me?" said the short, thick, bullying, impudent, vulgar Earl of Calton.

"Why," answered I, "I am a poor hand at the foils, and a still worse at
the sticks; but I have no objection to exchange a cut or two at the
latter with Lord Calton."

"No, no!" said the good-natured Dartmore;--"no, Calton is the best stick-
player I ever knew;" and then, whispering me, he added, "and the hardest
hitter--and he never spares, either."

"Really," said I aloud, in my most affected tone, "it is a great pity,
for I am excessively delicate; but as I said I would engage him, I don't
like to retract. Pray let me look at the hilt: I hope the basket is
strong: I would not have my knuckles rapped for the world--now for it.
I'm in a deuced fright, Dartmore;" and so saying, and inwardly chuckling
at the universal pleasure depicted in the countenances of Calton and the
by-standers, who were all rejoiced at the idea of the "dandy being
drubbed," I took the stick, and pretended great awkwardness, and lack of
grace in the position I chose.

Calton placed himself in the most scientific attitude, assuming at the
same time an air of hauteur and nonchalance, which seemed to call for the
admiration it met.

"Do we make hard hitting?" said I.

"Oh! by all means," answered Calton, eagerly.

"Well," said I, settling on my own chapeau, "had not you better put on
your hat?"