THOUGHTS ON DUELLING.

For the Literary Magazine.

THOUGH SO many pens have been drawn to condemn this unnatural and inhuman method of deciding personal disputes; yet I conceive I shall do no harm if I add one to the number.

The first thing I shall endeavour to prove, is, that the custom is not a natural consequence of the causes which generally occasion duels: Revenge is the real motive which induces men to appeal to this bloody tribunal; suppose an insult given, or an injury inflicted, the injured party would acting from an immediate impulse of nature, seek immediate revenge and if the injury was great, he would probably sacrifice his enemy to his resentment. Those men who are but little refined, punish slight insults by corporal chastisement, an injury, if great, by death, if the fear of punishment do not deter them from shedding the blood of a fellow creature; but men of refined feelings, men of modern honour, who dread the laugh of fools, and the censures of madmen, unreasonably demand the same reparation for an insult as for an injury, even if the insult is in itself trifling; some petty observation displeasing in its nature though perhaps just in itself, some ungarded expression, perhaps, which escaped in a moment of conviviality and merriment, the offender is challenged to the field of honour, to prove his assertion or to give what is called honourable satisfaction. Shots are exchanged, one par ty is wounded, perhaps killed, and nothing more can be demanded. This is the general consequence of insults, and injuries without discrimination. It may be auswered— the fear of thus being cailed to an account, acts as a restraint on the insolent; perhaps it does, but it should be remembered that these insults are not always intentionally given, and are not repaired by an immediate acknowledgment, only

because men are too proud to acknowledge an error or offer a reparation, lest their courage should be doubted; but what are we to think, when the greatest of injuries, such as are capable of firing every inflammable particle of the soul, and stimulating an insatiable desire of vengeance in the bosoms of men, are usually atoned for in the same manner? It is natural indeed, that men for a trifing injury seek a great revenge, but it is not natural for men, to be content with a trifling revenge, when they have suffered a great injury; did man act from an impulse of nature, would he challenge his enemy, who perhaps ruined him, his family, or blasted the brightest prospects of his life, who has perhaps seduced his sister, or his wife from the paths of virtue or conjugal fidelity, would he be satisfied by his enemy's exposing himself to the firing of his pistol, when he, perhaps, is himself exposed to the greatest danger? Would this honourable parade be a sufficient atonement for the injury he has suffered? No, no man would, I am certain. He would rather seek his destruction without injury to himself; he would lurk in ambush, take him by surprize, orpursue him to the earth's utmost verge, rather than leave his revenge ungratified. For the truth of this I appeal to expeence,-I appeal to the well known customs of savage nations, who are not led to act differently either from motives of honour or religion? It is among these untutored people that we find the warmest friendships; and the most instances of the unrelenting spirit of revenge. Let us look back to the carliest periods and we shall find men acting in the same manner. Each man thought himself bound to avenge personal and family injuries, and generally gratified his revenge or perished in the attempt, but these men acted from motives of revenge only; they were unmixed with any notions of hencur, they did not think it necessary in order to gratify this passion to run an equal

chance with the enemy, but now custom enacts, that he who has suffered an injury or received an insult, shall call the offender to the field, and there decide their differences by the force of arms; is not this unreasonable and preposterous? Ought I, if I am injured, give my enemy an equal chance with myself? perhaps better skilled in the use of arms, he adds my death to the injuries I have already suffered, and thus completes his triumph, or if I wound him, is perhaps, a three years confinement to be my only reparation? Do men act thus in a state of nature? no a very different course is pursued, they become assassins, this is a humiliating confession, but yet, its truth cannot be disputed.

Let us next consider the effects it produces on society; there certainly has been a time, when human laws did not punish offenders against the common rights of mankind, when the security of man rested on his personal courage and prowess, and that of the weaker sex on that of their defenders, then force was necessarily repelled by force, it was then necessary that men should consider their strength their only protection; but, since the power of punishing offences and deciding differences, is by common consent, placed in the hands of government, the laws place men on an equal footing, none can injure another with impunity, the offender is justly accountable to the laws of his country, to laws made for the express purpose of deciding differences between man and man, to protect the weak from oppression, and to administer impartial justice, it is therefore the duty of men to sacrifice private resentments at the shrine of public good, and though human wisdom has been found unable to devise a remedy for every possible case of the kind, yet it is the duty of every man, to submit to a trifling injury, rather than to transgress those laws which are so evidently calculated to preserve the peace of society. The welfare

of every man, their families and their country demand this sacrifice, if men boast of refinement and generosity, is it not greater proofs of it to forgive than avenge an injury? surely the generosity of his character shines with greater splendor in the former than in the latter case. Reflect ye men of honour, reflect a moment on the consequences of your conduct, your dispute ends in the death of your adversary, who has perhaps injured you so slightly that after an hour's reflection you would willingly have forgiven him, he perhaps is your friend, yet the false notion of honour you entertain, prevents your being the first to propose a reconciliation; when your enemy lies weltering in his blood, then are the mists of passion, prejudice and custom dissipated, and you see every thing in its true colours; then do you repent your rashness; when you see an aged parent, whose only joy perhaps has fallen by your arm, or when the tears of a mother and sisters whose support depended on his exertions, when all these follow in mournful silence and inexpressible grief, the dear departed to the repositories of the dead, will not your conscience accuse you of murder; reflect on this; think that your friends may be doomed to suffer the same ills, and then say, whether in such a cause you ought to risk the production of so dreadful a catastrophe.

