have written, my son."

The Doctor took up a bit of manuscript, and resuming his chair, began:

"MESSRS. EDITORS: On your journal of this morning"--

"Eh! how! you have not written it in English, is it, son?"

"But, yes, papa."

"'Tis a vile tongue," said the General; "but, if it is
necessary--proceed."

"MESSRS. EDITORS: On your journal of this morning is published an
editorial article upon the Villivicencio ticket, which is plentiful and
abundant with mistakes. Who is the author or writer of the above said
editorial article your correspondent does at present ignore, but doubts
not he is one who, hasty to form an opinion, will yet, however, make his
assent to the correction of some errors and mistakes which"--

"Bah!" cried the General.

Dr. Mossy looked up, blushing crimson.

"Bah!" cried the General, still more forcibly. "Betise!"

"How?" asked the gentle son.

"'Tis all nonsent!" cried the General, bursting into English. "Hall you
'ave to say is: ''Sieur Editeurs! I want you s'all give de nem of de
indignan' scoundrel who meek some lies on you' paper about mon Pere et
ses amis!"

"Ah-h!" said Dr. Mossy, in a tone of derision and anger.

His father gazed at him in mute astonishment. He stood beside his
disorderly little desk, his small form drawn up, a hand thrust into his
breast, and that look of invincibility in his eyes such as blue eyes
sometimes surprise us with.

"You want me to fight," he said.

"My faith!" gasped the General, loosening in all his joints. "I
believe--you may cut me in pieces if I do not believe you were going to
reason it out in the newspaper! Fight? If I want you to fight? Upon my
soul, I believe you do not want to fight!"

"No," said Mossy.

"My God!" whispered the General. His heart seemed to break.

"Yes," said the steadily gazing Doctor, his lips trembling as he opened
them. "Yes, your God. I am afraid"--

"Afraid!" gasped the General.

"Yes," rang out the Doctor, "afraid; afraid! God forbid that I should
not be afraid. But I will tell you what I do not fear--I do not fear to
call your affairs of honor--murder!"

"My son!" cried the father.

"I retract," cried the son; "consider it unsaid. I will never reproach
my father."

"It is well," said the father. "I was wrong. It is my quarrel. I go to
settle it myself."

Dr. Mossy moved quickly between his father and the door. General
Villivicencio stood before him utterly bowed down.

"What will you?" sadly dem