Kitabı oku: «Eighteenth Century Waifs», sayfa 8

A TRIP TO RICHMOND IN SURREY

The following morceau gives so quaint an account of a day’s outing in the last century that I have thought it a pity to let it remain buried. It is by J. West, and was published in 1787:

 
From London to Richmond I took an excursion,
For the sake of my health and in hopes of diversion:
Thus, walking without any cumbersome load,
I mark’d ev’ry singular sight on the road.
 
 
In Hyde Park I met a hump-back’d macarony
Who was pleased I should see how he manag’d his pony.
The Cockney was dresst in true blue and in buff,
In buckskin elastic, but all in the rough;
He wore patent spurs on his boots, with light soles,
And buttons as big as some halfpenny rolls;
His hair out of curls, with a tail like a rat,
And sideways he clapt on his head a round hat;
His cravat was tied up in a monstrous large bunch,
No wonder the ladies should smile at his hunch.
 
 
The next figure I saw, ’twas a milliner’s maid,
A high cap and pink ribbons adorning her head,
Which was made to sit well, but a little fantastic,
With a hundred black pins and a cushion elastic.
She stalked like a peacock when waving her fan,
And us’d an umbrella upon a new plan;
Her elbows she lean’d on her hoop as on crutches,
And wagg’d her silk gown with the air of a duchess.
Now forward I stept to behold her sweet face;
She ogled and smil’d with a seeming good grace;
However, there was no dependence upon it,
Although her eyes sparkled from under her bonnet,
I question’d her love, so I wished her farewel;
But something more clever I’m ready to tell.
 
 
From yon spot in the Park, just where the Parade is,
Approach’d a grand sportsman, attended by ladies
On bay horses mounted; they swift tore the ground,
Escorted by servants and terriers around;
I guess’d that my Lord went to sport with his Graces
To Windsor’s wide forest or Maidenhead races.
 
 
Through Kensington passing I saw a fine show
Of chaises, gigs, coaches, there all in a row!
When I came to a well where a girl stood close by,
Who ask’d to what place do these folk go? and why?
I, smiling, replied, ‘They, my dear, go to Windsor,
To see king and queen,’ – but could not convince her.
On tiptoe the titt’ring girl ran off the stand,
And broke half the pitcher she had in her hand.
 
 
In Hammersmith’s parish I stopp’d for a minute;
A stage-coach here halted – I saw who was in it,
A grave-looking man with a long nose and chin,
Two sparks and three damsels were laughing within;
The outside was crowded, good Lord! what a rabble!
Some Cits from Fleet Market, some Jews from Whitechapel,
Some sailors from Wapping, and other such crew;
But now in the basket²⁹ I took a short view,
Two wenches, one jolly, the other but lean,
With barrels of oysters and shrimp-sacks between.
The spirited coachman, o’ercharg’d with stout ale,
When he started, drove faster than Palmer’s³⁰ new mail;
He smack’d his long whip – and zounds! what a flight!
His six horses running were soon out of sight;
A lad standing by, cried (as if in a swoon),
‘By Jove! they fly up like Lunardi’s³¹ balloon.’
 
 
Much pleas’d with my path when I march’d on apace,
I reach’d Turnham Green; on that sweet rural place
I stopp’d at an inn near a lane down to Chiswick,
I call’d for some ale, but it tasted like physick.
As good luck would have it, I could not drink more,
When, seeing Jack Tar and his wife at the door,
Join’d close arm-in-arm like a hook on a link,
I reach’d him my mug and invited to drink;
Jack, pleased with the draught, gave me thanks with an echo,
And cramm’d in his jaw a large quid of tobacco.
 
 
Again I set off on my way to Kew Bridge,
Some boys and some girls came from under a hedge;
They jump’d and they tumbled headforemost around,
Each vied with the other to measure the ground;
For halfpence they begg’d, and I gave ’em a penny,
When I found that I’d left myself without any
To pay toll at the bridge and to buy a few plumbs;
My silver I chang’d for a handful of Brums.³²
But, my sight being struck with the beauty of Kew,
I forgot my expenses, when, having in view
The new Royal Bridge³³ and its elegant Arches
There o’er the bright Thames, where the people in barges
And pleasure-boats sail! – how delightful the scene!
‘Twixt the shades of Old Brentford and smiling Kew Green.
 
