caresses of the
balmiest zephyrs, and--"

"Oh, certainly! certainly!" cried the Count, "I have no doubt of it; not
the least bit in the world. In fact, I have been in those places myself
when a boy, and I know all about it. But let me tell you, sir, as
_amicus curiae_, (and I assure you that I have often been _amicus
curiae_ before,) that society will not tolerate anything of this kind on
your part, sir. The skies in the country may be bluest at this season,
sir; the air most delicious, the scenery most gorgeous, and
accommodations of all kinds most plenty and excellent, but it will not
do. The conductor of a first class journal belongs in a manner to
society, and society will never forgive him for going into the country
after the season is over. As _amicus curiae_--"

"_Amicus_ your grandmother, sir!" said Mr. P. "What does society know
about the beauties of nature, or the proper time for enjoying them?"

"Society knows enough about it, sir!" cried the Count, drawing his sword
a little way from its scabbard and letting it fall again with: clanging
sound. "And representing society, as I do in my proper person here, sir,
I say that any man who would go into the country in the latter part of
September is a---"

"A what, sir?" said Mr. P., nervously fingering his umbrella.

"Yes, sir, he is, sir!"

"Do you say that, sir?"

"In your teeth, sir!"

"'Tis false, sir!"

"What, sir?"

"Just so, sir!"

"To me, sir?"

"To you, sir!"

The Count JOANNES drew his sword.

Mr. P. stood _en garde_.

Just at this moment the Greenwich Street Cordwainers' Target
Association, preceded by one half the whole body of Metropolitan Police,
approached the spot. The Target Society were out on a street parade, and
the policemen marched before them to clear Broadway of all vehicles and
foot-passengers, and to stop short, for the time, the business of a
great city, in order that these twenty spindle-legged and melancholy
little cobblers might have a proper opportunity of showing their utter
ignorance of all rules of marching, and the management of firearms.

Perceiving this vast body of police, with Superintendent JOURDAN at its
head, advancing with measured tread upon them, the Count sheathed his
sword and Mr. P. shut up his deadly weapon.

Slowly and in opposite directions they withdrew from the ground.

It was too late for Mr. P.'s train, and he returned to his home. There,
in the solitude of his private apartments, he cam