Morose.That cursed barber!Truewit.Yes, faith, a cursed wretch indeed, sir.Morose.I have married hiscittern, that’s common to all men.
Morose.That cursed barber!
Truewit.Yes, faith, a cursed wretch indeed, sir.
Morose.I have married hiscittern, that’s common to all men.
Upon this passage is the following note—“It appears from innumerable passages, in our old writers, that barbers’ shops were furnished with some musical instrument, commonly a cittern or guitar, for the amusement of such customers as chose to strum upon it, while waiting for their turn to be shaved, &c. It should be recollected, that the patience of customers, if the shop was at all popular, must, in those tedious days of love-locks, and beards of most fantastical cuts, have been frequently put to very severe trials. Some kind of amusement therefore was necessary, to beguile the time.”
In old times, in old England, barbers were in the habit of making a variety of noises, with their fingers and their shears, which noises were supposed to be agreeable to their customers. Fosbroke, p. 414, refers to Lily’s old play of Mydas, iii. 2, as showing the existence of the custom, in his time. Lily was born about 1553. There were some, who preferred to be shaved and dressed quietly. Nares, in his Glossary, refers to Plutarch, De Garrulitate, for an anecdote of King Archelaus, who stipulated with his barber to shave him in silence. This barbers’ trick was called the “knack with the fingers;” and was extremely disagreeable to Morose, in Ben Jonson’s play, to which I have referred. Thus, in i. 2, Clerimont, speaking of the partiality of Morose for Cutbeard, the barber, says—“The fellow trims him silently, and has not the knack with his shears or his fingers: and that continence in a barber he thinks so eminent a virtue, as it has made him chief of his counsel.”
As barbers were brought first into Rome, from Sicily, so the best razors, according to Nares and Fosbroke, before the English began to excel in cutlery, were obtained in Palermo. Their form was unlike those now in use, and seems more perfectly to correspond with one of the Roman names, signifying a razor, i. e.culter. The blade, like that of a pruning knife, or sickle, curved slightly inward, the reverse of which is the modern form.
Smith, in his Ancient Topography of London, says—“The flying barber is a character now no more to be seen in London, though he still remains in some of our country villages: he was provided with a napkin, soap, and pewter basin, the form of which may be seen, in many of the illustrative prints of Don Quixote. His chafer was a deep leaden vessel, something like a chocolate pot, with a large ring or handle, at the top; this pot held about a quart of water, boiling hot; and, thus equipped, he flew about to his customers.”
Old Randle Holme says, “perawickes” were very common in his time, about 1668, though unused before “contrary to our forefathers, who wore their own hair.” A barber, in Paris, to recommend his bag wigs, hung over his door the sign of Absalom. Hone, i. 1262, states that a periwig-maker, to recommend his wares, turned the reason into rhyme:
“Oh, Absalom, oh Absalom,Oh Absalom, my son,If thou hadst worn a periwig,Thou hadst not been undone.”
Hutchinson, i. 152, says periwigs were an eyesore in New England, for thirty years after the Restoration of Charles II.
Among the Romans, after Mena introduced the practice of shaving, those, who professed philosophy, still maintained their dignity, and their beards, as anecce signum. Hence the expression of Horace, Sat. ii. 3, 35,sapientem pascere barbam: and of Persius, iv. 1, when speaking of Socrates:
barbatum hæc crede magistrumDicere, sorbitio tollit quem dira cicutæ.
Of those, who wear beards, at the present day, it has been computed, that, for one philosopher, there are five hundred fools, at the very lowest estimate. Manage them as you will, they are troublesome appendages; of very questionable cleanliness; and mightily in the way of such, as are much addicted to gravy and spoon victual. Like the burden of our sins, the postprandial odor of them must be sometimes intolerable.
What an infinite variety of colors we have now-a-days! Bottom, in Midsummer Night’s Dream, i. 2, is in doubt, what beard he shall play Pyramus in, and, at last, he says—“I will discharge it in either your straw-colored beard, your orange tawny beard, your purple ingrain beard, or your French crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.” Now I can honestly aver, that every fifth dandy I meet, looks precisely like Bottom, performing Pyramus. Now and then, I meet a fine, full, black beard; but, even then, it seems to me, that the proud satisfaction the fortunate proprietor must feel, in going about town with it, must be, in some degree, counterbalanced, by the necessity of sleeping in it, during the summer solstice.
The fancy colors, proposed by Bottom, refer to the dyes, in use, at the period, when Bottom flourished. Indeed, dyeing the beard is of the highest antiquity. I have no authority that Aaron dyed his. In 1653, John Bulwer published his “Anthropo-Metamorphosis,” or Artificial Changeling, a very able and curious production. For the antiquity of the silly practice of dyeing the beard, he refers to Strabo. Old John Bulwer, ch. ix., comments, with just severity, upon the conduct of those ancient fools, who adopt the practice—“In every haire of these old coxcombs, you shall meet with three divers and sundry colors; white at the roots, yellow in the middle, and black at the point, like unto one of your parrat’s feathers.” What a graphicdescription of this nasty appendage! It has ever been to me a matter of infinite surprise, how any mortal can presume to say his prayers, with one of these pied abominations on his chin; giving the lie direct to the volume of inspiration, which avers that he cannot make one hair black nor white.
Another mystery—how can any man’s better half become reconciled to a husband, dyed thus, in the wool! The colors are not all fast colors, I believe; and are liable to be rubbed off, by attrition.
Beards were cultivated, to such an excess, in Elizabeth’s time, as to require and receive a check from the legislature. “The growth of beards,” says Nares, in his Glossary, “was regulated by statute, at Lincoln’s Inn, in the time of Eliz.—Primo Eliz. it was ordered, that no fellow of that house should wear a beard above a fortnight’s growth. Transgression was punished with fine, loss of commons, and finally expulsion. But fashion prevailed, and in November, the following year, all previous orders, touching beards, were repealed.”
It was formerly calculated, by Lord Stanhope, that the sum, expended upon snuff, and the value of the time, consumed in taking it, and the cost of snuff-boxes, handkerchiefs, &c., if duly invested, would pay off the national debt. I have a proposal to offer, and I offer it, timidly and respectfully, for the consideration of those amiable females, who go about, so incessantly, doing good. Perhaps I may not be able to awaken their interest, more effectually, than by suggesting the idea, that here is a very fair opportunity, for the formation of another female auxiliary society. I take it for granted, that there are some of these bearded gentlemen, from whom contributions in money, could not easily be obtained, for any benevolent object. There are some, whose whole estate, real, personal, and mixed, comprehends very little, beyond a costly malacca joint, a set of valuable shirtstuds, and a safety chain. Still if we cudgel the doctrine of political economy, we may get some small contributions, even from them.
