It was to be expected, that such worthless ruffians as Mohun and Hall should have been anxious to remove the rivalry of a person so likely to please Mrs. Bracegirdle, although the intimacy between her and Montford was such, as to leave those acquainted with the parties firmly convinced that no improper intercourse existed between them. From her walk in the drama, they constantly performed together, and a strict intimacy had not only arisen between them, but between Mrs. Bracegirdle and Mrs. Montford.

In 1662 a meeting took place between Mr. Jermyn, nephew to the Earl of St. Alban’s, and afterwards himself Lord Jermyn, and Colonel Giles Rawlins on the one side; and Captain Thomas Howard, brother to Lord Carlisle, and a friend on the other. Mr. Jermyn was severely wounded, and his second killed. They fought in the old Pall Mall, St. James’s. Mr. Jermyn, the challenged party, was entirely ignorant of the nature of the offence he had given, nor could he induce his antagonist to inform him. Captain Howard was supposed to have worn a coat of mail under his dress.

The records of Parliament notice a challenge sent to Lord Chancellor Clarendon by Lord Ossory, son of the Duke of Ormond, for injurious words made use of in the House of Lords, on the debate upon a bill for prohibiting the importation of Irish cattle into England. The Chancellor submitted the message to the House. This bill was intended to protect English agriculture and the landed interest, and was chiefly supported by Buckingham, Ashley, and Lauderdale; and in its provisions its framers appeared to have lost sight of the fact, that if the Irish were deprived of the means of selling their principal commodities, it was not in their power to apply the produce of the sale to the purchase of English goods. Buckingham supported it with all his powers; and indulging both in his national animosity towards Ireland and his present enmity to the Duke of Ormond, maintained with much vehemence, that no one could oppose it who had not an Irish interest and an Irish intellect. Lord Ossory immediately sent him a challenge, which Buckingham evaded, on the pretext that he had mistaken the place and hour of the rendezvous, during which time his opponent was apprehended.

This Bill led to much violent recrimination, and also to personal conflict, Buckingham having had a scuffle with the Marquis of Dorchester, who tore off a handful of his hair, while the Duke pulled off his periwig.

Pepys, in his notes, alludes to the sad prevalence of duels about this period, which he states to be “a kind of emblem of the general complexion of the whole kingdom” at the time; and he relates, in the following terms, the meeting that took place between Sir H. Bellasses and Mr. Porter in 1667:—“They two dined yesterday at Sir Robert Carr’s, where, it seems, people do drink high, all that come. It happened that these two, the greatest friends in the world, were talking together, and Sir H. Bellasses talked a little louder than ordinary to Tom Porter, giving him some advice. Some of the company standing by said, ‘What! are they quarrelling, that they talk so high?’ Sir H. Bellasses hearing it, said, ‘No, I would have you know, I never quarrel, but I strike; take that as a rule of mine!’—‘How?’ said Tom Porter, ‘strike! I would I could see the man in England that durst give me a blow?’ With that Sir H. Bellasses did give him a box on the ear; and so they were going out to fight, but were hindered. And by and by Tom Porter went out; and meeting Dryden the poet, told him of the business, and that he was resolved to fight Sir H. Bellasses presently, for he knew, if he did not, they would be friends to-morrow, and then the blow would rest upon him; and he desires Dryden to let him have his boy to bring him notice which way Sir H. Bellasses goes. By and by he is informed, that Sir H. Bellasses’s coach was coming; so Tom Porter went down out of the coffee-room, where he stayed for the tidings, and stopped the coach, and bade Sir H. Bellasses come out. ‘Why,’ said Sir H. Bellasses, “you will not hurt me coming out, will you?’—‘No,’ says Tom Porter. So out he went, and both drew. And Sir H. Bellasses having drawn and flung away the scabbard, Tom Porter asked him, whether he was ready. The other answered, he was; and they fell to fight, some of their acquaintances by. They wounded one another; and Sir H. Bellasses so much, that it is feared he will die. And finding himself severely wounded, he called to Tom Porter, and kissed him, and bade him shift for himself; ‘for,’ says he, ‘Tom, thou hast hurt me; but I will make shift to stand on my legs till thou mayest withdraw, and the world not take notice of thee; for I would not have thee troubled for what thou hast done.’ And so, whether he did fly or not, I cannot tell; but Tom Porter showed Sir H. Bellasses that he was wounded too; and they are both ill, but Sir H. Bellasses to the life. And this is fine example! and Sir H. Bellasses a parliament man too; and both of them extraordinary friends” Bellasses only lived a few days, and Pepys, in noticing his death, adds: “It is pretty to see how the world talk of them, as a couple of fools, that killed one another out of love.” This deed took place in Covent Garden.

About the same period a duel took place between the Earl of Shrewsbury and the Duke of Buckingham. The latter, it appears, had debauched Lady Shrewsbury, the daughter of the Earl of Cardigan, and was challenged by her husband. The King, who had been apprised of the intended meeting, commanded the Duke of Albemarle to secure Buckingham, and confine him to his house. Albemarle, by all accounts, wilfully neglected the royal command; and the meeting took place. The Duke was attended by Captain Holman and Sir J. Jenkins; and Lord Shrewsbury was accompanied by Sir J. Talbot, a gentleman of the Privy Chamber, and Lord Bernard Howard, son of the Earl of Arundel. The parties met at Barnes Elms. According to the custom of the day, the seconds also engaged each other. The combat on both sides was long and desperate. Buckingham ran Lord Shrewsbury through the body; Sir John Talbot was severely wounded in both arms, and Jenkins was left dead on the field. Buckingham and the other seconds were only slightly wounded. It was reported, that during this murderous conflict Lady Shrewsbury, in a page’s attire, was holding Buckingham’s horse in a neighbouring thicket, to facilitate his escape in the event of his having killed her husband. Such a circumstance is very possible, as showing the profligacy of the times, since it was reported, and generally believed, that Lady Shrewsbury had not only been most anxious that the meeting should take place, but actually slept the same night with her paramour in the very shirt stained with the blood from the wound he had received as her champion.

