rality. But, nevertheless, the existence of the practice is a kind of defence to it, putting us upon suggesting all sorts of empty reasons for tolerating it, such as its tending to keep up a manly and martial spirit in a commercial community, which we have heard seriously urged in its favor. Were it once suppressed, we should wonder that it ever existed, as we wonder at the obsolete amusement of sword-playing,

so much

are we liable to be affected, in our judgment of an abuse, by the fact of its being or not being. Could we, by any moral argument, more effectually urge the propriety of utterly extinguishing the degrading sports of the ring?"

us,

No. XV.

THE DUELLIST.

[From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, 1835.]

A FOREIGNER who has lately written a work upon England mentions that Englishmen are cowards, they do not fight duels, but content themselves occasionally with boxing. The writer is very ill acquainted with the people of this country who could pen such nonsense as this. If duelling be not practised amongst it is because Englishmen we speak of the middle classes — have more good sense than to resort to such idiotic and murderous means of settling disputes. Besides, there is respect for the law, not to speak of moral and religious obligation. The man who either sends or accepts a challenge to fight with weapons calculated to produce death, must in the eye of sober reason be - presumed to act from villanous or exceedingly foolish considerations; although not less unworthy is the conduct which can lead to so fatal a kind of strife. True courage has, in most respects, nothing to do with fighting. Any ruffian can fight. The evil passions are able to prompt men to face death from the worst of motives. True courage is associated with a strong perception of right and wrong, and will exert itself only in a good cause. The man who risks his life to save that of another, or to rescue his country from an imminent danger, exhibits this description of courage in its best light. Fortunately, by the spread of intelligence and the increased power of law and magisterial authority, the practice of duelling is wellnigh banished from Great Britain, and has taken up its abode in those Continental countries where common sense yet exerts but feeble influence, and where

the law does not consider the duellist as a murderer by intent. At Paris, duels have ever been common, the great arena for such encounters being the Bois de Boulogne, a woody park beyond the barriers on the west. Here many an unfortunate wretch has fallen a victim to erroneous principles of honor. The following relation of one of these brutal encounters, in which an Englishman of rank was engaged, is given in a novel recently published, under the title of the "Unfortunate Man."

6

"Villeneuve, a most notable villain, was one day surprised by young Talbot, whilst instilling his venom of deception into the ear of his sister. The words which passed were few. Suspicions and anonymous letters had already awakened the vigilance of the brother, and had prepared him to wreak ample vengeance on the shoulders of Villeneuve. The blow could not be excused; a meeting took place, and the usual barrier-duel was proposed. To this the young Englishman most positively dissented. He had heard that, day after day, and morning after morning, his adversary was to be seen popping at fifty paces at little plasterof-Paris figures, about the size of a thimble, and that, thanks to his patience, his practice, and his own pistols, the aim was unerring. The Tir au Pistolet,' now a very general resort of all young Frenchmen, in order to prepare them to commit murder, was likewise the resort of Villeneuve. He was a proficient,— a cool, dead shot; cool from the knowledge of his own powers, and that coolness always gives courage when challenged. He smiled, as much as to say, It is immaterial to me'; and the next morning he was with his second at the appointed spot. I will not,' said young Talbot,' consent to be shot like a chicken at a stake. I know I have no chance that way of obtaining redress for the injury my family have received. I know that my death is certain, even at fifty paces, and I am resolved to have a chance for my life; so just tell that French officer that the only way I will consent to fight is to have one pistol loaded and the other not, to draw for first choice, and then to stand within a pace of each other; and may Heaven direct the choice of him whose cause is the most just!' It is strange, that even before battles men pray to be assisted by a beneficent, benevolent Creator in the work of destruction, as if the mingled hosts dealing out death and destruction, the rude charge of cavalry, or the shock of infantry, could be pleasant to the eyes of Him who made us, who gave us life, and has taught us how to live! To return thanks after the battle is another thing: we may safely return thanks

