y an underling to put
into good French the horrible diction of his articles and
pamphlets. We confine ourselves to-day to this limited notice, but
our readers may be sure that we shall keep them informed about
this electoral comedy, if indeed the parties concerned have the
melancholy courage to go on with it.

Thuillier read twice over this sudden declaration of war, which was far
from leaving him calm and impassible; then, taking la Peyrade aside, he
said to him:--

"Read that; it is serious."

"Well?" said la Peyrade, after reading the article.

"Well? how well?" exclaimed Thuillier.

"I mean, what do you find so serious in that?"

"What do I find so serious?" repeated Thuillier. "I don't think anything
could be more insulting to me."

"You can't doubt," said la Peyrade, "that the virtuous Cerizet is at the
bottom of it; he has thrown this firecracker between your legs by way of
revenge."

"Cerizet, or anybody else who wrote that diatribe is an insolent
fellow," cried Thuillier, getting angry, "and the matter shall not rest
there."

"For my part," said la Peyrade, "I advise you to make no reply. You are
not named; though, of course, the attack is aimed at you. But you ought
to let our adversary commit himself farther; when the right moment
comes, we'll rap him over the knuckles."

"No!" said Thuillier, "I won't stay quiet one minute under such an
insult."

"The devil!" said the barrister; "what a sensitive epidermis! Do
reflect, my dear fellow, that you have made yourself a candidate and a
journalist, and therefore you really must harden yourself better than
that."

"My good friend, it is a principle of mine not to let anybody step on
my toes. Besides, they say themselves they are going on with this thing.
Therefore, it is absolutely necessary to cut short such impertinence."

"But do consider," said la Peyrade. "Certainly in journalism, as in
candidacy, a hot temper has its uses; a man makes himself respected, and
stops attacks--"

"Just so," said Thuillier, "'principiis obsta.' Not to-day, because we
haven't the time, but to-morrow I shall carry that paper into court."

"Into court!" echoed la Peyrade; "you surely wouldn't go to law in such
a matter as this? In the first place, there is nothing to proceed upon;
you are not named nor the paper either, and, besides, it is a pitiable
business, going to law; you'll look like a boy who has been fighting,
and got the worst of it, and runs to