Cortez found, in the treasury of Montezuma, a multitude of little bags, which were, at last, discovered to be filled with dead lice. The Emperor, to keep the Mexican beggars out of mischief, had levied this species of tax. I am well aware, that the power of levying taxes is not vested in young ladies. They have certain, natural, inherent rights, however, and, amongthem, the right and the power of persuasion. Let them organize, throughout the Union, and establish committees of correspondence. Let them address a circular to every individual, who wears a beard; and, if their applications succeed, they will enjoy the luxury of supplying a comfortable hair mattrass, to every poor widow, and aged single woman in the United States.
The barber’s brush is a luxury of more modern times. Stubbe, in his “Anatomy of Abuses,” says—“When they come to washing, oh, how gingerly they behave themselves therein. For then shall your mouths be bossed with the lather or some that rinseth of the balles, (for they have their sweete balles, wherewith all they use to washe) your eyes closed must be anointed therewith also. Then snap go the fingers, ful bravely, God wot. Thus, this tragedy ended; comes the warme clothes to wipe and dry him with all.” Stubbe wrote, about 1550.
Not very long ago, a writer in the Gentleman’s Magazine, observed—“I am old enough to remember when the operation of shaving in this kingdom, was almost exclusively performed by thebarbers: what I speak of is some threescore years ago, at which time gentlemen shavers were unknown. Expedition was then a prime quality in a barber, who smeared the lather over his customer’s face with his hand; for the delicate refinement of the brush had not been introduced. The lathering of the beard being finished, the operator threw off the lather, adhering to his hand, by a peculiar jerk of his arm, which caused the joints of his fingers to crack, this being a more expeditious mode of clearing the hand, than using a towel for that purpose; and, the more audible the crack, the higher the shaver stood, in his own opinion, and in that of the fraternity. This I presume is the custom alluded to by Stubbe.”
The Romans, when bald, wore wigs. Some of the emperors wore miserable periwigs. Curly locks, however becoming in a male child, are somewhat ridiculous, trained with manifest care, and descending upon the shoulders of a full grown boy of forty. In addition to the pole, a peruke was frequently employed, as thebarber’s sign. There was the short bob, and the full bottom; the “hie perrawycke” and the scratch; the top piece, and the periwig with the pole lock; the curled wig with a dildo, and the travelling wig, with curled foretop and bobs; the campain wig, with a dildo on each side, and the toupet, a la mode.
It may seem a paradox to some, that the mostbarbarousnations should suffer the hair and beard to grow longest. The management of the hair has furnished an abundant subject matter for grave attention, in every age and nation. Cleansing, combing, crimping, and curling, clipping, and consecrating their locks gave ample occupation to the ladies and gentlemen of Greece and Rome. At the time of adolescence, and after shipwreck, the hair was cut off and sacrificed to the divinities. It was sometimes cut off, at funerals, and cast upon the pile. Curling irons were in use, at Rome. Girls wore the hair fastened upon the top of the head; matrons falling on the neck. Shaving the crown was a part of the punishment of conspirators and thieves. We know nothing, at present, in regard to the hair, which was unknown at Rome—ourfrizzingwas theircapillorum tortura. They had an instrument, calledtressorium, for plaiting the hair. In the time of Edward the Confessor, the hair was worn, universally, long, the laws of England not compelling all, but the nobility, as in France, to cut the hair short, in that age.
The Romans are said, occasionally to have worn wigs of an enormous size, which gave occasion to the term, in Martial’s epigram,caput calceatum. We have no exact record of the size of those Roman wigs—but I sincerely wish, that Augustus Cæsar or—
“Mæcenas, whose high lineage springs,From fair Etruria’s ancient kings,”
could have seen the Rev. Dr. Lathrop’s! In Mr. Ward’s journal of Samuel Curwen, that venerable and truly respectable, and amiable, old tory is represented, with precisely such a wig, but of much smaller diameter. Dr. John Lathrop died, Jan. 4, 1816, at the age of 75. He published a considerable number of sermons on various occasions, no one of which is remarkable for extraordinary talent, or learning. It was, by some intelligent persons, supposed, that the wig was a great help to him. In his latter days, he found himself unable, any longer, to bear up, under such a portentous superstructure, which really appeared to “overhang,” contrary to the statute, and he laid it aside. Hisinfluence certainly appeared to diminish, in some measure, probably, from the increasing infirmities of age; but, doubtless, in some degree, from the deposition of the wig. I honestly confess, that I never felt for Dr. Lathrop the same awful reverence, after he had laid aside this emblem of wisdom. A “wig full of learning” is an ancient saying, and Cowper makes use of it, in one of his lighter poems.
I have always looked upon barbers, as an honorable race of men, quite as much so, as brokers; the barbers seldom fail to shave more gently, and commonly dismiss an old customer, without drawing blood, or taking off the skin. We owe them a debt of gratitude withal, on other scores. How very easily they might cut our throats!
In this goodly city, at the present time, there are more than one hundred and ten gentlemen, who practice the art of barbery, beside their respective servants and apprentices. When I was a small boy—very—some sixty years ago, there were but twenty-nine, and many of them were most respectable and careful operators—an honor to their profession, and a blessing to the community.
There was Charles Gavett, in Devonshire Street, the Pudding Lane of our ancestors. Gavett was a brisk, little fellow; histonstrinawas small, and rather dark, but always full.
In Brattle Square, just behind the church, John Green kept a shop, for several years. But John became unsteady, and cut General Winslow, and some other of his customers, and scalded several others, and lost his business.
In Fish Street, which had then, but recently, ceased to be the court end of the town, there were several clever barbers—there was Thomas Grubb, and Zebulon Silvester, and James Adams, and Abraham Florence. I never heard a syllable against them, or their lather.
At No. 33, Marlborough Street, William Whipple kept a first rate establishment, and had a high name, among the dandies, as an accomplished haircutter.
Jonathan Edes kept a small shop, in Ann Street, and had a fair run of transient custom. He had always a keen edge and a delicate hand. He was greatly urged to take a larger establishment, in a more fashionable part of the town, near Cow Lane, but Mr. Edes was not ambitious, and turned a wiry edge to all such suggestions.
William Mock kept a shop, in Newbury Street, an excellent shaver, but slow; his shop was not far from the White Horse. He was a peripatetic. I suspect, but am not certain, that he shaved Dr. Lemuel Hayward.
At the corner of Essex Street, old Auchmuty’s Lane, George Gideon kept a fine stand, clean towels, keen edge, and hot lather; but he had a rough, coarse hand. He had been one of the sons of liberty, and his shop being near the old site of Liberty tree, he was rather apt to take liberties with his customers’ noses, especially the noses of the disaffected.
There were two professed wig-makers, in Boston, at that time, who performed the ordinary functions of barbers beside, William Haslet, in Adams Street, and John Bosson, in Orange Street. Mr. Bosson was very famous, in his line, and in great request, among the ladies.