 
Now forward for Richmond, and happy my lot!
I soon reach’d that lofty and beautiful spot
Which is called Richmond Hill – what a prospect amazing!
Extensive and pleasant; I could not help gazing
On yonder fine landscape of Twick’nam’s sweet plains,
Where kind Nature its thousandfold beauty maintains.
To trace all its pleasures too short was the day;
The dinner-bell ringing, I hasten’d away
To a cheerful repast at a Gentleman’s seat,
Whose friendship vouchsaf’d me a happy retreat.
 

GEORGE ROBERT FITZGERALD,
COMMONLY CALLED ‘FIGHTING FITZGERALD.’

Should anyone wish for a graphic account of Irish life in the later portion of the eighteenth century, he should read Sir Jonah Barrington’s ‘Personal Sketches of Ireland,’ and he will find afterwards that Lever’s novels afford but a faint reflection of the manners and customs existing in the west and south of Ireland. Ignorance, idleness, and dissipation were the characteristic of the wealthier classes, and a meeting of the ‘gentry’ could seldom take place without quarrelling and bloodshed. At races, fairs, and elections, the lower class enjoyed themselves likewise, after their kind, in breaking of heads and drunkenness. It was a singular state of things, but it must be borne in mind, whilst reading the following memoirs, as, otherwise, the facts therein related would scarcely be credited.³⁴

The Fitzgeralds of County Mayo come of an ancient stock, from no less than the great Geraldine family, through the Desmond branch, and George, the father of George Robert Fitzgerald, had a very good property at Turlough, near Castlebar. It probably had some influence in his future career that ‘Fighting Fitzgerald’ should have had for his mother Lady Mary Hervey, who had been maid-of-honour to the Princess Amelia, and who was the daughter of one, and the sister of two, Earls of Bristol. The family from which she sprang was noted for eccentricity, so much so, that it passed into a saying that ‘God made Men, Women, and Herveys.’ She did not live long with her husband, his lax morality and dissipated manners could not be borne, and she left him to his own devices and returned to England. By him she had two sons, George Robert (born 1749), and Charles Lionel. The elder, in due time, was sent to Eton, where he seems to have learnt as much Latin and Greek as was requisite for a gentleman of those days, and he used occasionally in after life to write a little poetry now and again, of which one piece, ‘The Riddle,’ was printed after his execution.

From Eton he, in 1766, being then in his seventeenth year, was gazetted to a lieutenancy in the 69th regiment, and was quartered at Galway, a nice place for a newly-emancipated schoolboy, and a red-hot, wild Irishman to boot. Here he soon got into a scrape, owing to his conduct with a shop-girl, which ended in a duel, in which neither the combatants were hurt. He next managed to pick a quarrel with a young officer of his own regiment, named Thompson, who was a quiet and inoffensive man, and they met. The first round was fired by both without injury, but Lieutenant Thompson’s second bullet struck Fitzgerald’s forehead, and he fell. The surgeons, after examination, came to the conclusion that the only way to save his life was by performing upon him the operation of trepanning, or cutting a round piece out of the skull in order to relieve the pressure on the brain. It was an operation that was very risky, but in this case it was successful. Still, one cannot help thinking, judging by his after career, that his brain then received some permanent injury which deprived him of the power of reasoning, and of control over his actions.

He now left the army, and went home to live with his father. Here he lived the regular Irishman’s life of the period: hunting, shooting, cock-fighting, &c., until he fell in love with a lady of good family, a Miss Conolly of Castletown; but even here he could not act as other men do. He could not be married quietly, but ran away with his bride, and an incident in their elopement is amusingly told, it being put in the mouth of his servant.

