Counsellor Dan O’Connell fought the Orange chieftain, who had been halloo’d at him by the corporation. The champion of Protestant ascendancy never rose to fight again.
The Collector of the Customs of Dublin, the Honourable Francis Hutchinson, fought the Right Honourable Lord Mountnorris:—a hit. Cum multis aliis quæ nunc enumerare longum est.
The reader of this dignified list (which, as I have said, is only a very short abridgment[[3]]) will surely see no great indecorum in an Admiralty Judge having now and then, when required so to do, exchanged broadsides, more especially as they did not militate against the law of nations, and no ghost was the consequence.
[3]. Two hundred and twenty-seven memorable duels have actually been fought during my grand climacteric.
However, it must be owned that there were occasionally peaceable and forgiving instances among the barristers.—A brave, thrice-proven, but certainly capricious individual, Mr. Curran, was whipped by a very savage nobleman, Lord Clanmorris; and another eminent barrister was said to have had his eye saluted by a messenger from a gentleman’s lips in the body of the House of Commons.—Yet both those little incivilities were arranged very amicably, and without the aid of any deadly weapon whatsoever, I suppose for variety’s sake. But the people of Dublin used to observe, that a judgment came upon Counsellor O’Callaghan, for having kept his friend, Mr. Curran, quiet in the horse-whipping affair, inasmuch as his own brains were literally scattered about the ground by a Galway attorney very soon after he had turned pacificator.
To speak after the manner of a Bulletin:—“In my time, the number of killed and wounded among the bar was very considerable.—The other learned professions suffered much less.”
It is nearly incredible what a singular passion the Irish gentlemen (though in general excellent-tempered fellows) formerly had for fighting each other and immediately becoming friends again. A duel was indeed considered a necessary piece of a young man’s education, but by no means a ground for any future animosity with his opponent:—on the contrary, proving the bravery of both, it only cemented their friendship.
One of the most humane men existing, an intimate friend of mine, and a prominent and benevolent public character, but who (as the expression then was) had frequently played both “hilt to hilt” and “muzzle to muzzle,” in desperate rencontres, was heard endeavouring to keep a little son of his quiet who was crying for something:—“Come, now, do be a good boy! Come, now,” said my friend, “don’t cry, and I’ll give you a case of nice little pistols to-morrow. Come, now, don’t cry, and we’ll shoot them all in the morning.”—“Oh, yes! yes! papa! we’ll shoot them all in the morning!” responded the child, drying his little eyes and delighted at the notion.