The King, by proclamation, pardoned all parties concerned in the death of Sir J. Jenkins, but declared his determination not to extend his gracious mercy to future offenders. After this duel Buckingham, patronised by Lady Castlemaine, openly took Lady Shrewsbury to live with him in his own house; and when the Duchess ventured to expostulate on such a line of conduct, adding, that it was out of the question that she and his mistress should live under the same roof, he quietly replied, “That is also my opinion, madam, and I have therefore ordered your coach to carry you to your father.” Buckingham and Lady Shrewsbury afterwards lived together at Clifden.

After the death of the Earl of Shrewsbury this worthy pair dissipated the estate of the young earl; when the matter was brought before the House of Lords, and an award was made that the Duke should not converse or cohabit with the Countess in future, and that each should enter into a security to the King’s Majesty in the sum of 10,000l. for that purpose.

Sir William Coventry, a commissioner of the treasury, having been obliged by the vexation he had experienced from Buckingham, to resign his office, sent him a challenge, which was carried by Captain Holmes, one of the favourite’s creatures, to the King, who immediately committed Coventry to the Tower.

The following anecdote fully illustrates the profligacy and venality of that period:—

“Gondemar was at this period one of the most dissolute and fashionable characters. He was then Spanish ambassador at our Court, and lived at Ely House, in Holborn, and his passage to Court was ordinarily through Drury-lane, Covent-garden being then an inclosed field. His gallantry was so renowned and sought for, that it is stated as he passed by, ladies would show themselves at their balconies to “present him their civilities” as he was carried in a litter, his infirmities being such that he could neither walk nor ride. One day passing by the Lady Jacob’s house in Drury Lane, she exposed herself for a salutation; he was not wanting to her, but she, moving nothing but her mouth, gaped wide open upon him. He wondered at the Lady’s incivility, but thought it might be haply a yawning fit that took her at that time; for trial whereof, the next day he finds her in the same place; his courtesies were again accosted with no better expression than an extended mouth. Whereupon he sent a gentleman to her, to let her know that the ladies of England were more gracious to him than to encounter his respects with such affront. She answered that it was true that he had purchased some of their favours at a dear rate, and she had a mouth to be stopped as well as others! Gondemar finding the cause of the emotion of her mouth, sent her a present as an antidote, which cured her of the distemper.”

Buckingham’s marriage was an act of reparation of his profligacy. He had seduced the only daughter of the Earl of Rutland, and carried her to his lodgings at Whitehall. After having kept her there for some time he returned her to her father, who intimated to the royal favourite, “that he had too much of the gentleman to suffer such an indignity, and if he did not marry his daughter immediately, to restore her honour, no power should protect him from his just revenge.” She was heiress to a considerable fortune, and Buckingham complied with the Earl’s injunction.

In 1661, a quarrel arose in London between several ambassadors, which proved likely to lead to serious consequences. Philip IV. of Spain had sent the Baron de Batteville to London, where the Comte d’Estrade was ambassador for France. The Comte de Brabe, the Swedish ambassador, had made his first entry in town, when a dispute arose amongst these ministers regarding precedence, each being anxious to take the lead of the other. The Baron de Batteville had cut the traces of the carriage of the French ambassador, and when the domestics of the latter sought to retaliate, they found that chains had been used instead of ordinary traces. The King of France recalled his minister, and the Spanish monarch sent the Comte de Fuentes to Paris to apologize for the conduct of his ambassador. A duel had been expected, as the Comte d’Estrade had been engaged in the hostile meeting between the Duc de Guise and the Comte de Coligny, and was considered a very punctilious person in such matters; but the parties very wisely had referred the affair to their respective courts.

At this period the pit of the theatre became the constant arena of quarrels that led to duels. The young bloods of the day made it a point to go to the playhouse, for the mere purpose of insulting females, and getting themselves involved in disputes that might increase their fashionable popularity. In 1720, Mrs. Oldfield, a celebrated actress, was performing in “The Scornful Lady,” when Beau Fielding (the Orlando the Fair of the Tatler) insulted a barrister of the name of Fulwood, by pushing rudely against him. Fulwood expostulated with some degree of violence, upon which Fielding laid his hand upon his sword. The pugnacious lawyer drew, and gave his antagonist a severe wound in the body. Beau Fielding, who was then a man of above fifty years of age, came forward, and uncovering his breast, showed his bleeding wound to the public, to excite the compassion of the fair sex; but, to his no small disappointment, a burst of laughter broke forth from the audience. Fulwood, emboldened by his success with Fielding, repaired to Lincoln’s-inn-fields Theatre, where he picked up another quarrel with a Captain Cusack, and then demanded satisfaction. They went into the fields, and the lawyer was professionally despatched by the soldier, and left dead on the ground.

