THE COUNTRY MISCELLANY AND LITERARY SELECTOR. No. 4. Original Communications, &c. ESSAY ON DUELLING. To a false estimate of honour we owe the practice of duelling, which modern times have adopted from a period more rude and barbarous. Duelling may be traced to ages more remote; but it was not then founded upon capricious and unmanly principles, or regulated by a set of foolish, narrow, ungenerous maxims. The duellist, in those times, stepped forward to assert the honour and independence of his country, to avenge its injuries, to prevent the shock of armies, and, by his personal skill and intrepidity, to decide the fate of empires. His magnanimity was disinterested and pure; it was never observed to be obscured by a single shade of private malignity or personal enmity, but was founded on feeling and sentiment, on a reverence for the Supreme Being, to whom he thus awfully appealed for the justice of his cause, and on a warm and unlimited attachment to the country to whose services he devoted himself. On him the eye of nations was fixed, and commanders and their legions waited, in dreadful suspense, for the issue of the encounter, in which the fate of their country was involved. To duels like these, into which so much disinterested bravery, so much patriotic spirit, so many honourable principles entered, and which so much real glory and so many important consequences attended, we cannot refuse a portion of our applause. But when we open the annals of modern duelling, to which the depravity of the times is daily adding materials, we glance over their pages with a mixture of detestation and horror. A narrative of the rise and progress of a duel would often indeed be amusing, if its termination were not sometimes tragic. One person receives, probably in some of his splenetic moments, some trifling insult from the words or conduct of another, which, though incapable of disturbing the tranquillity of a truly brave and virtuous man, is sufficient to stir up all the irritable ingredients in the character of a gentleman and a man of honour. A challenge is sent and accepted, the time and place of a meeting are fixed upon, and two persons, from the friends of the party, are appointed as seconds, that the affair may be conducted fairly and agreeably to the forms and etiquette of honour. The combatants reach the field of action looking around it with fear imprinted on their features, and in characters as pale as those of death; for it is impossible for guilt and vice to assume, amidst danger, the force and fortitude of mind that distinguish virtue and true bravery. The seconds load the pistols with powder and ball, or, if they be men of humanity and humour, with powder only. The trembling heroes, on a signal given, pull the trigger, and are killed, wounded, or escape, according to the charge of their pistols, or to the skill or ignorance with which they are used. And this is called an affair of honour, and those concerned in it men of honour, though their characters be as base and black as vice and infamy can make them. Can men of this description, who thus openly despise the laws of their country, and profane its religion, lay any claim to the honourable distinction of patriots and Christians? Their honour, to which they are so tremblingly alive, seems only to exist in their feelings; it receives no clear and determinate definition from either their language or actions, and, in this respect, is totally different from that which vibrates to the touch of virtue. Chatham. J. P. B- — R. THE CHURCH YARD. AN ELEGY. I. How sadly pale are Cynthia's beams II. Around, in solitary gloom, The mouldering Wrecks of ages lieQuick doth the lamp of life consume, We live to-day, to-morrow die. III. And where yon sacred spreading yews, And many a flower that Fancy strews, IV. The mouldering mounds of earth betray Some friends, of whom remembrance yet Invites the tribute of a lay, Inspires the soul with fond regret. V. O that the bond of social peace, The golden chain of parting love, Securely trained, at death's release, Extended to the skies above! VI. For them how oft the sun hath ranged From east to west his bright career: How oft for them the seasons changed, In turn to rule the varied year. VII. But now, alas! no cheering rays No garden smiles with vernal bloom. VIII. Nor is it Man's to waste alone, IX. And all that earth and ocean bear, That cleave the wave-that wing the air- X. The marble bust, the fossil clay, The broad based tombs of Egypt's kings: Of Gothic art, the proud display : The fame that from tradition springs : XI. Ev'n these, and all that in the train Of ages past are lagging yet, (The scatter'd links of Nature's chain,) Must soon their annal'd pride forget! XII. Such is the world's progressive range, XIII. As the tall oak, the grass grown weed, XIV. So Thousands loosed from earthly ties, Their frail existence here expend: There Thousands in their image rise, Alike but to await their end. XV. Quick through the maze of life we move Our boundary, and, our course defined, Pass as the fleeting clouds above, Nor leave one lingering trace behind. XVI. The smile of hope, the gloom of fear, XXVII. Where then of earthly pride the end? Mix'd with the dust our ashes blend, XVIII. How vacant lies Ambition's dream; How quick the burnish'd laurel fades; How dim the transitory gleam Of Beauty, which the Cypress shades! |
