The literary gentleman finally elicits that his lordship's books are simply selected for fashion and show, and that they are never read, Lord Finican having long given up the study of books, and merely collecting a library to establish the excellence of his taste.
No. 68. The 'World.'—April 18, 1754.
Mr. FitzAdam prints a letter received from a widow, describing the real facts of the injuries by which her husband had lost his life in a duel:—
'Mr. Muzzy was very fat and extremely lethargic, and so stupidly heavy that he fell asleep even in musical assemblies, and snored in the playhouse, as loud, poor man! as he used to snore in bed. However, having received many taunts and reproaches, he resolved to challenge his own cousin-german, Brigadier Truncheon, of Soho Square. It seems the person challenged fixed upon the place and weapons. Truncheon, a deep-sighted man, chose Primrose Hill for the field of battle, and swords for the weapons of defence. To avoid suspicion and to prevent a discovery, they were to walk together from Piccadilly, where we then lived, to the summit of Primrose Hill. Truncheon's scheme took effect. Mr. Muzzy was much fatigued and out of breath with the walk. However, he drew his sword; and, as he assured me himself, began to attack his cousin with valour. The brigadier went back; Mr. Muzzy pursued; but not having his adversary's alacrity, he stopped a little to take breath. He stopped, alas! too long: his lethargy came on with more than usual violence; he first dozed as he stood upon his legs, and then beginning to nod forward, dropped by degrees upon his face in a most profound sleep.
'Truncheon, base man! took this opportunity to wound my husband as he lay snoring on the ground; and he had the cunning to direct his stab in such a manner as to make it supposed that Mr. Muzzy had fled, and in his flight had received a wound in the most ignominious part of his body. You will ask what became of the seconds. They were both killed upon the spot; but being only two servants, the one a butler and the other a cook, they were buried the same night; and by the power of a little money, properly applied, no further inquiry was made about them.
'Mr. Muzzy, wounded as he was, might probably have slept upon that spot for many hours, had he not been awakened by the cruel bites of a mastiff. My poor husband was thoroughly awakened by the new hurt he had received; and indeed it was impossible to have slept while he was losing whole collops of the fattest and most pulpy part of his flesh: so that he was brought home to me much more wounded by the teeth of the mastiff than by the sword of his cousin Truncheon.' The wound eventually mortified, Mr. Muzzy lost his life, and the writer became a widow.
No. 82. The 'World.'—July 25, 1754.
'The Tears of Old May-day.