Ball-rooms, masquerades, theatres, the open streets, the public walks, bagnios, and coffee-houses, now became constant scenes of strife and bloodshed; Covent-garden and Lincoln’s-inn-fields became the rendezvous for deciding points of honour; and at all hours of the night the clashing of swords might be heard by the peaceable citizens returning home, at the risk of being insulted and ill treated by the pretty fellows, and the beaux of the day. The system of duelling pervaded all classes, and even physicians were wont to decide their professional altercations at the point of the sword. Doctors Mead and Woodward fought under the gate of Gresham College; the latter slipped his foot and fell. “Take your life,” exclaimed Dr. Mead. “Any thing but your physic,” replied the prostrate Woodward.

Dr. Williams and Dr. Bennet, who had grossly abused each other in print on matters relating to their profession, had recourse to blows, when Dr. Bennet proposed a meeting to decide the business like gentlemen. This proposal being rejected by Dr. Williams, Dr. Bennet went the next morning to his house, and rapped at his door; Williams, on opening it, discharged a pistol, loaded with swan-shot, in the other’s breast. The wounded doctor retired across the way towards a friend’s house, being pursued by Williams, who, very near the door, fired a second pistol at him, and, whilst Bennet was endeavouring to draw his sword, which had been pacifically adhering fast to the scabbard, Williams ran him through the body. Bennet, although in this dismal condition, was able to draw his rapier; and praying to God to invigorate him to avenge his wrongs, he gave Williams a home thrust, which entered the upper part of his breast and came out at the shoulder blade, the sword snapping and part of it remaining in the wound. Williams in retreating to his house fell down dead, and Bennet lived but four hours after.

In the same year a duel was fought at Kinsale, in Ireland, which originated from Ensign Sawyer, of O’Farrell’s regiment, having beaten the servant of an officer of the same corps, for giving a slighting answer to his wife. His master, Captain Wrey, had permitted his servant to obtain a warrant for the assault, which the Ensign hearing of, before he could be served with it, challenged the Captain to fight him on the spot. The Captain, after having in vain remonstrated with him upon the impropriety of his conduct, accompanied him to some distance out of town, to gain some time for persuasion; when the Ensign on a sudden drew his sword, and at the first onset wounded the Captain in the left breast; at the second pass, in the left arm, but on the third lounge the Captain ran him through the body, by which he expired in two hours, first owning himself the aggressor, and giving the Captain a kiss as a last farewell.

A fatal duel took place the same year between a Mr. Paul and a Mr. Dalton. They had passed the evening together in the company of some ladies, to one of whom Mr. Dalton was on the point of being married. A quarrel arose, and they parted in anger, especially Mr. Paul, who immediately after went to Mr. Dalton’s lodgings, and not finding him at home, sent a message to him at a tavern, where he understood he was spending the evening. Mr. Dalton, upon reading it, hastened home, and in a few minutes after entered the room where Mr. Paul was waiting for him. The servant, soon after hearing a noise like fencing, ran up stairs; but before he could enter the room, heard the street-door shut; the candles were out, and Mr. Paul had fled. He found his master expiring, having a wound in the upper part of his left breast. Upon this occasion the coroner’s jury returned a verdict of wilful murder. Mr. Paul never submitted to his trial, and was outlawed.

While personal meetings were then frequent, and often carried on in the most dishonourable manner, general frays were not uncommon. In 1717, after a levee, a large party of gentlemen were assembled at the Royal Chocolate-house, in St. James’s-street. Disputes at hazard produced a quarrel, which became general throughout the room; a mêlée ensued, and as they all fought with swords, three of the party were mortally wounded. The affray was only terminated by the interference of a party of the Guards; who, as entreaties and commands were of no avail, knocked the most pugnacious of the combatants down with the but-end of their muskets. A footman of one of the party (a Colonel Cunningham), who was greatly attached to his master, rushed through the drawn swords; and seizing him round the waist, actually carried him away.

In 1720, at twelve at night, about one hundred gentlemen were engaged in a riot in Windmill-street with swords and canes, when several of the party were desperately wounded. The watchmen sought to interfere, but were knocked down and barbarously ill-treated. At last a patrole of Horse Guards came up; and finding the rioters obstinate, rode through them, cutting at them with their swords. Some were killed, and several of them were so desperately wounded that fears of their recovery were entertained. The quarrel had begun between two chairmen. Such was the state of society in London, and of its police, at that period.

A week after this outrageous breach of the peace, a Captain Fitzgerald, and three young men, met a lady in the Strand, returning from St. James’s in a sedan-chair. They stopped the chairmen, and brutally attempted to force the lady out. The chairmen opposed them; then they drew their swords, and demolished the vehicle. The watchmen interfered, and one of them was run through the body, and immediately expired.

Clubs were formed of those desperadoes, who assumed the name of the “Bold Bucks,” and the “Hell-fires.” “Blind and Bold Love” was the motto of the former association, the members of which, according to a contemporary writer, “attempt females of their own species promiscuously. Their own sisters fear their violence, and fly their privacies.” Atheism was an indispensable qualification for admission into their society, and their favourite dish for supper, at the taverns they haunted, was called “A Holy Ghost Pie;” but their chief house of rendezvous was a tavern near Somerset House, where they usually assembled during Divine service with a loud band of music.

Their excesses became so notorious, and proved such a public grievance, that in 1721, a Royal proclamation was issued to suppress those clubs, and about the same time a check was put to duelling by the sentence of death passed on a Major Oneby, who thought it advisable to baulk the executioner and the public curiosity by committing suicide.