‘But hoo did the Captain mak’ it up again wi’ the Square? Ye omadhaun, it was with the young misthress he med it up; and she took Frinch lave with him, wan fine moonlight night soon afther. It was mysel’ that had the chaise an’ four waitin’ for them; an’ a divilish good thing happened at the first inn we stopt at. The Captain in coorse ordhered the best dhrawin’-room for the misthress; an’ sure, if it was goold, she was worthy ov it. But the beggarly-lookin’ waither sed it was taken up with some grand Englishmen.

‘“Request thim,” sis the Captain, “to accommodate a lady that’s fatigued, with the apartment.”

‘Well an’ good, the waither delivered the message, when one of the Englishers roars out, “Damn the fellow’s cursed insolence, we shan’t give up the room to any rascal.”

‘“Here,” sis one of thim, “show Paddy this watch, an’ ax him to tell what o’clock it is.”

‘So the waither brings the watch with the message in to where the Captain and mysel’ was – the misthress had gone with her maid to another room to change her dhress.

‘“Very well,” sis the Captain, “I think I can show them what o’clock it is.” So he dhraws his soord, and puts the point through his chain; “Channor,” thin says he to me, “attend me.”

‘With that we went in among them, an’ the Captain sthretched over the watch at the sword’s point to ache of them, beggin’, with a polite bow, to know to which o’ thim it belonged. But little notions, ye may swair, they had ov ownin’ it theirs. Every wan o’ the cowardly rascals swore it did not belong to himsel’!

‘“Oh, I was thinkin’, jintlemen, it was all a bit ov a mistake,” sis the Captain, “so I think you must have it, Channor, for want of a betther owner.” So with that he hands it over to mysel’. It was a fine goold watch, an’ here I have it still.’

Not only was young Mrs. Fitzgerald reconciled to her relations, but an arrangement was made with old Fitzgerald that, on payment of a certain sum of money down, he would give his son a rent charge of £1,000 a year on his estate, and he had a very handsome fortune with his wife besides.

The young couple thereupon went to France, and, having introductions to the best society in Paris, enjoyed themselves immensely. He dressed splendidly, and he astonished the Parisians, who asked each other, ‘Qui est ce seigneur? d’où vient il? Il n’est pas Français, – Quelle magnificence! Quelle politesse! Est-il possible qu’il soit étranger?’ In his hat he wore diamonds, and the same precious stones adorned his buckles and his sword-knot; indeed, all through his life he was fond of such gewgaws, and when his house at Turlough was wrecked by the mob – no one preventing – he estimated his loss in jewellery, &c., at £20,000. They must have been costly, for he enumerates among the stolen collection: ‘A casquet containing a complete set of diamond vest buttons, two large emeralds, a hat-band with five or six rows of Oriental pearls, worth £1,500, a large engraved amethyst, a gold watch and chain studded with diamonds, several other gold watches and seals, a great number of antique and modern rings, gold shoe and knee buckles, silver shaving apparatus, several pairs of silver shoe and knee buckles, with £6,300 worth of other jewels.’

He joined eagerly in the dissipations of the gay French capital, especially in gaming, and the twenty thousand pounds he had with his wife soon came to an end; and among other people to whom he was in debt was the Comte d’Artois, afterwards Charles X., to whom he owed three thousand pounds. One evening afterwards he offered a bet of one thousand pounds on the prince’s hand of cards, which the Comte d’Artois overhearing, he asked Fitzgerald for payment, and, being told that it was not then convenient, the prince took the Irishman by the arm, led him to the top of the stairs, and then, giving him one kick, left him to get downstairs as quickly as he could. This indignity was one which it was very hard on the hot-blooded Irishman to be obliged to endure, for he might not challenge with impunity a prince of the blood, and from the public nature of the insult he naturally lost his place in society. It was certain he must leave France; but before he left he must somehow distinguish himself. And he did it in this wise. The king was hunting at Fontainebleau, and Fitzgerald, regardless of the etiquette which always allowed the foremost place to the king and royal family, took the hunting of the pack upon himself, riding close to the hounds, cheering and encouraging them. But for some time the stag kept well in the open, and gave Fitzgerald no opportunity of showing off his horsemanship, until it suddenly turned off towards the river Seine, on the banks of which a wall had been built. This it leaped, and, to use a hunting phrase, ‘took soil’ in the river. Over streamed the hounds, and over flew Fitzgerald, reckless of a drop of fourteen feet on the other side, going plump into the river. The hunt stopped at that wall, none daring to take it, and watched with amazement Fitzgerald emerge, his feet still in the stirrups, and, swimming the river, climb the opposite bank and ride away.

