than that of disgust at the egregious impudence, and contempt for the superlative conceit, that could lead any other man to enter the lists as an opponent to themselves. Repeatedly had Mr. P. been heard to express his desire to lengthen the olfactory organ of Mr. C.; while the latter had frequently been known to declare that nothing would confer greater gratification upon him than to endorse with his cane the person of Mr. P. In fact, they hated each other with all possible cordiality. Fortunately, however, circumstances had never brought them into collision.

It was a lovely afternoon in May. All the world were returning to town. Georgiana Gray had just forsaken Harrowgate and its waters, to participate in the thickening gaieties of the metropolis. Augustus Peacock had abandoned the moors of Scotland for the beauties of Almack’s; and Julius Candy had hastened from the banks of the Wye for the fascinations of Taglioni and the Opera.

The first object of Augustus on returning to town was to hasten and pay his devoirs to his intended. With this intent he proceeded to the mansion of Georgiana, and was ushered into the drawing-room, with the assurance that the lady would be with him immediately. The servant, however, had no sooner quitted the apartment than Mr. Candy, actuated by a similar motive, knocked at the door, and was speedily conducted into the presence of his rival.

The two gentlemen, being mutually ignorant of the person of the other, bowed with all the formality usual to a first introduction.

“Fine day, sir,” said Augustus Peacock, after a short pause, little aware that he was holding communion with his rival.

“It is—very fine, sir,” returned Julius Candy with a smile, which, had he been conscious of the person he was addressing, would instantly have been converted into a most contemptuous sneer.

“Have you had the pleasure of seeing Miss Gray, sir, since her return from Harrowgate?” inquired Augustus, with the soft civility of a man of fashion.

“No,—I have not yet had that honour, sir; no,”—replied Julius, with a slight inclination of his body.

“Charming girl, sir,” remarked Mr. Peacock.

“Fascinating creature,” responded Mr. Candy.

“Did you ever see such eyes, sir?” continued Mr. P.

“Never! ’pon my honour! never!”—exclaimed Julius, in a tone of moderate enthusiasm. “You may call them eyes, sir,” and here he elevated his own.

“And what lips?”

“Positively provoking!”

“Ah, sir!” languishingly remarked Augustus, “he will be a happy may who gets possession of such a treasure!”

“He will, indeed, sir,” returned his unknown rival, with an air of self-satisfaction, as if he believed that happiness was likely to be his own.

“You are aware, I suppose, sir,” proceeded the communicative Mr. Peacock, “that there is a certain party whom Miss Gray looks upon with particular favour”—and the gentleman, to give peculiar emphasis to the remark, slightly elevated his cravat.

“I should think I ought to be”—pointedly returned Mr. C.—simpering somewhat diffidently at the idea that the observation was levelled at himself.

The two rivals looked at each other, tittered, and bowed.

“Ah! yes—I dare say—observed it, no doubt!” said Augustus, when his emotion had subsided.

“Why, yes—I should have been blind indeed could I have failed to remark it,” responded Julius.

“Ah yes—you’re right—yes—Miss Gray’s attentions have been particularly marked, certainly—yes.”

“They have been, sir, very, very marked—she’s quite taken, poor thing, I believe!”

“Yes, poor creature!—sadly smitten indeed!—The lady has confessed as much to you perhaps, sir?”

Mr. Candy looked surprised at the remark of his companion, and replied “Why really, sir, that is a question which”—

“Ah, yes, I beg pardon, I was wrong—yes, I ought to have considered—but candidly, sir, what do you think of the match?”

“’Pon my honour, my dear sir,” exclaimed Julius most feelingly, colouring slightly at the question, which he thought was rather home-thrust.

“Ah, yes, to be sure, it is rather a delicate question, considering, you know, that one is in the presence of the party himself, is it not?”

“Very, very delicate, I can assure you,” said Julius, who, “laying the flattering unction to his soul” that he was the party alluded to, thought it rather an indelicate one.

Augustus observed the embarrassment of his companion, and could not refrain from laughter, and turning round to his companion, enquired significantly, “whether he did not think he was a happy man?”

Julius, who was in a measure similarly affected by the excitement of his unknown friend, observed, that the gentleman certainly did seem of a peculiarly gay disposition; and the two rivals, each delighted with the fancied approval of his suit by the other, indulged a mutual cachinnation.

“I suppose,” after a slight pause remarked Augustus, with apparently perfect indifference, “you are aware that there was a rival in the field?”

“Oh! ah! did hear of a fellow,” responded Julius, with equal insouciance, “but the idea of any other man carrying off the prize, perfectly ridiculous!”

“Oh! absolutely ludicrous, ’pon my soul! Ha! ha! ha!”

“It is astonishing the confounded vanity of some people!”

“And their preposterous obtuseness! why, a man with half an eye might see the folly of such presumption.”

“To be sure, stupid dolt!”

“Impudent puppy!”

“Conceited fool!”

“The fellow must be out of his senses!”

“Yes, a horsewhipping perhaps might bring him to!”

“Ay, or a good kicking might be salutary!”

The unanimity of the rival candidates produced, as might be supposed from their ignorance of the pretensions of each other, a feeling of mutual satisfaction and friendship, which, after a volley of anathemas had been fired by each gentleman against his rival, in absolute unconsciousness of his presence, ultimately displayed itself by each of them rising from his chair, and shaking the other most energetically by the hand.

“Really, my dear sir,” exclaimed Augustus in an inordinate fit of enthusiasm, at the supposed sympathy of his companion, “I never met with a gentleman so peculiarly to my fancy as yourself.”

“The feeling is perfectly reciprocal, believe me, my dear sir,” returned Julius, equally delighted with the imagined friendship of Mr. P.

“I trust that our acquaintance will not end here.”

“I shall be most proud to cultivate it, I can assure you.”

“Will you allow me to present you with a card?”

“I shall be too happy to exchange it for one of my own!” and so saying, the parties searched for their cases—Mr. P., in the mean time, protesting his gratification “to meet with a gentleman whose opinions so thoroughly coincided with his own,”—and Mr. C. as emphatically declaring “that he should ever consider this the most fortunate occurrence of his life.”

“Believe me, I shall be most happy to see you at any time,” observed Mr. Augustus Peacock, smiling as he placed the small oblong of cardboard which bore his name and address in the hand of his companion.

“I shall feel too proud if you will honour me with a call at your earliest convenience,” said Mr. Julius Candy bowing, while he presented to his fancied friend the little pasteboard parallelogram inscribed with his title and residence.

The eyes of the two gentlemen, however, were no sooner directed to the cards, which had been placed in their hands, than the smiles which had previously gladdened their countenances were instantaneously changed into expressions of the most indignant scorn and