In Marshall’s Lane, Edward Hill was an admirable shaver; but, in the department of hair cutting, inferior to Anthony Howe, whose exceedingly neat and comfortable establishment was in South Latin School Street. An excellent hotel was then kept, by Joshua Bracket, at the sign of Cromwell’s Head, on the very spot, where Palmer keeps his fruit shop, and the very next door below the residence of Dr. John Warren. Bracket patronized Howe’s shop, and sent him many customers. Captain John Boyle, whose house and bookstore were at No. 18 Marlborough Street, patronized Anthony Howe.
Samuel Jepson kept hisbarbery, as the shop was sometimes called, in Temple Street, between the two bakeries of William Breed and Matthew Bayley.
James Tate was established in Purchase Street. He would have been a good barber, had he not been a poor poet. He was proud of his descent from Nahum Tate, the psalmodist, the copartner of Brady. Richard Fox kept also in Purchase Street, and had a large custom.
A much frequented barber’s shop was kept, by William Pierce, near the Boston Stone. Jonathan Farnham was an excellent barber, in Back Street. He unluckily had an ominous squint, which was inconvenient, as it impressed new comers, now and then, with a fear lest he might cut their throats. Joseph Alexander shaved in Orange Street, and Theodore Dehon, on the north side of the Old State House.
Joseph Eckley was one of the best shavers and hair cutters intown, some sixty years ago. His shop was in Wing’s Lane. Daniel Crosby, who was also a wig maker, in Newbury Street, was clerk of Trinity Church.
Augustine Raillion, whose name was often written Revaillion kept his stand, at No. 48 Newbury Street. He was much given to dogs, ponies, and other divertisements.
State Street was famous, for four accomplished barbers, sixty years ago—Stephen Francis, John Gould, John M. Lane, and Robert Smallpiece. The last was the father of Robert Smallpiece, who flourished here, some thirty years ago or more, and kept his shop, in Milk Street, opposite the Old South Church.
It is well known, that the late Robert Treat Paine wrote an ode, upon the occasion of the Spanish successes, to which he gave the title of “Spain, Commerce and Freedom, a National Ode.” It bore unquestionable marks of genius; but some of the ideas and much of the phraseology were altogether extravagant. It commenced finely—
“Sound the trumpet of fame! Strike that pæan again!Religion a war against tyranny wages;From her seat springs, in armor, regenerate Spain,Like a giant, refresh’d by the slumber of ages.From the place, where she lay,She leaps in array,Like Ajax, to die in the face of the day.”
The ode contained some strange expressions—“redintegrant war”—“though the dismemberd earth effervesce and regender,” and so many more, that the ode, though evidently the work of a man of genius, was accounted bombastic. A wag of that day, published a parody, of which this Robert Smallpiece was the hero. It was called, if I mistake not—“Soap, Razors, and Hot Water, a Tonsorial Ode.” The first stanza ran thus—
“Strap that razor so keen! Strap that razor again!And Smallpiece will shave ’em, if he can come at ’em;From his stool, clad in aprons, he springs up amain,Like a barber, refresh’d by the smell of pomatum.From the place, where he lay,He leaps in array,To lather and shave, in the face of the day.He has sworn from pollution our faces to clean,Our cheeks, necks, and upper lips, whiskers and chin.”
“Paullo majora canamus.”
In 1784, Mr. Thomas Percival, an eminent physician, of Manchester, in England, published a work, against duelling, and sent a copy to Dr. Franklin. Dr. Franklin replied to Mr. Percival, from Passy, July 17, 1784, and his reply contains the following observations—“Formerly, when duels were used to determine lawsuits, from an opinion, that Providence would in every instance, favor truth and right, with victory, they were excusable. At present, they decide nothing. A man says something, which another tells him is a lie. They fight; but whichever is killed, the point in dispute remains unsettled. To this purpose, they have a pleasant little story here. A gentleman, in a coffee-house, desired another to sit further from him. ‘Why so?’—‘Because, sir, you stink.’—‘That is an affront, and you must fight me.’—‘I will fight you, if you insist upon it; but I do not see how that will mend the matter. For if you kill me, I shall stink too; and, if I kill you, you will stink, if possible, worse than you do at present.’”
This is certainly germain to the matter. So far from perceiving any moral courage, in those, who fight duels, nothing seems more apparent, than the triumph of one fear, over four other fears—the fear of shame, over the fear of bringing misery upon parents, wives and children—the fear of the law—the fear of God—and the fear of death. Many a man willbravedeath, who fears it.
Death is the king of terrors, and all men stand in awe of him, saving the Christian, with his armor of righteousness about him,cap-a-pie; and even he, perhaps, is slightly pricked, by that fear, now and then, in articulo, between the joints of the harness. I must honestly confess, that I once knew a man, who had a terrible vixen of a wife, and, when about to die, he replied to his clergyman’s inquiry, if he was not afraid to meet the king of terrors, that he was not, for he had lived with the queen, for thirty years.
I do not suppose there is a more hypocritical fellow, upon earth, than a duellist. Mandeville, in his Fable of the Bees, in the second dialogue, part ii., puts these words into the mouth of Cleomenes, when speaking to Horatio, on the subject of his duel: “I saw you, that very morning, and you seemed to be sedateand void of passion: you could have no concern.” Horatio replies—“It is silly to show any, at such times; but I know best what I felt; the struggle I had within was unspeakable: it is a terrible thing. I would then have given a considerable part of my estate, that the thing which forced me into it, had not happened; and yet, upon less provocation, I would act the same part again, tomorrow.” Such is human nature, and many, who sit down quietly, to write in opposition to this silly, senseless, selfish practice, would be quite apt enough, upon the emergency, to throw aside the pacific steel, wherewith they indite, and take up the cruel rapier. When I was a young man, a Mr. Ogilvie gave lectures, in Boston, on various subjects. He was the son of Mr. Ogilvie, to whose praises of the prospects in Scotland, Dr. Johnson replied, by telling him, that “the noblest prospect, which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road, that leads him to England.”
The son of this gentleman gave his lectures, in the old Exchange Coffee House, where I heard him, several times. Under the influence of opium, which he used very freely, he was, occasionally, quite eloquent. He lectured, one evening, with considerable power, against duelling. On his way to his lodgings, some person repeated to him, several piquant and cutting things, which a gentleman had said of his lecture. Ogilvie was exceedingly incensed, and swore he would call him out, the very next day.