He went to London, where he was well received in society, notwithstanding that his fame as a duellist was well known, he having fought eleven duels by the time he was twenty-four years of age. Whether it was then that he forced his way into Brookes’ Club I know not, but it is certain that he did, and as I cannot tell the story as well as it is told in that most amusing but anonymously written book, ‘The Clubs of London,’ I extract it.

‘Fitzgerald having once applied to Admiral Keith Stewart to propose him as a candidate for “Brookes’s,” the worthy admiral, well knowing that he must either fight or comply with his request, chose the latter alternative. Accordingly, on the night in which the balloting was to take place (which was only a mere form in this case, for even Keith Stewart himself had resolved to black-ball him), the duellist accompanied the gallant admiral to St. James’s Street, and waited in the room below, whilst the suffrages were taken, in order to know the issue.

‘The ballot was soon over, for without hesitation every member threw in a black ball, and, when the scrutiny took place, the company were not a little amazed to find not even one white one among the number. However, the point of rejection being carried nem. con., the grand affair now was as to which of the members had the hardihood to announce the same to the expectant candidate. No one would undertake the office, for the announcement was sure to produce a challenge, and a duel with Fighting Fitzgerald had in almost every case been fatal to his opponent. The general opinion, however, was that the proposer, Admiral Stewart, should convey the intelligence, and that in as polite terms as possible; but the admiral, who was certainly on all proper occasions a very gallant officer, was not inclined to go on any such embassy.

‘“No, gentlemen,” said he; “I proposed the fellow because I knew you would not admit him; but, by G – d, I have no inclination to risk my life against that of a madman.”

‘“But, admiral,” replied the Duke of Devonshire, “there being no white ball in the box, he must know that you have black-balled him as well as the rest, and he is sure to call you out, at all events.”

‘This was a poser for the poor admiral, who sat silent for a few seconds amidst the half-suppressed titter of the members. At length, joining in the laugh against himself, he exclaimed,

‘“Upon my soul, a pleasant job I’ve got into! D – n the fellow! No matter! I won’t go. Let the waiter tell him that there was one black ball, and that his name must be put up again if he wishes it.”

‘This plan appeared so judicious that all concurred in its propriety. Accordingly the waiter was a few minutes after despatched on the mission.

‘In the meantime Mr. Fitzgerald showed evident symptoms of impatience at being kept so long from his “dear friends” above stairs, and frequently rang the bell to know the state of the poll. On the first occasion he thus addressed the waiter who answered his summons:

‘“Come here, my tight little fellow. Do you know if I am chose yet?”

‘“I really can’t say, sir,” replied the young man, “but I’ll see.”

‘“There’s a nice little man; be quick, d’ye see, and I’ll give ye sixpence when ye come with the good news.”

‘Away went the little man; but he was in no hurry to come back, for he as well as his fellows was sufficiently aware of Fitzgerald’s violent temper, and wished to come in contact with him as seldom as possible.

‘The bell rang again, and to another waiter the impatient candidate put the same question:

‘“Am I chose yet, waither?”

‘“The balloting is not over yet, sir,” replied the man.

‘“Not over yet!” exclaimed Fitzgerald. “But, sure, there is no use of balloting at all when my dear friends are all unanimous for me to come in. Run, my man, and let me know how they are getting on.”

‘After the lapse of another quarter-of-an-hour, the bell was rung so violently as to produce a contest among the poor servants, as to whose turn it was to visit the lion in his den! and Mr. Brookes, seeing no alternative but resolution, took the message from the waiter, who was descending the staircase, and boldly entered the room with a coffee equipage in his hand.

