that which Mr. Snodgrass carried.

'We have nothing further to say, Sir, I think,' he coldly remarked, as
he opened the case; 'an apology has been resolutely declined.'

'Nothing, Sir,' said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather
uncomfortable himself.

'Will you step forward?' said the officer.

'Certainly,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was measured, and
preliminaries arranged. 'You will find these better than your own,' said
the opposite second, producing his pistols. 'You saw me load them. Do
you object to use them?'

'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved him from
considerable embarrassment, for his previous notions of loading a pistol
were rather vague and undefined.

'We may place our men, then, I think,' observed the officer, with as
much indifference as if the principals were chess-men, and the seconds
players.

'I think we may,' replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would have assented to
any proposition, because he knew nothing about the matter. The officer
crossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Mr. Winkle.

'It's all ready,' said he, offering the pistol. 'Give me your cloak.'

'You have got the packet, my dear fellow,' said poor Winkle. 'All
right,' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'Be steady, and wing him.'

It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like that which
bystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street fight,
namely, 'Go in, and win'--an admirable thing to recommend, if you only
know how to do it. He took off his cloak, however, in silence--it
always took a long time to undo that cloak--and accepted the pistol. The
seconds retired, the gentleman on the camp-stool did the same, and the
belligerents approached each other.

Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It is conjectured
that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creature intentionally was the
cause of his shutting his eyes when he arrived at the fatal spot; and
that the circumstance of his eyes being closed, prevented his observing
the very extraordinary and unaccountable demeanour of Doctor Slammer.
That gentleman started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, stared
again, and, finally, shouted, 'Stop, stop!'

'What's all this?' said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and Mr. Snodgrass
came running up; 'that's not the man.'

'Not the man!' said Doctor Slammer's second.

'Not the man!' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'Not the man!' said the gentleman with the camp-stool in his hand.

'