This law of honor is written nowhere, unless, in letters of blood, in the volume of pride, envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. “What,” says Cleomenes, in the work I have just now referred to—“What makes so just and prudent a man, that has the good of society so much at heart, act knowingly against the laws of his country?”—“The strict obedience,” says Horatio, “he pays to the laws of honor, which are superior to all others.”—“If men of honor,” says Cleomenes, “would act consistently, they ought all to be Roman Catholics.”—“Why so?”—“Because,” he rejoins, “they prefer oral tradition, to all written laws; for nobody can tell, when, in what king’s or emperor’s reign, in what country, or by what authority, these laws of honor were first enacted: it is very strange they should be of such force.”
It is certainly very strange, that their authority should have been acknowledged, in some cases, not only by professingChristians, but even by the ministers of religion. Four individuals, of this holy calling, stand enrolled, as duellists, on the blood-guilty register of England. In 1764, the Rev. Mr. Hill was killed in a duel, by Cornet Gardner. On the 18th of June, 1782, the Rev. Mr. Allen killed Mr. Lloyd Dulany, in a duel. In August, 1827, Mr. Grady was wounded in a duel, by the Rev. Mr. Hodson. The Rev. Mr. Bate fought two duels—was subsequently made Baronet—fought a third duel, and was made Dean. If such atrocities were not preëminently horrible, how ridiculous they would be!
It would not be agreeable to be placed in that category, in which a worthy bishop placed those, who, after Dr. Johnson’s death, began to assail his reputation. “The old lion is dead,” said the bishop, “and now every ass will be kicking at his hide.” Better and safer, however, to be there, than to bide with those, who receive all the coarse, crude, mental eructations of this truly good and great man, fordicta perennia. A volume of outrageously false teachings might readily be selected, from the recorded outpourings of this great literary whale, whenever Boswell, by a little tickling, caused his Leviathan to spout. Too much tea, or none at all, too much dinner, or too little certainly affected his qualifications, as a great moral instructor; and, under the teazle of contradiction, the nap of his great spirit fairly stood on end; and, at such times, he sought victory too often, rather than the truth. It has always seemed to me, that dinner-table philosophy, especiallyaprés, is often of very questionable value.
Dr. Johnson has frequently been quoted, on the subject of duelling. Some of his opinions were delivered, on this subject, suddenly, and seem entirely unworthy of his majestic powers. At a dinner party, at Gen. Oglethorpe’s—I refer to Boswell’s Johnson, in ten volumes, Lond. 1835, vol. iii. page 216—Boswell brought up the subject of duelling. Gen. Oglethorpe,the host, “fired at this, and said, with a lofty air, ‘undoubtedly a man has a right to defend his honor.’”
Dr. Johnson, theprincipal guest, did the civil thing, and took the same side, and is reported, by Boswell, to have said substantially—“Sir, as men become in a high degree refined, various causes of offence arise; which are considered to be of such importance, that life must be staked to atone for them; though, in reality, they are not so. A body, that has received a veryfine polish, may be easily hurt. Before men arrive at this artificial refinement, if one tells his neighbor he lies—his neighbor tells him he lies—if one gives his neighbor a blow, his neighbor gives him a blow: but, in a state of highly polished society, an affront is held to be a serious injury. It must therefore be resented, or rather a duel must be fought upon it; as men have agreed to banish, from society, one, who puts up with an affront, without fighting a duel. Now, sir, it is never unlawful to fight, in self-defence. He, then, who fights a duel, does not fight from passion against his antagonist, but out of self-defence, to avert the stigma of the world, and to prevent himself from being driven out of society. I could wish there was not that superfluity of refinement; but, while such notions prevail, no doubt a man may lawfully fight a duel.” I must have another witness, besides Mr. Boswell, before I believe, that Dr. Johnson uttered these words. Dr. Johnson could never have maintained, that thelawfulnessof an act depended upon the existence of certain popularnotions. Nor is it true, nor was it then true, thatmen have agreed to banish, from society, one, who puts up with an affront, without fighting a duel.
Dr. Johnson seems to have made no distinction, between military men and the rest of the world. It is impossible to doubt, that the Doctor was graciously disposed to favor Gen. Oglethorpe’snotions, and that he would have taken the opposite side, had he been the guest of the Archbishop of Canterbury. “It is not unlawful to fight, in self-defence:” the law, by punishing all killing, in a duel, as murder, in the very first degree, shows clearly enough, that duelling is never looked upon, as fighting, in self-defence. It is remarkable, that Mr. Boswell, himself a lawyer, should have thought this paragraph worthy of preservation.
On page 268, of the same volume, Mr. Boswell has the following record—“April 19, 1773, he again defended duelling, and put his argument upon what I have ever thought the most solid basis; that, if public war be allowed to be consistent with morality, private war must be equally so.” And this, in Mr. Boswell’s opinion, wasthe most solid basis! It is difficult to perceive what is stubble, if this is not. Whither does this argument carry us all, but back to the state of nature—of uncovenanted man—of man, who has surrendered none of his natural rights, as a consideration for the blessings of government andlaw? A state of nature and a state of society are very different things. Who will doubt, that, if Dr. Johnson really uttered these things, he would have talked more warily, could he have imagined, that Bozzy would have transmitted them to distant ages?
It is, nevertheless, perfectly clear, that Dr. Johnson, upon both these occasions, had talked, only for the pride and pleasure of talking; for Mr. Boswell records a very different opinion, vol. iv. page 249. Sept. 19, 1773.—Dr. Johnson then had thoroughly digested General Oglethorpe’s dinner; and Mr. Boswell’s record runs thus—“He fairly owned he could not explain the rationality of duelling.”
Poor Mr. Boswell! It is not unreasonable, to suppose, that he had inculcated his notions, upon the subject of duelling, in his own family, and repeated, for the edification of his sons, the valuable sentiments of Dr. Johnson. Mr. Boswell died, May 19, 1795. Seven and twenty years after his death, his son, Sir Alexander Boswell, was killed, in a duel, at Auchterpool, by Mr. James Stuart, March 26, 1822. Upon the trial of Stuart, for murder, Mr. Jeffrey, who defended him, quoted the very passage, in which Dr. Johnson had justified, to the father, that fatal sin and folly, which had brought the son to an untimely grave!
Dr. Franklin, in his letter to Mr. Percival, referred to, in my last number, observes, that, “formerly, when duels were used, to determine lawsuits, from an opinion, that Providence would, in every instance, favor truth and right with victory, they were excusable.” Dr. Johnson did not think this species of duel so absurd, as it is commonly supposed to be: “it was only allowed,” said he, “when the question was in equilibrio, and they had a notion that Providence would interfere in favor of him, who was in the right.” Bos., vol. iv. page 14. The lawfulness of a thing may excuse it: but there are some laws, so very absurd, that one stares at them, in the statute book, as he looks at flies in amber, and marvels “how the devil theygot there.” There was, I am gravely assured, in the city of New Orleans, not very long ago, a practitioner of the healing art, who was calledthe Tetotum doctor—he felt no pulse—he examined no tongue—he asked no questions for conscience’ sake, nor for any other—his tetotum was marked with various letters, on its sides—he sat down, in front of the patient, and spun his tetotum—if B. came uppermost, he bled immediately—if P., he gave a purge—if E., an emetic—if C., a clyster, and so on. If there be less wisdom, in this new mode of practice, than in the old wager of Battel, I perceive it not.