‘“Did you call for coffee, sir?”

‘“D – n your coffee, sur! and you too,” answered Mr. Fitzgerald, in a voice which made the host’s blood curdle in his veins – “I want to know, sur, and that without a moment’s delay, sur, if I am chose yet.”

‘“Oh, sir!” replied Mr. Brookes, who trembled from head to foot, but attempted to smile away the appearance of fear, “I beg your pardon, sir; but I was just coming to announce to you, sir, with Admiral Stewart’s compliments, sir, that unfortunately there was one black ball in the box, sir; and, consequently, by the rules of the club, sir, no candidate can be admitted without a new election, sir; which cannot take place, by the standing regulations of the club, sir, until one month from this time, sir!”

‘During this address Fitzgerald’s irascibility appeared to undergo considerable mollification; and, at its conclusion, the terrified landlord was not a little surprised and pleased to find his guest shake him by the hand, which he squeezed heartily between his own two, saying,

‘“My dear Mr. Brookes, I’m chose; and I give ye much joy: for I’ll warrant ye’ll find me the best customer in your house! But there must be a small matter of mistake in my election; and, as I should not wish to be so ungenteel as to take my sate among my dear friends above-stairs, until that mistake is duly rectified, you’ll just step up and make my compliments to the gentlemen, and say, as it is only a mistake of one black ball, they will be so good as to waive all ceremony on my account, and proceed to re-elect their humble servant without any more delay at all; so now, my dear Mr. Brookes, you may put down the coffee, and I’ll be drinking it whilst the new election is going on!”

‘Away went Mr. Brookes, glad enough to escape with whole bones, for this time at least. On announcing the purport of his errand to the assembly above-stairs, many of the members were panic-struck, for they clearly foresaw that some disagreeable circumstance was likely to be the finale of the farce they had been playing. Mr. Brookes stood silent for some minutes, waiting for an answer, whilst several of the members whispered, and laughed, in groups, at the ludicrous figure which they all cut. At length the Earl of March (afterwards Duke of Queensbury) said aloud,

‘“Try the effect of two black balls; d – n his Irish impudence; if two balls don’t take effect upon him, I don’t know what will.” This proposition met with unanimous approbation, and Mr. Brookes was ordered to communicate accordingly.

‘On re-entering the waiting-room, Mr. Fitzgerald rose hastily from his chair, and, seizing him by the hand, eagerly inquired,

‘“Have they elected me right now, Mr. Brookes?”

‘“I hope no offence, Mr. Fitzgerald,” said the landlord, “but I am sorry to inform you that the result of the second balloting is – that two black balls were dropped in, sir.”

‘“By J – s, then,” exclaimed Fitzgerald, “there’s now two mistakes instead of one. Go back, my dear friend, and tell the honourable members that it is a very uncivil thing to keep a gentleman waiting below-stairs, with no one to keep him company but himself, whilst they are enjoying themselves with their champagne, and their cards, and their Tokay, up above. Tell them to try again, and I hope they will have better luck this time, and make no more mistakes, because it’s getting late, and I won’t be chose to-night at all. So now, Mr. Brookes, be off with yourself, and lave the door open till I see what despatch you make.”’

Away went Mr. Brookes for the last time. On announcing his unwelcome errand, everyone saw that palliative measures only prolonged the dilemma: and General Fitzpatrick proposed that Brookes should tell him: “His cause was hopeless, for that he was black-balled all over from head to foot, and it was hoped by all the members that Mr. Fitzgerald would not persist in thrusting himself into society where his company was declined.”

‘This message, it was generally believed, would prove a sickener, as it certainly would have done to any other candidate under similar circumstances. Not so, however, to Fitzgerald, who no sooner heard the purport of it, than he exclaimed,

‘“Oh, I perceive it is a mistake altogether, Mr. Brookes, and I must see to the rectifying of it myself; there’s nothing like dealing with principals, and so I’ll step up at once, and put the thing to rights, without any more unnecessary delay.”

