beckoned me aside to a distant portion of the very large field, which had a slight covering of snow. "Phillips," said he, "this seems to me not a personal, but a political affair. I am obnoxious to a party, and they adopt a false pretense to cut me off. I shall not submit to it. They have reckoned without their host, I promise you. I am one of the best shots in Ireland at a mark, having, as a public man, considered it a duty to prepare, for my own protection, against such unprovoked aggression as the present. Now, remember what I say to you. I may be struck myself, and then skill is out of the question; but if I am not, my antagonist may have cause to regret his having forced me into this conflict." The parties were then very soon, placed on the ground, at, I think, twelve paces distance, _each_ having a case of pistols, with directions to fire when they chose after a given signal. D'Esterre rather agitated himself by making a short speech, disclaiming all hostility to his Roman Catholic countrymen, and took his ground, somewhat theatrically crossing his pistols upon his bosom. They fired almost together, and instantly on the signal. D'Esterre fell, mortally wounded. There was the greatest self-possession displayed by both. It seemed to me a duty to narrate these details in O'Connell's lifetime wherever I heard his courage questioned, and justice to his memory now prompts me to record them here. FOOTNOTE: [14] From "Curran and his Contemporaries" by CHARLES PHILLIPS, just published by Harper and Brothers. MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.[15] BOOK V.--INITIAL CHAPTER. "I hope, Pisistratus," said my father, "that you do not intend to be dull!" "Heaven forbid, sir! what could make you ask such a question? _Intend!_ No! if I am dull it is from innocence." "A very long Discourse upon Knowledge!" said my father; "very long. I should cut it out!" I looked upon my father as a Byzantian sage might have looked on a Vandal. "Cut it out!" "Stops the action, sir!" said my father, dogmatically. "Action! But a novel is not a drama." "No, it is a great deal longer--twenty times as long, I dare say," replied Mr. Caxton, with a sigh. "Well, sir--well! I think my Discourse upon Knowledge has much to do with the subject--is vitally essential to the subject; does not stop the action--only explains and elucidates the action. And I am astonished, sir, that you, a scholar, and a cultivator of knowledge--" "There--there!" cried my father, deprecatingly. "I yield--I yield. What better could I expect when I set up for a critic! What author ever lived that did not fly into a passion--even with his own father, if his father presumed to say--'Cut out!' _Pacem imploro_--" MRS. CAXTON.--"My dear Austin, I am sure Pisistratus did not mean to offend you, and I have no doubt he will take your--" PISISTRATUS (hastily).--"Advice _for the future_, certainly. I will quicken the action, and--"