Both Drs. Franklin and Johnson refer to it, as anancientpractice. It was supposed, doubtless, to have become obsolete, and a dead letter, extinguished by the mere progress of civilization. Much surprise, therefore, was excited, when, at a period, as late as 1818, an attempt was made to revive it, in the case of Ashfordvs.Thornton, tried before the King’s Bench, in April of that year. This was a case of appeal of murder, under the law of England. Thornton had violated, and murdered the sister of Ashford; and, as a last resort, claimed his right towager of battel. The court, after full consideration, felt themselves obliged to admit the claim, under the unrepealed statute of 9, William II., passed A. D. 1096. Ashford, the appellant, and brother of the unfortunate victim, declined to accept the challenge, and the murderer was accordingly discharged. This occurred, in the 58th year of George III., and a statute was passed, in 1819, putting an end to this terrible absurdity. Had the appellant, the brother, accepted this legalized challenge, what a barbarous exhibition would have been presented to the world, at this late day, through the inadvertence of Parliament, in omitting to repeal this preposterous law!
In a former number, I quoted a sentiment, attributed, by Boswell, to Dr. Johnson, and which, I suppose, was no deliberate conviction of his, but uttered, in the course of his dinner-table talk, for the gratification of Gen. Oglethorpe, “Men have agreed to banish from society, a man, who puts up with an affront without fighting a duel.” This is not asserted, as an independent averment, but assumed or taken for granted, as the basis of the argument, such as it was. Is this a fact? Cannot cases innumerable be stated, to prove, that it is not? The words, ascribed to Dr. Johnson, are not confined to any class or profession, butare of universal application. Have men agreed to banish from society every man, who refuses to fight a duel, when summoned to that refreshing amusement? Let us examine a few cases. General Jackson did not lose caste, because he omitted to challenge Randolph, for pulling his nose. Josiah Quincy was not banished from society, for refusing the challenge of a Southern Hotspur. I believe, that Judge Thacher, of Maine, would have been much less respected, had he gone out to be shot, when invited, than he ever has been, for the very sensible answer to his antagonist, that he would talk to Mrs. Thacher about it, and be guided by her opinion. Nobody ever supposed, that Judge Breckenridge suffered, in character or standing, because he told his challenger, that hewouldn’t come; but, that he might sketch his, the Judge’s, figure, on a board, and fire at that, till he was weary, at any distance he pleased; and if he hit it, upon a certificate of the fact, the Judge would agree to it.
Had Hamilton refused the challenge of Burr, hisdeliberate murderer, his fame would have remained untarnished—his countrymen would never have forgotten the 14th of October, 1781—the charge of that advanced corps—the fall of Yorktown! On his death-bed, Hamilton expressed his abhorrence of the practice; and solemnly declared, should he survive, never to be engaged in another duel. “Pendleton knows,” said he, in a dying hour, referring to Burr, and addressing Dr. Hossack, “that I did not intend to fire at him.” How different from the blood-thirsty purposes of his assassin! In vol. x. of Jeremy Bentham’s works, pages 432-3, the reader will find a letter from Dumont to Bentham, in which the Frenchman says, referring to a conversation with Burr, in 1808, four years after the duel—“His duel with Hamilton was a savage affair:” and Bentham adds—“He gave me an account of his duel with Hamilton; he was sure of being able to kill him, so I thought it little better than murder.”
In England,politicsseem to have given occasion to very many affairs of this nature—the duels of the Duke of Hamilton and Lord Mohun, in 1712, fatal to both—Mr. Martin and Mr. Wilkes, in 1763—the Lords Townshend and Bellamont, in 1773—C. J. Fox and Mr. Adam, in 1779—Capt. Fullerton and Lord Shelburne, in 1780—Lord Macartney and Major General Stuart, in 1786—the Duke of York and Colonel Lenox, in 1789—Mr. Curran and Major Hobart, in 1790—Earl of Lonsdaleand Capt. Cuthbert, in 1792—Lord Valentia and Mr. Gawler, in 1796—William Pitt and George Tierney, in 1798—Sir Francis Burdett and Mr. Paull, in 1807—Lord Castlereagh and Mr. Canning, in 1809—Mr. O’Connell and Mr. D’Esterre, in 1815—Mr. Grattan and the Earl of Clare, in 1820—Sir A. Boswell and James Stuart, in 1822—Mr. Long Wellesly and Mr. Crespigny, in 1828—the Duke of Wellington and the Earl of Winchelsea, in 1829—Lord Alvanley and Morgan O’Connell, in 1835—Sir Colquhon Grant and Lord Seymour, in 1835—Mr. Roebuck and Mr. Black, in 1835—Mr. Ruthven and Mr. Scott, in 1836—the Earl of Cardigan and Mr. Tuckett, in 1840.
Sir J. Barrington says, that, during his grand climacteric, two hundred and twenty-seven duels were fought. In different ages and nations, various preventives have been employed. Killing in a duel, here and in England, is murder, in the surviving principal, and seconds. To add effect to the law, it was proclaimed, by 30, Charles II., 1679, to bean unpardonable offence.
Disqualification from holding office, and dismissal from the army and navy have, at different times, been held up, in terrorem. In England, eighteen survivors have suffered the penalty, provided against duelling. Major Campbell was hung, in 1808, for having killed Capt. Boyd, in a duel.
In 1813, Lieutenant Blundell was killed in a duel at Carisbroke Castle: the survivor and both seconds were tried, and convicted of murder; and, though subsequently pardoned, dismissed the service. “Duels,” says Sir George Mackenzie, “are but illustrious murders.” Mr. Addison recommends the pillory. The councils of Valentia and Trent excommunicated such combatants; but a man, who has made up his mind to fight a duel, cares little for the church.
During the first eighteen years of the reign of Henry IV., four thousand persons were slain, in duels, in France. He published his famous edict of Blois, against duels, in 1602: and, in 1609, added, to the existing penalties, punishment by death, confiscations, fines, and imprisonment, respectively, for all, concerned in fighting or abetting, even as spectators, or as casual passers, who did not interpose. All this, however, was the work of Sully: for this consistent king, at this very time, gave Crequi leave to fight the Duke of Savoy, and even told him, that he would be his second, were he not a king.