The following are the particulars of this very important case:—Major Oneby was indicted in the year 1726, for the murder of Mr. Gower, and a special verdict was found, stating that the prisoner being in company with the deceased, and three other persons, at a tavern, in a friendly manner, after some time began playing at hazard; when Rich, one of the company, asked if any one would set him three half crowns; whereupon the deceased, in a jocular manner, laid down three halfpence, telling Rich he had set him three pieces, and the prisoner at the same time set Rich three half crowns, and lost them to him. Immediately after which, the prisoner, in an angry manner, turned about to the deceased and said, “It was an impertinent thing to set down halfpence, and that he was an impertinent puppy for so doing;” to which the deceased answered, “whoever called him so was a rascal.” Thereupon the prisoner took up a bottle, and with great force threw it at the deceased’s head, but did not hit him, the bottle only brushing some of the powder out of his hair. The deceased, in return, immediately tossed a candlestick or bottle at the prisoner, which missed him; upon which they both rose up to fetch their swords, which were then hung up in the room, and the deceased drew his sword, but the prisoner was prevented drawing his by the company; the deceased thereupon threw away his sword, and the company interposing, they sat down again for the space of an hour.

At the expiration of that time, the deceased said to the prisoner, “We have had hot words, and you were the aggressor, but I think we may pass it over,” at the same time offering his hand to the prisoner, who made for answer, “No, d—n you, I will have your blood.”

After which, the reckoning being paid, all the company, with the exception of the prisoner, went out of the room to go home, and he called to the deceased, saying, “Young man, come back, I have something to say to you.” Whereupon the deceased returned into the room, and immediately the door was closed, and the rest of the company excluded; but they heard a clashing of swords, and the prisoner gave the deceased his mortal wound. It was also found that, on the breaking up of the company, the prisoner had his great coat thrown over his shoulders, and that he received three slight wounds in the fight; and that the deceased being asked upon his death-bed whether he had received his wounds in a manner amongst swordsmen called fair, answered “I think I did.” It was further found that after the throwing of the bottle, there was no reconciliation between the prisoner and the deceased.

Upon these facts all the judges were of opinion that the prisoner was guilty of murder; he having acted upon malice and deliberation, and not from sudden passion. The argument of the Chief Justice went to show, that after the door had been shut the parties were upon an equal footing in point of preparation before the fight began, in which the mortal wound was given. The main point then, on which the judgment turned, and so declared to be, was the evidence of express malice, after the interposition of the company, and the parties had all sat down again for an hour. Under these circumstances the Court were of opinion that the prisoner had had reasonable time for cooling; after which, upon an offer of reconciliation from the deceased, he had made use of that bitter and deliberate expression, “That he would have his blood;” and again, the prisoner remaining in the room after the rest of the company had retired, and calling back the deceased by the contemptuous appellation of “young man,” on pretence of having something to say to him, altogether showed such strong proof of deliberation and coolness, as precluded the presumption of passion having continued down to the time of the mortal stroke, and that there was no doubt but that he had compelled Gower to defend himself.

It was also about this period that Addison and Steele, in the Spectator and the Tatler, endeavoured to draw public attention to this subject, and used both the power of persuasion and raillery to discountenance the disgraceful practice. In No. 84 of the Spectator, Steele wrote an essay against duelling, and in the character of Spinamont he alluded to a meeting that had taken place between Sir Cholmondeley Dering and Mr. Thornhill, when the former was killed. Thornhill was acquitted of the charge of murder; but two months after, he was stabbed by two men on Turnham-green, who exclaimed as they struck him, “Remember Sir Cholmondeley Dering.”

In the 9th number of the Spectator, Addison commences his remarks on duelling by describing the “Hum-Drum and Mum Clubs,” and adds, “I cannot forbear mentioning a mischievous one that was erected in the reign of Charles II, I mean the club of duellists, in which none was to be admitted that had not fought his man. The president of it was said to have killed half a dozen in single combat; and as for the other members they took their seats according to the number of their slain. There was likewise a side-table for such as had only drawn blood, and shown a laudable ambition of taking the first opportunity to qualify themselves for the first table. This club, which consisted only of men of honour, did not continue long, most of the members being put to the sword, or hanged, a little after the institution.”

In a paper, No. 99, Addison relates the following anecdote:—“An English peer^[5] used to tell a pleasant story of a French gentleman who visited him very early one morning; and after great professions of respect, let him know that he had it in his power to oblige him, which in short amounted to this, that he believed he could tell his Lordship the person’s name who had jostled him as he came out of the Opera; but before he would proceed, he begged his Lordship that he would not deny him the honour of making him his second. The English Lord, to avoid being drawn into a very foolish affair, told him he was under particular engagements for his two next duels, to a couple of particular friends. Upon which the gentleman immediately withdrew, hoping his Lordship would not take it ill if he meddled no further in an affair from whence he himself was to reap no advantage.”

Steele himself, notwithstanding his efforts to discountenance duelling, was drawn into a quarrel that very nearly proved fatal. At that period he was an officer in the Coldstream Guards, when a brother officer communicated to him his intention of calling out a person who had offended him, but was dissuaded from this purpose by the powerful arguments of Steele. Some of the other officers of the regiment thought proper to spread a report that Steele had thus interfered in the affair to skreen the offender from a merited chastisement, thus compromising the honour of the person whom he had offended. A challenge was therefore sent to Steele. He sought in vain to avoid the meeting, but at last consented. Relying on his skill in swordsmanship, he felt persuaded that he could chastise the aggressor without endangering his life. The parties met, and Steele’s buckle breaking as he was tightening his shoe, he urged this accident to induce the challenger to desist, but to no purpose. Swords were crossed, Steele parried several lounges, till at last, in an attempt to disarm his antagonist, he ran him through the body. After lingering some time in a hopeless state, Steele was delighted to hear of his recovery.