Considered in a religious view, should not the fear of future pu nishment restrain the rash duelist. from the perpetration of so dread ful a crime; disguise it as we wil it is still murder in the fullest sens of the word, the parties (genera ly) with a view, each to destroy his antagonist, from motives of revenge, a passion of which the mild precepts of christianity forbids the indulgence, it inculcates the noblest virtues, the forgiveness of our ene mies, let any one, advise another to assasinate his foe, and not risk his life in the event of a battle where his enemy has an equal

chance, and which cannot restore any thing he or his have lost by his enemy, would he not shudder at the proposal? would he not brand its author with infamy? would he not dread the vengeance of a justly offended God? he would; but strange inconsistency; he will meet his enemy, both armed with deadly weapons, and standing for ought he knows on the very brink of eternity, and in cold blood raise his weapon to take another's life, while he knows not, but that very instant may send him, with his guilt upon his head, into that eternity which his intentional (perhaps actual) crime has made so terrible.

But, says the duellist, shall I submit to an insult? shall I refuse a challenge? what would be the consequence? I should be called and treated as a coward; it would be said I had not sufficient courage to give my antagonist honourable satisfaction: what man can bear this? where is the man who would not prefer death, to life under the basest epithet? aye who would not indeed, if life alone was at stake, if ❝to be, or not to be" was the only question, but, remember there is another world; there is another tribunal, where human customs will not influence your just and unerring judge, where you will plead in vain, that you were obliged to fight or suffer disgrace; this argument is counterbalanced by another consideration, how many persons are doomed to suffer almost all the evils which afflict humanity, the privations of poverty, the pains of sickness, and the loss of friends and fortune, yet would these persons put an end to their existence, and plead in extenuation, that their miseries were greater than they could bear,-that they preferred death, to a life so fraught with wce; they would be thought rash and impious, to venture to fly thus in the face of Heaven, and commit a crime where death precludes repentance.

Another absurdity is this; if one who considers himself a gentleman,

injures one who is not considered such by the world; if from this person he receives a challenge; he does not in this case think himself bound to fight, because he is not a gentleman; when even to judge by a bad rule, he has as just a right to demand satisfaction as any other person whatever. I shall now close these observations with a question: since the severest punishments have hitherto failed in the prevention of duelling,-would not a punishment of a disgraceful and ignominious kind, have more effect in putting a final end to this disgraceful and inhuman practice?-this, however I leave to the decision of legislators.

VALVERDI.
Philad. Feb. 28, 1804.

For the Literary Magzine.

MEMOIRS OF CARWIN THE BILOQUIST.

TIME tended, in no degree, to alleviate my dissatisfaction. It increased till the determination became at length formed of opening my thoughts to Ludloe. At the next breakfast interview which took place, I introduced the subject, and expatiated without reserve, on the state of my feelings. I concluded with intreating him to point out some path in which my talents might be rendered useful to himself or to mankind.

After a pause of some minutes, he said, What would you do? You forget the immaturity of your age. If you are qualified to act a part in the theatre of life, step forth; but you are not qualified. You want knowledge, and with this you ought previously to endow yourself..... Means, for this end, are within your reach. Why should you waste your time in idleness, and torment yourself with unprofitable wishes? Books are at hand....books from which most sciences and languages can be learned. Read, analise, digest; collect facts, and investigate theo

ries: ascertain the dictates of reason, and supply yourself with the inclination and the power to adhere to them. You will not, legally speaking, be a man in less than three years. Let this period be devoted to the acquisition of wisdom. Either stay here, or retire to an house I have on the banks of Killarney, where you will find all the conveniences of study.

I could not but reflect with wonder at this man's treatment of me. I could plead none of the rights of relationship; yet I enjoyed the privileges of a son. He had not imparted to me any scheme, by pursuit of which I might finally compensate him for the expense to which my maintainance and education would subject him. He gave me reason to hope for the continuance of his bounty. He talked and acted as if my fortune were totally disjoined from his; yet was I indebted to him for the morsel which sustained my life. Now it was proposed to withdraw myself to studious leisure, and romantic solitude. All my wants, personal and intellectual, were to be supplied gratuitously and copiously. No means were prescribed by which I might make compensation for all these benefits. In conferring them he seemed to be actuated by no view to his own ultimate advantage. He took no mea. sures to secure my future services. I suffered these thoughts to escape me, on this occasion, and observed that to make my application successful, or useful, it was necessary to pursue some end. I must look forward to some post which I might hereafter occupy beneficially to myself or others; and for which all the efforts of my mind should be bent to qualify myself.