Duels were so frequent, in the reign of his successor, LouisXIII., that Lord Herbert, who was then ambassador, at the court of France, used to say, there was not a Frenchman, worth looking at, who had not killed his man. “Who fought yesterday?” was the mode of inquiring after the news of the morning. The most famous duellist of the age was Montmorenci, Count de Bouttville. He and the Marquis de Beuoron, setting their faces against all authority, and, persisting in this amusement, it was found necessary to take their stubborn heads off. They were tried, convicted, and beheaded. A check was, at length, put to these excesses, by Louis XIV. A particular account of all this will be found in Larrey,Histoire de France, sons le Régne de Louis XIV., tom. ii. p. 208. Matters, during the minority of Louis XIV., had come to a terrible pass. The Dukes de Beaufort and Nemours had fought a duel, with four seconds each, and converted it into aWelch main, as the cock-fighters term ameleé. They fought, five to five, with swords and pistols. Beaufort killed Nemours—the Marquis de Villars killed D’Henricourt, and D’Uzerches killed De Ris. In 1663, another affair took place, four to four. The king finally published his famous edict of 1679. The marshals of France and the nobility entered into a solemn league and covenant, never to fight a duel, on any pretence whatever; and Louis le Grand adhered to his oath, and resolutely refused pardon to every offender. This greatly checked the evil, for a time.
Kings will die, and their worthy purposes are not always inherited by their successors; soon after the death of the great monarch, the practice of duelling revived in France.
The only radical and permanent preventive, of this equally barbarous, and foolish custom, lies, in the moral and religious education of the people. The infrequency of the practice, in New England, arises entirely from the fact, that the moral and religious training of the community has taught them to look upon a duellist, as an exceedingly unfashionable personage.
New Englanders are a calculating race. Theycalculate, that it is infinitely better to mind their business, and die quietly in their beds, than to go out and be shot, by the very fellow, who has not the decency to say he is sorry, for treading on their toes, when he was drunk—and they are a fearful race, for they fear the reprehension of the wise and good, and the commands of God, more than they fear the decisions of a lawless tribunal, where fools sit in judgment, and whose absurd decrees are written on the sand.
Some nine and thirty years ago, I was in the habit, occasionally, when I had no call, in my line, of strolling over to the Navy Yard, at Charlestown, and spending an evening, in the cabin of a long, dismantled, old hulk, that was lying there. Once in a while, we had a very pleasant dinner party, on board that old craft. That cabin was the head-quarters of my host. It was the cabin of that ill-fated frigate, the Chesapeake. My friend had been one of her deeply mortified officers, when she was surrendered, by James Barron, to the British frigate Leopard, without firing a gun, June 23, 1807.
A sore subject this, for my brave, old friend. I well remember to have dined, in that cabin, one fourth of July, with some very pleasant associates—there were ten of us—we were very noisy then—all, but myself, are still enough now—they are all in their graves. I recollect, that, towards the close of the entertainment, some allusion to the old frigate, in which we were assembled, revived the recollection of the day, when those stars and stripes came down. We sat in silence, listening to the narrative of our host, whose feelings were feverishly and painfully excited—“It would have been a thousand times better,” said he, “if the old hulk had gone to bottom and every man on board. The country might then, possibly, have been spared the war; for our honor would have been saved, and there would have been less to fight for. Unprepared as we were, for such an attack, at a time of profound peace, we ought to have gone down, like little Mudge, who, while his frigate was sinking, thanked God the Blanche was not destined to wear French colors!”
When he paused, and, with the back of his hand, brushed away the tears from his eyes, we were all of his mind, and wished he had been in command, that day, instead of James Barron; for this old friend of mine was a very, very clever fellow—a warmer heart never beat in a braver bosom. There was one thing, however, that I could never break him of, and yet I had some little influence with him, in those days—I mean thehabitof fighting duels. He would not harm a fly, but he would shoot a man, in an honorable way, at the shortest notice, and the shortest distance. He fought a duel, on oneoccasion, when, being challenged, and having the choice of distance, he insisted on three paces, saying he was so near-sighted, he could not hit a barn door, at ten. He was apt to be, not affectedly, but naturally, jocular, on such occasions.
Another old friend of mine, in by-gone days, the elder son of the late Governor Brooks, was second, in one of these duels, to the friend, of whom I am speaking. Major Brooks had, occasionally, indulged himself, in the publication of poetical effusions. When the parties and their seconds came upon the ground, he found, that he had brought no leather, to envelop the ball, as usual, in loading; and, drawing a newspaper from his pocket, tore off the corner, on which some verses were printed: at this moment, his principal drawing near, said, in an under tone, “I hope that isn’t one of your fugitive pieces, Alek.”
Though our lines were, of late years, cast far apart, I always rejoiced in his good fortune. After having occupied a very elevated position, for some time, in the naval department, he fell—poor fellow—not in a duel—but in a moment, doubtless, of temporary, mental derangement, by his own hand. The news of my old friend’s death reached me, just before dinner—I postponed it till the next day—went home—sat alone—and had that old dinner, in the cabin of the Chesapeake, warmed over, upon the coals of the imagination, and seated around me every guest, who was there that day, just as fresh, as if he had never been buried.
James Barron was an unlucky dog, to say the least of it. Striking the stars and stripes, without firing a gun, was enough for one life. For this he was tried, found guilty, and suspended from duty, for five years, from Feb. 8, 1808, and deprived of his pay. He went abroad; and, during his absence, war was declared, which continued about two years, after the termination of his suspension. He returned, at last, and sought employment; Decatur officially opposed his claims; and thereupon he challenged, and killed Decatur, the pride of the American navy; and, after this, he received employment from the government. The services of James Barron are not likely to be undervalued. Decatur’s offence consisted, in his declaration of opinion, that Barron did not return to the service of his country, as in duty bound. The duel took place March 22, 1820. After this, Barron demanded a Court of Inquiry, to settle this point. The Court consisted of Commodores Stewart and Morris and CaptainEvans, and convened May 10, 1821, and the conclusion of the sentence is this—“It is therefore the opinion of the court, that his (Barron’s) absence from the United States, without the permission of the government, was contrary to his duty, as an officer, in the navy of the United States.”
Here then was another silly and senseless duel. Mr. Allen, in his Biographical Dictionary remarks—“The correspondence issued in a challenge from Barron, though he considered duelling ‘a barbarous practice, which ought to be exploded from civilized society.’ And the challenge was accepted by Decatur, though he ‘had long since discovered, that fighting duels is not even an unerring criterion of personal courage.’”
They fired at the same instant; Barron fell immediately, wounded in the hip, where Decatur had mercifully declared his intention to wound him; Decatur stood erect, for a moment—put his hand to his right side—and fell, mortally wounded. He was raised, and supported, a few steps, and sunk down, exhausted, near Barron. Captain Mackenzie, in his Life of Decatur, page 322, gives his opinion, that this duel could have been gracefully prevented, on the ground; and such will be the judgment, doubtless, of posterity. Capt. Jesse D. Elliot was the second of Barron—Com. Bainbridge of Decatur. After they had taken their stands, Barron said to Decatur, that he hoped, “on meeting, in another world, they would be better friends, than they had been in this.”