Notwithstanding the vogue of duelling, in many instances, as in the case of Steele, persons who were challenged endeavoured to decline a meeting, and the following letter from an officer of the Guards to a gentleman who had called him out, is an illustration of the light in which private combat was even then viewed by men of real honour:—

“Sir,—I reckon it my peculiar happiness that I can produce the officers and soldiers who witnessed my behaviour at Fontenoy, as evidence of my courage. You may endeavour, if you please, to propagate my refusing your challenge, and brand me with cowardice; but I am fully convinced that nobody will believe me guilty, and every one will see that you are malicious. The cause in which we quarrelled was a trifle: the blood of a soldier should be reserved for nobler purposes. Love is blind, resentment mean, and taste capricious; and it ought to be considered that murder, though palliated by a false show of honour, is murder still, and calls for vengeance.”

During the administration of Sir Robert Walpole the practice of duelling was most fashionable, and of course frequently resorted to. In the following letter to Mann, we find an illustration of the manners of the day (1750).

“About ten days ago, at the new Lady Cobham’s assembly, Lord Hervey was leaning over a chair talking to some women, and holding his hat in his hand; Lord Cobham came up and spit in it—yes, spit in it—and then, with a loud laugh, turned to Nugent, and said ‘Pay me my wager.’ In short, he had laid a guinea that he committed this absurd brutality, and that it was not resented. Lord Hervey, with great temper and sense, asked if he had any further occasion for his hat. ‘Oh, I see you are angry.’ ‘Not very well pleased.’ Lord Cobham took the fatal hat and wiped it, and made a thousand foolish apologies, and wanted to pass it off as a joke. Next morning he rose with the sun, and went to visit Lord Hervey: he would not see him, but wrote to the spitter (or, as he is now called. Lord Gob’em), to say that he had grossly insulted him before company, but having involved Nugent in it, he desired to know to which he was to address himself for satisfaction. Lord Cobham made a most submissive answer, and begged pardon both in his own and Nugent’s name. Here it rested for a few days, till, the matter getting wind, Lord Hervey wrote again to insist upon an explicit apology under Lord Cobham’s own hand, with a rehearsal of the excuses that had been made to him. This too was complied with, and the fair conqueror showed all the letters. Nugent’s disgraces have not ended here. The night of his having declaimed so furiously against Lord Sandwich, he was standing by Lady Catherine Pelham at the masquerade, without his mask. She was telling him some history of a mad dog (which I believe she had bit herself). Young Leveson, the Duchess of Bedford’s brother, came up, without his mask too, and looking at Nugent, said, ‘I have seen a mad dog to-day, and a silly dog too.’ ‘I suppose, Mr. Leveson, you have been looking in the glass.’ ‘No, I see him now.’ Upon which they walked off together, but were prevented from fighting (if Nugent would have fought), and were reconciled at the sideboard. The former circumstance gave rise to a vulgar, but for a time, a fashionable saw, ‘We spit in his hat on Thursday, and wipe it off on Friday.’”

Walpole calls Lord Hervey “The fair conqueror,” from his great effeminacy, which induced Lord Cobham, better known as Earl Temple, to insult him in so gross a manner.

As the fashion of wearing swords gradually fell into desuetude, pistols were brought into play, and the fatal duel between Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth was one of the last that took place with side-arms.

On the 26th of January, 1765, Lord Byron and several other gentlemen dined together at the Star and Garter Tavern in Pall-mall. The party were chiefly from the county of Nottingham, assembled in a club, about seven in the evening. The conversation turned upon the subject of game; upon this occasion Mr. Chaworth had a warm argument with a gentleman seated next to him about the best manner of preserving game. Lord Byron joined the conversation, and gave as his opinion, that the best method was to take no care of it. Mr. Chaworth differed in opinion, and thought it more advisable to be strict with poachers. This drew on an altercation. Mr. Chaworth asserted that there was not a hare in that part of the county which was not preserved by him, or by Sir Charles Sedley. Upon which Lord Byron offered a bet of 100l. that he had more game on a manor or manors of his, than Mr. Chaworth had on any belonging to him. Mr. Chaworth accepted the wager, and made a memorandum of it. Lord Byron then observed, with some degree of warmth, and in a sarcastic manner, “Sir Charles Sedley’s manors! where are his manors!” To which Mr. Chaworth replied, with equal heat, “The manors of Hucknel and Nuttall.” To which Lord Byron replied, “I know no manors of Sir Charles Sedley.” Mr. Chaworth then observed that the manor of Nuttall was his, and that he had purchased it from his (Chaworth’s) family, and added, “If your Lordship wants any further information about his manors, Sir Charles Sedley lives in Dean-street, and your Lordship knows where to find me in Berkley-square.”

After this altercation the party remained together for about an hour in apparent good humour, and the conversation turned on various subjects. About eight o’clock Mr. Chaworth left the room, and asked a gentleman of the name of Douston, who was quitting it at the same time, whether he had observed the dispute between him and Lord Byron. This person replied, that he had heard part of it. On which Chaworth asked him if he thought he had gone far enough; to which Mr. D. replied that he thought he had gone too far, that it was altogether a silly business, and neither of them should think any more about it.

