America, that the English have learned to abolish one
solecism in the practice of duelling: those adventurers decided their
personal quarrels with pistols; and this improvement has been adopted
in Great Britain with good success; though in France, and other parts
of the continent, it is looked upon as a proof of their barbarity. It
is, however, the only circumstance of duelling, which savours of common
sense, as it puts all mankind upon a level, the old with the young, the
weak with the strong, the unwieldy with the nimble, and the man who
knows not how to hold a sword with the spadassin, who has practised
fencing from the cradle. What glory is there in a man's vanquishing an
adversary over whom he has a manifest advantage? To abide the issue of
a combat in this case, does not even require that moderate share of
resolution which nature has indulged to her common children.
Accordingly, we have seen many instances of a coward's provoking a man
of honour to battle. In the reign of our second Charles, when duels
flourished in all their absurdity, and the seconds fought while their
principals were engaged, Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, not content with
having debauched the countess of Shrewsbury and publishing her shame,
took all opportunities of provoking the earl to single combat, hoping
he should have an easy conquest, his lordship being a puny little
creature, quiet, inoffensive, and every way unfit for such personal
contests. He ridiculed him on all occasions; and at last declared in
public company, that there was no glory in cuckolding Shrewsbury, who
had not spirit to resent the injury. This was an insult which could not
be overlooked. The earl sent him a challenge; and they agreed to fight,
at Barns-Elms, in presence of two gentlemen, whom they chose for their
seconds. All the four engaged at the same time; the first thrust was
fatal to the earl of Shrewsbury; and his friend killed the duke's
second at the same instant. Buckingham, elated with his exploit, set
out immediately for the earl's seat at Cliefden, where he lay with his
wife, after having boasted of the murder of her husband, whose blood he
shewed her upon his sword, as a trophy of his prowess. But this very
duke of Buckingham was little better than a poltroon at bottom. When
the gallant earl of Ossory challenged him to fight in Chelsea fields,
he crossed the water to Battersea, where he pretended to wait for his
lordship; and then complained to the house of