pages, of a certain soldiers' institute at Chatham;
it was then urged that by all means
the soldiers ought to be supplied with beer
on the premises, in order that the institution
might compete on fair terms with the public-
house. It was decided, however, by those in
authority, or by some of them, that this beer was
not to be. The consequence is, as was predicted,
that the undertaking, which had every other
element of success, is very far from being in a
flourishing condition. And similarly, this excellent
idea of dining-rooms for the working classes
will also be in danger of failing, if that important
ingredient in a poor man's dinner — a mug of
beer — is not to be a part of it.

The cause of temperance is not promoted
by any intemperate measures. It is intemperate
conduct to assert that fermented liquors ought
not to be drunk at all, because, when taken
in excess, they do harm. Wine, and beer,
and spirits, have their place in the world. We
should try to convince the working man that
he is acting foolishly if he give more importance
to drink than it ought to have But we have no
right to inveigh against drink, though we have
a distinct right to inveigh against drunkenness.
There is no intrinsic harm in beer; far from it;
and so, by raving against it, we take up a line
of argument from which we may be beaten
quite easily by any person who has the simplest
power of reasoning. The real temperance cause
is injured by intemperate advocacy; and an
argument which we cannot honestly sustain is
injurious to the cause it is enlisted to support.
Suppose you forbid the introduction of beer into
one of these institutions, and you are asked
your reason for doing so, what is your answer?
That you are afraid of drunkenness. There is
some danger in the introduction of gas into a
building. You don't exclude it; but you place
it under certain restrictions, and use certain
precautions to prevent explosions. Why don't you
do so with beer?

FRENCH DEAD (AND GONE) SHOTS.

A RECENT fatal encounter between a French
nobleman and a luckless Irish gentleman
furnishes a fresh text for showing on what footing
duelling stands in that country. France has
always been notorious for such combats; French
memoirs overflow with duels; and French novels
are sprinkled with details of spirited quarrels
sure to be arranged by this useful machinery.
Yet, up to a recent date, the Customs of Quarrels,
the Rules and Precedents, remained wholly
undigested.

The Irish constitutions of Clonmel, explained
in a previous article,* were before them by
many decades of years. A French code was at
last " redacted," and something like order and
system introduced. The new pandects were
signed by eleven peers, twenty-five general
officers, and fifty superior officers. Nearly all the
maires and préfets gave in their adhesion, and even
the minister of war, being restrained by a
pardonable delicacy, and the awkwardness of official
position, from attaching his signature, took the
trouble of writing a formal letter, to be
published hereafter, signifying his approval of the
entire arrangements. Many of the regulations
are transparently borrowed from the Irish
constitution. The important axiom of a blow
admitting of no verbal apology whatever, and the
almost casuistical theories as to what constitutes
" the insulted party," are common to
both. The French code, however, is curious, as
illustrating the different shapes of duello which
it recognises.
* See Dead (and Gone) Shots, vol. vii., p. 212.

There are three instruments which the code
of duelling recognises: the small-sword, the
sabre, and the pistol. In France, the first
is looked upon as the national and accepted
shape; the others are more or less barbaric
and exceptional. Most Frenchmen are fencers,
and learn that useful science as an accomplishment.
A French father does not, indeed, from
his dying bed press upon his child the duty of
being " always ready with the pistol," which
was the affectionate testamentary farewell of an
Irish gentleman of some repute in these
encounters, but he will take care to leave his son
well grounded in the management of the rapier.
Up to a recent period a Frenchman, when
challenged, invariably selected pistols.

The constitutions, however, distinctly recognise
the pistol, and the peculiar variations
which that special shape of wager of battle is
allowed to take. First, the rude Anglo-Irish
and semi-barbaric system may be adopted in all
its rugged simplicity: a measured distance,
the two combatants facing each other, and a
signal. So might Rousseau's Indians, out of
their State of Nature, and furnished by a
pardonable anachronism with the explosive
weapons of civilisation, decide their quarrel about
the charms of a squaw. The simplicity was
hideous. See how it can be refined into an
elegant and more exciting pastime. First, for a
duel à volonté, according to the technical name.
Two lines, distant from thirty-five to forty paces,
are marked off; within which are drawn two
other lines, from fifteen to twenty paces apart,
which is the nearest approach tolerated.
According to the canon of the duel à volonté, the
combatants advance cautiously, starting from
the outside line, and holding their pistols
downwards. They can halt when they please, and can
take aim when they halt, but not fire, which is
only allowed when the line is reached. Thus, if
one desires to have the first shot, he may walk
on quickly till he reach the line, and then fire ;
but he has the disadvantages of a hasty aim, and
a long range. The moment he has fired, he must
remain steadily in his place, a prey to the most
uncomfortable feelings, until his adversary shall
have adjusted his aim, and covered him. On
this account, in Ireland, there has always been
a reasonable prejudice in favour of receiving
the adversary's fire; the apparent risk being
more than counterbalanced by the enormous
advantage of a quiet aim, without the disturb-