Shortly after Lord Byron left the room also, and met Mr. Chaworth, when he stated that he wished to speak with him. He then called a waiter, and asked if there were any room disengaged. The waiter then showed them to an unoccupied room, and went in with a candle, which was all the light, except a dull fire, that was in the apartment. Lord Byron asked Mr. Chaworth whether it was to him or to Sir Charles Sedley, that he was to have recourse on the disputed subject. Mr. Chaworth then replied that it was to him, and that if he had any thing further to say in the matter it might be advisable to shut the door, which he immediately did; when turning round, he perceived Lord Byron with his sword half drawn, who instantly exclaimed, “Draw!” Mr. Chaworth immediately complied, and at the first thrust his sword passed through Lord Byron’s waistcoat, and he thought he had wounded him, when Lord Byron shortened his sword, and gave him the fatal wound, observing at the same time that he had as much courage as any man in England. A struggle then took place between the parties, for when the waiter and the landlord entered the room they were grasped in each others arms, Mr. Chaworth holding his sword in his left hand, and Lord Byron having his in his right hand. Chaworth gave up his sword readily, but Lord Byron only surrendered his with reluctance. Hawkrup, the surgeon, was immediately sent for, and pronounced the wound to be mortal. The sword had entered about an inch on the left side of the naval, and passing obliquely upwards, had made its exit about five or six inches higher on the left side of the back, and in its passage had made a large opening in the bottom of the stomach, wounded one of the small intestines, and had passed through the diaphragm.

It appears that when the sword of Mr. Chaworth passed through the waistcoat of his antagonist, he expressed his apprehension that he had seriously wounded him. Now, under such an apprehension, it is probable that he was thrown off his guard, when Lord Byron immediately shortened his sword and ran him through the body, the unfortunate gentleman endeavouring to parry the thrust with his left hand, and seizing the gripe of his sword and struggling for it, still saying that he hoped his Lordship was not seriously hurt; it was then that Lord Byron exclaimed, “That he hoped he would acknowledge that he was as brave a man as any other in the kingdom.”

Writhing under the agonies of his wound, Chaworth several times declared, that although he well knew that he was in immediate danger of death, and pained and distressed as he then was, he had rather be in his present situation, than live under the misfortune of having killed another person; and when questioned on the nature of the quarrel, he expressed his conviction that it might have been easily made up. When asked by one of his relations, Mr. Leveriz, if the business had been fair, he remained silent. He only observed soon after, that when, after closing the door, he turned round, he perceived that Lord Byron’s sword was half drawn; knowing his man, he drew his own as quickly as he could, and had the first pass at him. He further added, that he did not believe that Lord Byron intended fighting him when they entered the room, but seeing him up by the door, with scarcely any light in the room, he believed he thought he had him at advantage.

Lord Byron, in his defence, stated that the deceased had treated him during the altercation “in a slighting and contemptuous manner,” stating that he had more game on five acres of his manor, than was on all his lordship’s estates. He further stated, that on leaving the club-room he met Chaworth on the stairs, who asked him “if he had any commands for him,” to which he replied, “I should be glad of an opportunity of speaking a few words to you.” The door being closed, Lord Byron asked him “How am I to take those words you used, as an intended affront from Sir Charles Sedley or yourself,” to which, according to the survivor’s statement, Chaworth replied, “Your Lordship may take them as you please, either as an affront or not, and I imagine this room is as fit a place as any other to decide the affair in.” Lord Byron admitted, that at the very moment when his antagonist received his mortal wound, he exclaimed, “I am afraid I have killed your Lordship!” while at the same time “he put his left hand to his belly, and Lord Byron observing that blood was flowing, expressed his fear that he had seriously wounded him, when he went to pull the bell for assistance, Mr. Chaworth saying, “My Lord, all I have to say is, that you have behaved like a gentleman.”

The House of Lords found William, Lord Byron, “not guilty of the felony of murder, but of manslaughter,” and his Lordship, claiming the benefit of the statute of Edward VI, was discharged, paying his fees.

This unfortunate duel leads to many important reflections. It appears that the parties were sober, that no previous ill-will existed between them; but that the vanity of both had been hurt by reflections on their manorial possessions; and the subject of game has ever been, and still continues to be, a sore one amongst country gentlemen. To fight without seconds has at all times been considered a murderous transaction; since no evidence can be produced to prove that the foulest treachery may not have been perpetrated. Chaworth declined (most probably from a high sense of honour) accusing his antagonist of foul play; but he at the same time, on his death-bed, also declined admitting that there had been fair play. Lord Byron stated, that having parried Mr. Chaworth’s first thrust, he made a second, which he also parried; and that then finding himself with his back against the table, with great disadvantage of light, he endeavoured to shift a little more to the right hand, which unavoidably brought him nearer to his antagonist, when they both made a thrust at the same time, Mr. C.’s sword passing against his ribs, and cutting his waistcoat and shirt for upwards of eight inches, and he supposes that it was then that Mr. C. received the unlucky wound.

It is impossible to form an opinion on this event, as to the fairness of the duel; it only tends to show, that any fatal meeting without seconds, should be visited with such severity as to prevent the probability of a recurrence.

In 1762, was fought the celebrated duel between Earl Talbot and John Wilkes. The dispute had originated in words used in the 12th number of the North Briton, on the 21st August, which conveyed reflections injurious to Earl Talbot, when Wilkes wrote the following letter to Colonel Berkeley (afterwards Lord Bottetourt):—

“Sir,

“Lord Talbot, by your message, has at last brought this most important question to the precise point where my first answer to his Lordship fixed it, if he preferred that. As you have only seen the two last letters, I must entreat you to cast your eye over those preceding; because I apprehend they will justify an observation or two I made this morning, when I had the honour of paying my respects to you at camp. Be assured, that if I am between heaven and earth, I will be on Tuesday evening at Telbury’s, the Red Lion, at Bagshot, and on Wednesday morning will play this duel with his Lordship.

