r name
than mine, she must not be the talk of newspapers," said he to himself;
and, like many a prudent reflection, it had its sting of pain.

These meditations were rudely cut short by the sound of his own name.
It was the elder of the two young men who was discussing the duel
at Brussels, and detailing, with all the influence of his superior
experience, the various reasons "why no man was called upon to meet
such a fellow as Davis." "I talked it over with Stan worth and Ellis,
and they both agreed with me."

"But what is to be done?" asked the younger.

"You hand him over to the police, or you thrash him right well with a
horsewhip, pay five pounds penalty for the assault, and there's an end
on't."

"And is 'Grog' as they call him, the man to put up with that mode of
treatment?"

"What can he do? Notoriety must ruin him. The moment it gets abroad that
a wolf has been seen near a village, all turn out for the pursuit."

Had he who uttered this sentiment only cast his eyes towards the
stranger at the table in the corner, he would have seen, by the
expression of the features, that his simile was not a bad one. Davis
shook with passion, and his self-control, to sit still and listen, was
almost like a fit.

"All the more ungenerous, then, would be the conduct," said the younger,
"to resent a personal wrong by calling in others to your aid."

"Don't you see, George," broke in the other, "that men have their beasts
of prey like other animals, and agree to hunt them down, out of common
security, for the mischief he causes, and the misery he spreads through
the world? One of these fellows in his lair is worse than any tiger that
ever crouched in a jungle. And as to dealing with him, as Ellis says,
do you ever talk of giving a tiger fair play,--do you make a duel of it,
with equal weapons; or do you just shoot him down when you can and how
you can?"

Davis arose and drew himself up, and there was a moment of irresolution
in his mind, of which, could the two travellers-have read the secret,
they would almost as soon have smoked their cigars in the den of a wild
beast. And yet there they sat, puffing indolently away the blue cloud,
scarcely deigning a passing glance at Grog, as he proceeded to leave the
room.

Anatomists assure us that if we but knew the delicate tissues by which
the machinery of our life is carried on, how slight the fibres, how
complex the functions on which vitality depends, we should not have
co