een newer as an author, he
might possibly have set himself out to profit by the keen thrusts given
him by the Argus. He might have remembered that although Tennyson
struck back at Christopher North, calling him rusty, crusty, and musty,
yet the poet eliminated from later editions all blemishes which musty
Christopher had pointed out.

Streeter resolved to strike back with something more tangible than a
sarcastic verse. He quite admitted, even to himself, that a critic had
every right to criticise--that was what he was for--but he claimed that
a man who pretended to be an author's friend and who praised his books
to his face, had no right to go behind his back and pen a criticism so
scathing as that which appeared in the Argus: for Streeter knew that
Alfred Davison had written the criticism in the Argus, and Davison had
posed as his friend; and had pretended as well, that he had a great
admiration for Streeter's books.

As Streeter walked down the Boulevard des Italians, he saw, seated in
front of a cafe, the man whom he hoped to meet: and furthermore, he was
pleased to see that the man had a friend with him. The recognition of
author and critic was mutual.

"Hallo, Streeter," cried Davison; "when did you come over?"

"I left London yesterday," answered Streeter.

"Then sit down and have something with us," said Davison, cordially.
"Streeter, this is my friend Harmon. He is an exile and a resident in
Paris, and, consequently, likes to meet his countrymen."

"In that case," said Streeter, "he is probably well acquainted with the
customs of the place?"

"Rather!" returned Davison; "he has become so much of a Frenchman--he
has been so contaminated, if I may put it that way--that I believe
quite recently he was either principal or second in a duel. By the way,
which was it, Harmon?"

"Merely a second," answered the other.

"I don't believe in duelling myself," continued Davison: "it seems to
me an idiotic custom, and so futile."

"I don't agree with you," replied Streeter, curtly; "there is no reason
why a duel should be futile, and there seem to be many reasons why a
duel might be fought. There are many things, worse than crimes, which
exist in all countries, and for which there is no remedy except calling
a man out; misdemeanors, if I may so term them, that the law takes no
cognisance of; treachery, for instance;--a person pretending to be a
man's friend, and then the first chance he gets, stabbing him in the