“It is a real satisfaction to me that his Lordship is to be accompanied by a gentleman of Colonel Berkeley’s worth and honour.

“This will be delivered to you by my Adjutant, who attends me at Bagshot. I shall not bring any servant with me, from the fear of any of the parties being known. My pistols only, or his Lordship’s, at his option, shall decide this point.

“I beg the favour of you to return me the letters, as I mean to leave Winchester this evening. I have Lord Bruce’s leave of absence for ten days.

“I am, &c.

“John Wilkes.

“I hope we may make a partie quarrée for supper on Tuesday, at Bagshot.”

To this lively letter the following reply was sent:—

“Sir,

“I have sent all the letters, and shall depend upon the pleasure of supping with you at Telbury’s, the Red Lion, at Bagshot, Tuesday evening. My servant will attend me, as the going alone would give room for suspicion; but you may depend upon his following your directions at Bagshot, and that he shall not be seen where you would not have him. I am much obliged by your favourable opinion, and am, &c.

“To Colonel Wilkes.”

In a letter to Earl Temple, Wilkes gives the following account of this singular meeting:—

“My Lord,

“I had the honour of transmitting to your Lordship copies of seven letters which passed between Lord Talbot and me. As the affair is now over, I inclose an original letter of Colonel Berkeley’s, with a copy of mine previous to it, which fixed the particulars of our meeting, and therefore remained a secret, very sacredly kept by the four persons concerned.

“I came here at three this afternoon, and about five was told that Lord Talbot and Colonel Berkeley were in the house. Lord Talbot had been here at one, and was gone again, leaving a message, however, that he would soon return. I had continued in the room where I was at my first coming for fear of raising any suspicion. I sent a compliment to Colonel Berkeley, and that I wished to see him; he was so obliging as to come to me directly. I told him that I supposed we were to sup together with Lord Talbot, whom I was ready to attend as became a private gentleman, and that he and Mr. Harris (my Adjutant), as our seconds, would settle the business of the next morning, according to my letter to him from Winchester, and his answer. Berkeley said that his Lordship wished to finish the business immediately. I replied, that the appointment was to sup together that evening and to fight in the morning; that in consequence of such an arrangement, I had, like an idle man of pleasure, put off some business of real importance, which I meant to settle before I went to bed. I added, that I came from Medmenham Abbey, where the jovial monks of St. Francis had kept me up till four in the morning. That the world would therefore conclude that I was drunk, and form no favourable opinion of his Lordship from a duel at such a time; that it more became us both to take a cool hour of the next morning, and as early a one as was agreeable to his Lordship. Berkeley said that he had undertaken to bring us together, and as we were both now at Bagshot, he would leave us to settle our own business. He then asked me if I would go with him to his Lordship. I said I would any moment he pleased. We went directly, with my Adjutant.

“I found his Lordship in an agony of passion. He said that I had injured him; that he was not used to be injured or insulted. What did I mean? Did I, or did I not, write the North Briton of August the 21st, which affronted his honour? He would know; he insisted on a direct answer; here were his pistols. I replied, that he would soon use them; that I desired to know by what right his Lordship catechised me about a paper that did not bear my name; that I should never resolve the question to him till he made out the right of putting it; and that if I could have entertained any other idea, I was too well bred to have given his Lordship and Colonel Berkeley the trouble of coming to Bagshot. I observed that I was a private English gentleman, perfectly free and independent, which I held to be a character of the highest dignity; that I obeyed with pleasure a gracious sovereign, but would never submit to the arbitrary dictates of a fellow-subject, a lord steward of his household, my superior indeed in rank, fortune, and abilities, but my equal only in honour, courage, and liberty. His Lordship then asked me if I would fight him that evening. I said that I preferred the next morning, as it had been settled before, and gave my reasons. His Lordship replied that he insisted on finishing the affair immediately. I told him that I should very soon be ready; that I did not mean to quit him, but would absolutely first settle some important business relative to the education of my only daughter, whom I tenderly loved; that it would take up but very little time; and that I would immediately decide the affair in any way he chose, for I had brought both sword and pistols. I rang the bell for pen, ink, and paper, desiring his Lordship to conceal his pistols, that they might not be seen by the waiters. He soon after became half frantic, and used a thousand indecent expressions, that I should be hanged, damned, &c., &c. I said that I was not to be frightened, nor in the least affected by such violence; that God had given me a firmness and spirit equal to his Lordship’s, or any man’s; that cool courage should always mark me; and that it would be seen how well bottomed he was.

“After the waiter had brought pen, ink, and paper, I proposed that the door of the room should be locked, and not opened till our business was decided. His Lordship, on this proposition, became quite outrageous; declared that this was mere butchery, and that I was a wretch who sought his life. I reminded him that I came there on a point of honour to give his Lordship satisfaction; that I mentioned the circumstance of shutting the door only to prevent all possibility of interruption; and that I would, in every circumstance, be governed, not by the turbulence of the most violent temper I had ever seen, but by the calm determination of our two seconds, to whom I implicitly submitted. His Lordship then asked me if I would deny the paper. I answered that I would neither own nor deny it; if I survived, I would afterwards declare, but not before.

