. The reader has already penetrated his character. In person he was quite good-looking, though not the Adonis he deemed himself. He had fallen deeply in love with the "acres of charms" possessed by a certain Miss Clinton, and was making rapid inroad upon her heart--at least he thought so--when a young man well known in the literary circles made his appearance, and was received with a degree of favour that confounded the officer, who had already begun to think himself sure of the prize. Blake had a much readier tongue and a great deal more in his head than the other, and could therefore, in the matter of mind at least, appear to much better advantage than his rival. He had also written and