Being arrived at a spot suitable to their purpose, and their swords drawn, Mr. Schnackenberger said--'Upon my word it's a shocking thing that we must fight upon this argument: not but it's just what I have long expected. Junonian quarrels I have had, in my time, 747; and a Junonian duel is nothing more than I have foreseen for this last week. Yet, after all, brother, I give you my honour that the brute is not worth a duel: for, fools as we have been in our rivalship about her, between ourselves she is a mere agent of the fiend, and minister of perdition, to him who is so unhappy as to call her his.' 'Like enough, my brother; haven't a doubt you're in the right, for you know her best: still it would be nefarious in a high degree if our blades were to part without crossing each other. We must tilt a bit: Sir, my brother, we must tilt. So lunge away at me; and never fear but I'll lunge as fast as you.' So said--so done: but scarce had Mr. Sebastian pushed his first 'carte over the arm,' which was well parried by his antagonist, when, with a loud outcry, in rushed Juno; and, without troubling herself about the drawn swords, she drove right at the pit of Mr. Sebastian's stomach, knocked the breath out of his body, the sword out of his hand, and himself upon his back. 'Ah! my goddess, my Juno!' cried Mr. Schnackenberger; 'Nec vox hominem sonat, oh Dea certe!' 'Nec vox hominem sonat?' said Mr. Fabian, rising: 'Faith, you're right there; for I never heard a voice more like a brute's in my life.'