that we have been spared to repent of our murders; but there is something quite revolting to Christianity in the belief that the Supreme Being mingles in the contest, or that the results can be gratifying to an all-merciful God. Villeneuve did not make the slightest objection to the proposition of Talbot's second, although several of his own countrymen, who had come on the pleasant excursion to witness the fight, strongly and vainly endeavored to persuade their friend to leave his life to a better chance. The preparation did not take long. The pistols, both being of course exactly alike, were loaded by the seconds, and enveloped in a large silk handkerchief. The first choice fell to the lot of Villeneuve, who, placing his hand on the weapons, endeavored to choose the heaviest ; but he who is to stand such a dreadful hazard as the one proposed must be more than a man in courage, if in such a moment he is cool enough to discriminate between weights to which a single small bullet gives the preponderance. He fixed upon the one he thought the heaviest, and the other was given to Talbot. They took their respective grounds, and so close that the muzzle of each man's pistol touched his adversary. Talbot expressed himself as ready to die as to commit the murder, but there was no alternative; he himself had proposed the mode of fighting, and the ungenerous precaution taken by his adversary gave him a little more of the murderous intention than his otherwise truly English feeling could have permitted. Men face some dreadful sights, but few have seen the parallel to this; neither is it to be thought of by my readers as the mere effusion of an imaginary brain. The duel in question actually took place, and if the names were changed, every particular would be true. Dreadful must it have been for the friends of each; the certain knowledge that one must fall, — the excitement, the agitation, the hope, the expectation, almost placed the by-standers in as great an apprehension as the principals. When both were placed on the ground, the seconds of each advanced, and took a last farewell. Talbot shook his friend's hand with an earnest trepidation; he merely whispered a few words, and, with a faint smile and fainter accent, said, 'Good by.' Villeneuve appeared as unconcerned as if he were a casual spectator; he spoke quick and rapidly; nodded to one or two of the company, more as a recognition than as a parting; and had taken leave of his second before Talbot had ended his low whisper. The words given were merely, 'Are you ready?' then, Fire!' Both pistols went off on the second, and both men

fell. Villeneuve only turned upon his side, and almost instantaneously died. Talbot was lifted immediately; the closeness of the pistol at the discharge had knocked him down, and his face was a little injured by the powder; but his worst feeling was that of disgust, when he saw his fallen enemy dead at his feet. The whirl of the brain left him reasonless for some moments, and he fixed his excited eyes upon the corpse; he was hurried from the spot in a dreadful state, and many months elapsed before he was perfectly restored to health, or even reason. There lay Villeneuve, the sworn foe to all Englishmen, having met the fate of almost all professed duellists. He died with a smile of contempt upon his countenance. One of his companions threw his cloak over the corpse; many looked on in silence. There was not a word spoken; the stillness of death had extended itself to the spectators, who one by one retired with cautious footsteps, as if fearing to awaken the slumbers of him who had gone to his long account, and who had left behind him a memory so tarnished that friendship would gladly forget it, and had made the enmity he bore to our countrymen a kind of entailed curse upon his survivors."

No. XVI.

TRIFLES TO AMUSE, AND YET WITH A LESSON.

WESTON, of facetious memory, having borrowed on note the sum of five pounds, and failing in payment, the gentleman who had lent the money took occasion to talk of it in a public coffeehouse, which caused Weston to send him a challenge.

Being in the field, the gentleman, a little tender in point of courage, offered him the note to make it up, to which our hero readily consented, and had the note delivered.

"But now," said the gentleman, "if we should return without fighting, our companions will laugh at us; therefore let us give one another a slight scratch, and say we wounded each other. "With all my heart," says Weston; come, I'll wound you

first."

66

So, drawing his sword, he whipped it through the fleshy part of his antagonist's arm, till he brought the very tears into his

eyes.

This done, and the wound tied up with a handkerchief, "Come," said the gentleman, "where shall I wound you?

Weston, putting himself in a posture of defence, replied, "Where you can, sir; where you can."

Two young men, members of a political club at Bromberg, fell into dispute upon the German question. One, an uncompromising German unionist, argued that, much as he loved his native land (Prussia), he loved Germany infinitely more, and unless German unity could be accomplished, Prussia would be lost; and therefore he declared himself against all specific Prussian-doms, and consequently against the Prussian cockade, its symbol. The other, who is what is called a stock-Preussier (Prussian to the backbone), took fire at the last words, which he regarded as an insult to the Prussian cockade and colors, and so, in lieu of argument, he retorted by saying, " Sir, you are a pitiful fellow." Whereupon the unionist, though sorely vexed at seeing his argument thus uncivilly cut short, bowed calmly and said, "I never reply to an insult by insults; you shall hear from me. After twenty-four hours' consideration, and in perfect harmony with the maxims of universal peace, he sat down and addressed the following letter to his antagonist: “ Sir, your yesterday's insult demands satisfaction; but as I am a married man I do not choose to set my life on a chance. I therefore propose that we shall fire with pistols at a mark, in the presence of our seconds, and whoever makes the best shot shall receive a one hundred dollar share, bearing five per cent. interest, in the Voluntary Loan. By this means you can satisfy your patriotism and my honor. Yours, &c." The Prussian laughed in his sleeve at this singular challenge, more singular than the beer duels of the university students, and accepted it; little disposed, however, to change his "pitiful" opinion of the challenger. Well, out they went, seconds and all, to the shootingground, and, as it was declared that both were unpractised shots, the chances were equal. So, after measuring distance and loading pistols, with all the gravity of a murderous conflict, pop went the challenger, and hit the bull's-eye, and bang went the challenged, and missed the target; whereupon the seconds interfered, and condemned the loser to book up. And there the affair ended, to the universal merriment of the usually pugnacious town of Bromberg.