“That the pistols were leadless
Is no sort of news,
For blank-cartridge should always
Be fired at Reviews.”
We transcribe but another squib.
“A Scotchman and Irishman went out to fight,
Both equal in fierceness, both equal in fright;
Not a pin, ’twixt the heroes, in valour to choose,
The son of the Scissors, and son of the Muse.”
The whole affair was an illustration of the barbaric absurdity of duelling. Lord Brougham was subsequently supposed to be the layer on of the critical lash. If Jeffrey had given him up, Moore would have shot him if he could; and if Brougham had survived, he would have shot Jeffrey. Thus, two of the cleverest men of their day might have been victims to the bastard chivalry of the nineteenth century. How Moore himself would have fared in the fray, no one can tell; but being as honourably savage as any of his countrymen, and as untameable as a tiger-cat, he would certainly have shot somebody, or got pistolled himself.