These hints gave him visible pleasure; and now, for the first time, he deigned to advise me on this head. His scheme, however, was not suddenly produced. The way to it was circuitous and long. It was his business to make every new step appear to be suggested by my ⚫wn reflections. His own ideas VOL. I....NO. VI.

were the seeming result of the moment, and sprung out of the last idea that was uttered. Being hastily taken up, they were, of course, liable to objection. These objections, sometimes occurring to me and sometimes to him, were admitted or contested with the utmost candour. One scheme went through numerous modifications before it was proved to be ineligible, or before it yielded place to a better. It was easy to perceive, that books alone were insufficient to impart knowledge: that man must be examined with our own eyes to make us acquainted with their nature: that ideas collected from observation and reading, must correct and illustrate each other: that the value of all principies, and their truth, lie in their practical effects. Hence, gradually arose, the usefulness of travelling, of inspecting the habits and manners of a nation, and investigating, on the spot, the causes of their happiness and misery. Finally, it was determined that Spain was more suitable than any other, to the views of a judicious traveller.

My language, habits, and religion were mentioned as obstacles to close and extensive views; but these difficulties successively and slowly vanished. Converse with books, and natives of Spain, a steadfast purpose and unwearied diligence would efface all differences between me and a Castilian with respect to speech. Personal habits, were changeable, by the same means. The bars to unbounded intercouse, rising from the religion of Spain being irreconcilably opposite to mine, cost us no little trouble to surmount, and here the skill of Ludloe was eminently displayed.

I had been accustomed to regard as unquestionable, the fallacy of the Romish faith. This persuasion was habitual and the child of prejudice, and was easily shaken by the artifices of this logician. I was first led to bestow a kind of assent on the doctrines of the Roman church; but my convictions were easily sub

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dued by a new species of argumentation, and, in a short time, I reverted to my ancient disbelief, so that, if an exterior conformity to the rights of Spain were requisite to the attainment of my purpose, that conformity must be dissembled.

My moral principles had hitherto been vague and unsettled. My circumstances had led me to the frequent practice of insincerity; but my transgressions as they were slight and transient, did not much excite my previous reflections, or subsequent remorse. My devia tions, however, though rendered easy by habit, were by no means sanctioned by my principles. Now an imposture, more profound and deliberate, was projected; and I could not hope to perform well my part, unless steadfastly and thoroughly persuaded of its rectitude.

My friend was the eulogist of sincerity. He delighted to trace its influence on the happiness of mankind; and proved that nothing but the universal practice of this virtue was necessary to the pecfection of human society. His doctrine was splendid and beautiful. To detect its imperfections was no easy task; to lay the foundations of virtue in utility, and to limit, by that scale, the operation of general principles; to see that the value of sincerity, like that of every other mode of action, consisted in its tendency to good, and that, therefore the obligation to speak truth was not paramount or intrinsical: that my duty is modelled on a knowledge and foresight of the conduct of others; and that, since men in their actual state, are infirm and deceitful, a just estimate of consequences may some times make dissimulation my duty were truths that did not speedily occur. The discovery, when made, appeared to be a joint work. I saw nothing in Ludlow but proofs of candour, and a judgment incapable of bias.

The means which this man employed to fit me for his purpose, perhaps owed their success to my youth and ignorance. I may have

given you exagge ted ideas of his dexterity and address. Of that I am unable to judge. Certain it is, that no time or reflection has abated my astonishment at the profoundness of his schemes, and the perseverence with which they were pursued by him. To detail their progress would expose me to the risk of being tedious, yet none but minute details would sufficiently display his patience and subtlety.

It will suffice to relate, that after a sufficient period of preparation and arrangements being made for maintaining a copious intercourse with Ludlow, I embarked for Barcelona. A restless curiosity and vigorous application have distinguished my character in every scene. Here was spacious field for the exercise of all my energies. I sought out a preceptor in my new religion. I entered into the hearts of priests and confessors, the hidalgo and the peasant, the monk and the prelate, the austere and voluptuous devotee were scrutinized in all their forms.

Man was the chief subject of my study, and the social sphere that in which I principally moved; but I was not inattentive to inanimate nature, nor unmindful of the past. If the scope of virtue were to maintain the body in health, and to furnish its highest enjoyments to every sense, to increase the number, and accuracy, and order of our intellectual stores, no virtue was ever more unblemished than mine. If to act upon our conceptions of right, and to acquit ourselves of all prejudice and selfishness in the formation of our principles, entitle us to the testimony of a good conscience, I might justly claim it.

I shall not pretend to ascertain my rank in the moral scale. Your notions of duty differ widely from mine. If a system of deceit, pursued merely from the love of truth; if voluptuousness, never gratified at the expense of health, may incur censure, I am censurable. This, indeed, was not the limit of my deviations. Deception was often