To this Decatur replied, “I have never been your enemy, sir.” “Why,” says Captain Mackenzie, “could not this aspiration for peace, between them, in the next world, on one part, and this comprehensive disclaimer of all enmity, on the other, have been seized by the friends, for the purposes of reconciliation?” A pertinent question truly—but of very ready solution. These seconds, like most others, acted, like military undertakers; their office consists, as they seem to suppose, in seeing the bodies duly cared for; and all consideration for the chief mourners, and such the very principals often are, is out of the question. With all his excellent qualities, Commodore Bainbridge, as every one, who knew him well, will readily admit, was not possessed of that happy mixture of qualities, to avail of this pacificprestige. It was an overture—such Barron afterwards avowed it to have been. On the 10th of October, 1818, Decatur had been the second of Com. Perry, in his duel with Captain Heath, whichwas terminated, after the first fire, by Decatur’s declaration, that Com. Perry had avowed his purpose, not to fire at Capt Heath. Had Perry lived, and been at hand, it is highly probable, that Decatur would not have fallen, for Perry would, doubtless, have been his second, and readily availed of the expressions of the parties, on the ground.
Had Charles Morris, whose gallantry and discretion have mingled into a proverb—had he been the second of his old commander, by whose side, he stood, on the Philadelphia’s deck, in that night of peril, February, 1804, who can doubt, the pacific issue of this most miserable adventure! Seconds, too frequently, are themselves the instigators and supporters of these combats. True or false, the tale is a fair one, of two friends, who had disputed over their cups; and, by the exciting expressions of some common acquaintances, were urged into a duel. They met early the next morning—the influence of the liquor had departed—the seconds loaded the pistols, and placed their principals—but, before the word was given, one of them, rubbing his eyes, and looking about him, exclaims—“there is some mistake, there can be no enmity between us two, my old friend; these fellows, who have brought us here, upon this foolish errand, are our enemies, let us fire at them.” The proposition was highly relished, by the other party, and the seconds took to their heels.
Well: we left Decatur and Barron, lying side by side, and weltering in their blood. The strife was past, and they came to a sort of friendly understanding. Barron, supposing his wound to be fatal, said all things had been conducted honorably, and that he forgave Decatur, from the bottom of his heart. Mackenzie, in a note, on page 325, refers to a conversation between them, as they lay upon the ground, until the means of transportation arrived. He does not give the details, but says they would be “creditable to the parties, and soothing to the feelings of the humane.” I understood, at the time, from a naval officer of high rank, and have heard it often, repeated, that Decatur said, “Barron, why didn’t you come home and fight your country’s battles?” that Barron replied, “I was too poor to pay my debts, and couldn’t get away,”—and that Decatur rejoined, “If I had known that, we should not be lying here.” Strip this matter of its honorable epidermis, and there is something quite ridiculous in the idea of doing such an unpleasant thing, and all for nothing!
These changes, from hostility to amity, are often extremely sudden. I have read, that Rapin, the historian, when young, fought a duel, late in the evening, with small swords. His sword broke near the hilt—he did not perceive it, and continued to fence with the hilt alone. His antagonist paused and gave him notice; and, like the two girls, in the Antijacobin, they flew into each other’s arms, and “swore perpetual amity.”
M. De Vassor wrote with a faulty pen, when he asserted, in his history, that the only good thing Louis XIV. did, in his long reign of fifty-six years, consisted in his vigorous attempts, to suppress the practice of duelling. Cardinal Richelieu admits, however, in hisPolitical Testament, that his own previous efforts had been ineffectual, although he caused Messieurs de Chappelle and Bouteville to be executed, for the crime, in disregard of the earnest importunities of their numerous and powerful friends. No public man ever did more, for the suppression of the practice, than Lord Bacon, while he was attorney general. His celebrated charge, upon an information in the star chamber, against Priest & Wright, vol. iv. page 399, Lond. 1824, was ordered to be printed, by the Lords of Council; and was vastly learned and powerful, in its way. It is rather amusing, upon looking at the decree, which followed, dated Jan. 26, 2 James I., to see how such matters were then managed; the information, against Priest, was, “for writing and sending a letter of challenge together with a stick, which should be the length of the weapon.”
Such measures are surely well enough, as far as they go; but can be of no lasting influence, unless certain processes are simultaneously carried on, to meliorate the moral tone, in society. Without the continual employment of moral and religious alteratives—laws, homilies, charges, decrees, ridicule, menances of disinherison here, and damnation hereafter will be of very little use. They are outward applications—temporary repellants, which serve no other purpose, than to drive back the distemper, for a brief space, but reach not the seat of the disorder. As was stated, in a former number, nothing will put an end to thispractice, but indoctrination—the mild, antiphlogistic system of the Gospel. Wherever its gentle spirit prevails, combined with intellectual and moral culture, there will be no duels. Temperance forms, necessarily, an important part of that antiphlogistic system—for a careful examination will show, that, in a very great number of cases, duels have originated over the table—we import them, corked up in bottles, which turn out, now and then, to be vials of wrath.
One of the most ferocious duels, upon record, is that, between Lord Bruce and Sir Edward Sackville, of which the survivor, Sir Edward, wrote an account from Louvain, Sept. 8, 1613. These fellows appear to have been royal tigers, untameable even by Herr Driesbach. This brutal and bloody fight took place, at Bergen op Zoom, near Antwerp. Thecauseof this terrible duel has never been fully ascertained, but themanner and instrument, by which these blood-thirsty gentlemen were put in the ablative, are indicated in the letter—they fought withrapiers and in their shirts. I have neither room nor taste for the details: by the curious in such matters, some account may be gathered, in Collins’s Peerage, which refers to the correspondence, preserved in manuscript, in Queen’s College library, Oxford. These, with Sir Edward’s letter, may be found in Wood’s Athenæ Oxonienses also, vol. iii. page 314, Lond. 1817. Wood says—“he (Sackville) entered into a fatal quarrel, upon a subject very unwarrantable, with a young Scottish nobleman, the Lord Bruce.” Sackville was afterward Earl of Dorset. A more accessible authority, for the reader, probably, is the Guardian, vol. iii. No. 133, though the former is more full, and taken from the original manuscript, in the Ashmole Museum, with the ancient spelling.
