This law of honor is written nowhere, unless, in letters of blood, in the volume of pride, envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. "What," says Cleomenes, in the work I have just now referred to--"What makes so just and prudent a man, that has the good of society so much at heart, act knowingly against the laws of his country?"--"The strict obedience," says Horatio, "he pays to the laws of honor, which are superior to all others."--"If men of honor," says Cleomenes, "would act consistently, they ought all to be Roman Catholics."--"Why so?"--"Because," he rejoins, "they prefer oral tradition, to all written laws; for nobody can tell, when, in what king's or emperor's reign, in what country, or by what authority, these laws of honor were first enacted: it is very strange they should be of such force." It is certainly very strange, that their authority should have been acknowledged, in some cases, not only by professing Christians, but even by the ministers of religion. Four individuals, of this holy calling, stand enrolled, as duellists, on the blood-guilty register of England. In 1764, the Rev. Mr. Hill was killed in a duel, by Cornet Gardner. On the 18th of June, 1782, the Rev. Mr. Allen killed Mr. Lloyd Dulany, in a duel. In August, 1827, Mr. Grady was wounded in a duel, by the Rev. Mr. Hodson. The Rev. Mr. Bate fought two duels--was subsequently made Baronet--fought a third duel, and was made Dean. If such atrocities were not preëminently horrible, how ridiculous they would be! It would not be agreeable to be placed in that category, in which a worthy bishop placed those, who, after Dr. Johnson's death, began to assail his reputation. "_The old lion is dead_," said the bishop, "_and now every ass will be kicking at his hide_." Better and safer, however, to be there, than to bide with those, who receive all the coarse, crude, mental eructations of this truly good and great man, for _dicta perennia_. A volume of outrageously false teachings might readily be selected, from the recorded outpourings of this great literary whale, whenever Boswell, by a little tickling, caused his Leviathan to spout. Too much tea, or none at all, too much dinner, or too little certainly affected his qualifications, as a great moral instructor; and, under the teazle of contradiction, the nap of his great spirit fairly stood on end; and, at such times, he sought victory too often, rather than the truth. It has always seemed to me, that dinner-table philosophy, especially _aprés_, is often of very questionable value.