Belford's Magazine, Vol 2, December 1888. Various

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      "'Two large beefsteaks!' shouted the Doctor, in a voice which attracted the attention of everyone in the room.

      "The waiter looked at us as if we were lunatics escaped from an asylum, and said, in broken English, 'Messieurs, this is not the time for beefsteaks. Beefsteaks are at twelve o'clock. 'Tis now only half-past eight.'

      "'Two beefsteaks, d'ye hear!' again roared the Doctor.

      "'Certainlee, if messieurs will have it so,' replied the waiter, somewhat staggered.

      "'Beefsteak! Beefsteak!! Beefsteak!!!' was the exclamation which went from one person to another around the room, and all eyes were turned towards us.

      "'Look,' said the Doctor, 'how these French fools stare. Confound them! What do they mean?'

      "'Pardon me, sare,' remarked the old gentleman at our table, addressing himself to me, 'ess zis your breakfast or your dinnaire?'

      "'Don't answer him,' said the Doctor; 'we'll have some sport with these fellows.'

      "The beefsteaks were brought, and we attacked them with great effect.

      "'It must be ze dinnaire,' muttered our military friend to himself, just loud enough for us to hear.

      "'Pardon me, gentlemen,' he again said, addressing himself to me in a louder tone, 'ess zis your breakfast or your dinnaire?'

      "'Bring some fried eggs,' called out the Doctor, before I could answer.

      "'Oui, messieurs,' replied the waiter, quickly darting into the kitchen.

      "'Oh, it must be ze dinnaire,' again muttered our old friend opposite; 'certainlee, it must be ze dinnaire.'

      "The eggs were brought and soon despatched. The old Frenchman looked aghast.

      "'Pardon me once more, my dear young friend,' he said, 'ess zis your breakfast or your dinnaire?'

      "The Doctor winked at me not to answer, and called out, 'Waiter! two more cups of tea!'

      "The old Frenchman looked at his watch and said despairingly, 'Oh, it must be ze dinnaire. Dinnaire at half-past eight! Mon Dieu! Howevaire, I will ask once more. My dear sare, ess zis your breakfast or your dinnaire?'

      "'Sir,' I replied, somewhat petulantly, 'we came here to eat, not to answer questions!'

      "'Yes, sare, but I am a journalist, and am anxious to study ze characteristics of ze Engleesh; zerefore, I ask, ess zis your breakfast or your dinnaire?'

      "'Bring more toast, waiter,' said the Doctor.

      "'More tost! Ah, it ess ze dinnaire – must be ze dinnaire,' mumbled the old Frenchman.

      "The toast and tea disposed of, we rose and paid our bill. We were about to leave the restaurant, when the old Frenchman quitted the table, as if for the purpose of having a parting shot at us. Just as we were stepping into the street, he tapped me on the shoulder, and making a polite bow, said, 'Sare, if you please, was zat your breakfast or your dinnaire?'

      "This seemed too much for human nature to bear, and without thinking exactly what I was about, I threw my glove into his face.

      "'Sare, what you mean? An insult?'

      "'Yes,' said the Doctor, 'and another, if you like. We have stood your impertinence for the last half-hour. You are no gentleman.'

      "'Sare? No gentleman? Zare is my card!'

      "'And there is mine,' said the Doctor.

      "'One at a time, my friends,' coolly replied the old man. 'My business is wiz zis young gentleman first. He has struck me wiz his glove! He must fight.'

      "'Agreed,' said the Doctor. 'Send your friend to me. I shall be happy to assist this young gentleman, and to fight you myself afterwards.'

      "'One moment, gentlemen. My friend, Colonel Monier, now at yonder table, will confer wiz you;' and the old fellow called to his friend.

      "In a few moments arrangements were perfected for a meeting between the Frenchman and myself the next morning at daylight, at a small clump of trees a few miles from town. Weapons, pistols; distance, fifteen paces.

      "'Don't be alarmed, Dan,' said the Doctor, as we were going on board our ship; 'I'll teach you how to wing the frog-eater. Wing him, my boy! Wing him! I've done the trick a dozen times!'

      "Next morning the Doctor, Tom Wallace, our purser, and myself drove to the place appointed for the meeting, and found the French party already on the ground.

      "'Cheer up, Dan,' said my second, 'and remember, aim for his left shoulder. You'll wing him like a pigeon. Those Frenchmen know nothing of fire-arms.'

      "The preliminaries over, we took our positions. I must confess I was terribly nervous; but while I intended to merely wound my adversary, I determined to follow the advice of the Doctor, and 'aim for the left shoulder.'

      "'Are you ready?'

      "'Ready.'

      "'Fire.'

      "'One.'

      "'Two.'

      "'Three.'

      "It had been arranged that we should fire between the words 'One' and 'Three;' and as the word 'Two' was on the lips of the second, I fired.

      "'Oh, mon Dieu!' cried my opponent, falling bleeding into the arms of his second, as the bullet from his pistol almost grazed my cheek.

      "'Parbleu! He is dying – shot through the heart. You are a surgeon; can you do anything for him?' said I, appealing to my friend, the Doctor.

      "'No, my lad,' said he; 'you aimed too low.'

      "'This is terrible,' I cried, now for the first time realizing the awful position in which I was placed. 'What can we do?'

      "'Get across the frontier as soon as possible,' was the advice of the old Frenchman's second.

      "'Our ship sails at noon,' said the Doctor.

      "I advanced to the dying man, whose life-blood was pouring from his side, and with tears streaming down my face, begged his forgiveness. He opened his poor, sad eyes, now almost glazed in death.

      "'Oh, speak to me!' cried I, 'if only one word. I would give the world to recall this wicked duel. Is there anything on earth that I can do for you or yours? Tell me, and on the honor of an English gentleman, I will do as you command.'

      "'Ah, my young friend,' said the dying man, 'I feel that I have but a few minutes to live. I am dying even while I speak; but I shall die perfectly happy if you will tell me whether zat was your breakfast or your dinnaire?'"

William J. Florence.

      "FORGET-ME-NOT."

      "Forget – forget me not!"

      Vain, piteous human prayer!

      We all are doomed to be forgot;

      It is, alas! the common lot

      Of mortals everywhere.

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