The duel, with swords, between the Lords Mohun and Hamilton, in Hyde Park, Nov. 15, 1712, was nearly as brutal. Both were killed. Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s duel with Matthews—the second I mean, for they had two duels—was a very doglike thing indeed. They fought, first, with pistols, and, not killing each other, as speedily as they wished, resorted to their swords. They cut and pricked each other, at a terrible rate; and, losing all patience and temper, closed, rough and tumble, went heels over head, rolled, and puffed, and tussled, in the dust and dirt, till, at last, they were literally pulled apart, like two dogs, by their tails, and a part of Matthews’ sword was found sticking in Sheridan’s ear. Gentlemanly satisfaction this! It hassometimes occurred, that advantages, unduly taken, on the ground, such as firing out of order, for example, have converted the killing into murder, in the eyes even of the seconds, which it ever is, at all such meetings, in the eye of the law. Such was the case in the duels, between M’Keon and Reynolds, Jan. 31, 1788, and between Campbell and Boyd, June 23, 1808.
Doubtless, there are men of wonderfully well balanced minds, who go about their business, with great apparent composure, after they have killed their antagonists in duels. Now and then, there is one, who takes things more gravely—nervously, perhaps. Poor fellow, he feels rather unpleasantly, when he chances to go by the husbandless mansion—or passes that woman, whom he has made a widow—or sees, hand in hand, those little children, in their sober garments, whom the accursed cunning of his red, right hand has rendered orphans! Such feeble spirits there are—the heart of a duellist should be made of sterner stuff.
June 8, 1807, Mr. Colclough was killed in a duel, by Mr. Alcock, who immediately lost his reason, and was carried from the ground to the madhouse. Some years ago, I visited the Lunatic Hospital in Philadelphia; and there saw, among its inmates, a well known gentleman, who had killedhis friend, in a duel. He had referred, while conversing, to his hair, which had grown very gray, since I last saw him. A bystander said, in a mild way—gray hairs are honorable—“Aye,” he replied, “honor made my hairs gray.”
I know, very well, that the common, lawless duel is supposed, by many persons, to have sprung from the oldwager of battel, defined, by Fleta, in his law Latin,singularis pugnus inter duos ad probandum litem, et qui vicit probasse intelligitur. The first time we hear of thewager of Battel, as a written judicial rule, is A. D. 501, in the reign of Gundibald, king of Burgundy; and it was in use, among the Germans, Danes, and Franks. The practice or usage was common, however, to all the Celtic nations. It came into England, with William the Conqueror. It happens, however, that men have ever been disposed to settle their disputes, by fighting about them, since the world began.
If the classical reader will open his Velleius Paterculus, lib. ii., and read the first sentence of section 118, he will see, that, when Quintilius Varus endeavored to persuade the rude Germans, to adopt the laws and usages of Rome, in the adjustment of their disputes, between man and man, they laughed at hissimplicity, and told him they had a summary mode of settling these matters, among themselves, by the arm of flesh. This occurred, shortly after the birth of Christ, or about 500 yearsbeforethe time of Gundibald. Instead of attempting to trace the origin of modern duelling to the legalizedwager of battel, we may as well look for its moving cause, in the heart of man.
Duels are of very ancient origin. Abel was a noncombatant. Had it been otherwise, the affair, between him and Cain, would have been the first affair of honor; and his death would not have beenmurder, butkilling in a duel! One thousand and fifty-eight years, according to the chronology of Calmet, before the birth of Christ, the very first duel was fought, near a place calledShochoh, which certainly sounds as roughly, on the ear, asHoboken. There seems not to have been, upon that occasion, any of the ceremony, practised, now-a-days—there were no regular seconds—no surgeons—no marking off the ground—and each party had the right, to use whatever weapons he pleased.
Two armies were drawn up, in the face of each other. A man, of unusually large proportions, stepped between them, and proposed an adjustment of their national differences, by single combat, and challenged any man of his opponents, to fight a duel with him. He was certainly a fine looking fellow, and armed to the teeth. He came, without any second or friend, to adjust the preliminaries; and no one was with him, but an armor bearer, who carried his shield. The audacity of this unexpected challenge, and the tremendous limbs of the challenger, for a time, produced a sort of panic, in the opposite army—no man seemed inclined to break a spear with the tall champion. At last, after he had strutted up and down, for some time, there came along a smart little fellow, a sort of cowboy or sheep-herd, who was sent to the army by his father, with some provisions, for his three brothers, who had enlisted, and a few fine cheeses, for the colonel of their regiment, the father thinking, very naturally, doubtless, that a present of this kind might pave the way for their promotion. The old gentleman’s name was Jesse—an ancestor, doubtless, of John Heneage Jesse, whose memoirs of George Selwyn we have all read, with so much pleasure. The young fellow arrived with his cheeses, at the very time, when this huge braggart was going about, strutting and defying. Hearing, that the King had offered his daughter in marriage, with a handsome dowry, to any one, who would kill this great bugbear out of the way, this stripling offered to do it.
When he was brought into the royal presence, the King, struck by his youth and slender figure, told him, without ceremony, that the proposition was perfect nonsense, and that he would certainly get his brains knocked out, by such a terrible fellow. But the young man seemed nothing daunted, and respectfully informed his majesty, that, upon one occasion, he had had an affair with a lion, and, upon another, with a bear, and that he had taken the lion by the beard, and slain him.
The King finally consented, and proceeded to put armor on the boy, who told his majesty, that he was very much obliged to him, but had much rather go without it. The challenge was duly accepted. But, when they came together, on the ground, all the modern notions of etiquette appear to have been set entirely at defiance. Contrary to all the rules of propriety, the principals commenced an angry conversation. When the challenger first saw the little fellow, coming towards him, with a stick and a sling, he really supposed they were hoaxing him. He felt somewhat, perhaps, like Mr. Crofts, when he was challenged, in 1664, by Humphrey Judson, the dwarf; who, nevertheless, killed him, at the first fire.
When the youngster marched up to him, the challenger was very indignant, and asked if he took him for a dog, that he came out to him, with a stick; and, in a very ungentlemanly way, hinted something about making mince meat of his little antagonist, for the crows. The little fellow was not to be outdone, in this preparatory skirmish of words; for he threatened to take off the giant’s head in a jiffy, and told him the ravens should have an alderman’s meal, upon his carcass.
Such bandying of rough words is entirely out of order, on such occasions. At it they went; and, at the very first fire, down came the bully upon his face, struck, upon the frontal sinus, with a smooth stone from a sling. The youngster, I am sorry to say, contrary to all the rules of duelling, ran up to him, after he was down, and chopped off his head, with his own sword; for, as I have already stated, there were no seconds, and there was no surgeon at hand, to attend to the mutilated gentleman, after he was satisfied.
The survivor, who seems to have been the founder of his own fortune—novus homo—became eminently distinguished for his fine poetical talents, and composed a volume of lyrics, which have passed through innumerable editions. The one hundredand forty-fourth of the series is supposed, by the critics, to have been commemorative of this very affair of honor—Blessed be the Lord, my strength, who teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.