“Soon after he grew a little cooler, and in a soothing tone of voice, said, ‘I have never, I believe, offended Mr. Wilkes, why has he attacked me? He must be sorry to see me unhappy.’ I asked him upon what grounds his Lordship imputed the paper to me? That Mr. Wilkes would justify any paper to which he had put his name, and would equally assert the privilege of not giving any answer whatever about a paper to which he had not; that that was my undoubted right, which I was ready to seal with my blood.

“He then said he admired me exceedingly, really loved me, but I was an unaccountable animal—such parts! But would I kill him who had never offended me? &c., &c. We had after this a good deal of conversation about the Bucks’ Militia and the day his Lordship came to see me on Wycombe Heath, before I was colonel. He soon after flamed out again, and said to me, ‘You are a murderer, you want to kill me, but I am sure I shall kill you, I know I shall, by G—d! If you will fight, if you will kill me, I hope you will be hanged. I know you will.’ I asked if I was first to be killed and afterwards to be hanged? That I knew his Lordship fought me with the King’s pardon in his pocket, and I fought him with a halter about my neck. That I would fight him for all that, and if he fell I should not tarry here a moment for the tender mercies of such a ministry; but would directly proceed to the next stage, where my valet waited for me, from thence I would make the best of my way to France, as men of honour were sure of protection in that country. He then told me that I was an unbeliever, and wished to be killed. I could not help smiling at this, and observed that we did not meet at Bagshot to settle articles of faith, but points of honour; that, indeed, I had no fear of dying, but I enjoyed life as much as any man; that I am as little subject to be gloomy or even peevish, as any Englishman whatever; that I valued life and the fair enjoyments of it so much, I would never quit it with my own consent, except on a call of honour.

“I then wrote a letter to your Lordship, respecting the education of Miss Wilkes, and gave you my poor thanks for the steady friendship with which you have so many years honoured me. Colonel Berkeley took the care of the letter, and I have since desired him to send it to Stowe; for the sentiments of the head at such a moment are beyond all politics, and indeed everything else, except such virtue as Lord Temple’s.

“When I had sealed my letter, I told his Lordship I was entirely at his service, and I again desired that we might decide the affair in the room, because there could not be a possibility of interruption; but he was quite inexorable. He then asked me how many times we should fire. I said, that I left it to his choice. I had brought a flask of powder and a bag of bullets. Our seconds then charged the pistols which my Adjutant had brought. They were large horse-pistols. It was agreed that we should fire at the word of command, to be given by one of our seconds. They tossed up, and it fell to my Adjutant to give the word.

“We then left the room, and walked to a garden at some distance from the house. It was near seven, and the moon shone brightly. We stood about eight yards distant, and agreed not to turn round before we fired, but to continue facing each other. Harris gave the word. Both our fires were in very exact time, but neither took effect.

“I walked up immediately to his Lordship, and told him, that now I avowed the paper. His Lordship paid me the highest encomiums on my courage, and said, he would declare everywhere that I am the noblest fellow God had ever made. He then desired that we might now be good friends, and retire to the inn to drink a bottle of claret together, which we did with great good humour and much laugh.

“His Lordship afterwards went to Windsor, Colonel Berkeley and my Adjutant to Winchester, and I continue here until to-morrow morning, waiting the return of my valet, to whom I have sent a messenger. Berkeley told me he was grieved at his Lordship’s passion, and admired my coolness and courage beyond his farthest idea,—that was his expression.

“I am, my Lord, &c.

“John Wilkes.”

According to our modern notions of duelling, in this curious transaction one might be disposed to think that neither of the parties was particularly anxious to fight. That Wilkes should have wished to sup in company with the person whom he had offended, the night before the duel, would lead one to fancy that he contemplated the possibility of a reconciliation. On the other hand, Lord Talbot, by his conduct, which was most ungentlemanly and outrageous, seemed disposed to bully Wilkes into a concession; and both parties talked of killing, with a view to terrify each other. From the well-known character of Wilkes, no one could doubt his courage; but his refusing to acknowledge himself the writer of the offensive article, which he after the duel admitted to have been his, was a shallow act, that nothing could have justified but the insulting manner in which Lord Talbot put the question to him; and most assuredly his Lordship had the worst of the affair, since he was satisfied with a shot returned, although Wilkes acknowledged himself the writer of the insulting paragraph. The frequency of the duels that occurred in those days does not appear to have given them, generally speaking, a character of much delicacy or punctilious honour; and they seem to have been the result of fashion more than of feeling.

In 1763 Wilkes got involved in another duel, with Mr. Martin, Secretary to the Treasury. The North Briton, of which he was the editor, with its usual acrimony against the members of the administration, had introduced some characteristic sketches, supposed to allude to Samuel Martin, member of Parliament for Camelford, and Secretary to the Treasury, and afterwards the hero in Churchill’s poem, “The Duellist.” The following was the offensive paragraph:—

“The secretary of a certain board, and a very apt tool of ministerial persecution, who, with a snout worthy of a Portuguese inquisitor, is hourly looking out for carrion in office, to feed the maw of the insatiable vulture, imo, etiam in senatum venit, notat et designat unumquemque nostrûm, he marks us, and all our innocent families, for beggary and ruin. Neither the tenderness of age, nor the sacredness of sex, is spared by the cruel Scot.”

In a further number notice is again taken “of the most treacherous, base, selfish, mean, abject, low-lived, and dirty fellow, that ever wriggled himself into a secretaryship.”

In consequence of that paragraph, which Mr. Martin applied to himself, he made use of very insulting language in the House of Commons, when speaking of the North Briton, upon which Wilkes sent him the following letter;—