‘In spite of Mr. Brookes’s remonstrance that his entrance into the club-room was against all rule and etiquette, Fitzgerald found his way up-stairs, threatening to throw the landlord over the bannisters for endeavouring to stop him. He entered the room without any further ceremony than a bow, saying to the members, who indignantly rose up at this most unexpected intrusion,

‘“Your servant, gentlemen! I beg ye will be sated.” Walking up to the fire-place, he thus addressed Admiral Stewart: “So, my dear admiral, Mr. Brookes informs me that I have been elected three times.”

‘“You have been balloted for, Mr. Fitzgerald, but I am sorry to say you have not been chosen,” said Stewart.

‘“Well, then,” replied the duellist, “did you black-ball me?”

‘“My good sir,” answered the admiral, “how could you suppose such a thing?”

‘“Oh, I supposed no such thing, my dear fellow, I only want to know who it was dropped the black balls in by accident, as it were.”

‘Fitzgerald now went up to each individual member, and put the same question seriatim, “Did you black-ball me, sir?” until he made the round of the whole club; and it may well be supposed that in every case he obtained similar answers to that of the admiral. When he had finished his inquisition, he thus addressed the whole body, who preserved as dread and dead a silence as the urchins at a parish school do on a Saturday when the pedagogue orders half-a-score of them to be horsed for neglecting their catechism, which they have to repeat to the parson on Sunday:

‘“You see, gentlemen, that as none of ye have black-balled me, I must be chose; and it is Misthur Brookes that has made the mistake. But I was convinced of it from the beginning, and I am only sorry that so much time has been lost as to prevent honourable gentlemen from enjoying each other’s good company sooner. Waither! Come here, you rascal, and bring me a bottle of champagne, till I drink long life to the club, and wish them joy of their unanimous election of a raal gentleman by father and mother, and – ” this part of Fitzgerald’s address excited the risible muscles of everyone present; but he soon restored them to their former lugubrious position by casting around him a ferocious look, and saying, in a voice of thunder – “and who never missed his man! Go for the champagne, waithur; and, d’ye hear, sur, tell your masthur – Misthur Brookes, that is – not to make any more mistakes about black balls, for, though it is below a gentleman to call him out, I will find other means of giving him a bagful of broken bones.”

‘The members now saw that there was nothing for it but to send the intruder to Coventry, which they appeared to do by tacit agreement; for when Admiral Stewart departed, which he did almost immediately, Mr. Fitzgerald found himself completely cut by all “his dear friends.” The gentlemen now found themselves in groups at the several whist-tables, and no one chose to reply to his observations, nor to return even a nod to the toasts and healths which he drank whilst discussing three bottles of the sparkling liquor which the terrified waiter placed before him in succession. At length, finding that no one would communicate with him in either kind, either for drinking or for fighting, he arose, and, making a low bow, took his leave as follows:

‘“Gentlemen, I bid you all good night; I am glad to find ye so sociable. I’ll take care to come earlier next night, and we’ll have a little more of it, please G – d.”

‘The departure of this bully was a great relief to everyone present, for the restraint caused by his vapouring and insolent behaviour was intolerable. The conversation immediately became general, and it was unanimously agreed that half-a-dozen stout constables should be in waiting the next evening to lay him by the heels and bear him off to the watch-house if he attempted again to intrude. Of some such measure Fitzgerald seemed to be aware, for he never showed himself at “Brookes’s” again, though he boasted everywhere that he had been unanimously chosen a member of the club.’

He lived the life of a man about town, and not a very reputable one, either a bully whom everyone feared and no one liked, until the summer of 1773, when he appeared before the public in a dispute of which there is a long account in a contemporary pamphlet, ‘The Vauxhall Affray, or Macaronies defeated.’ The Rev. Henry Bate (afterwards Sir H. B. Dudley), the proprietor and editor of the Morning Post, was at Vauxhall in company with Mrs. Hartley, the actress, her husband, Mr. Colman, and a friend, when Fitzgerald, accompanied by the Hon. Thomas Lyttleton, Captain Croftes, and some others, all more or less intoxicated, behaved so rudely to Mrs. Hartley that she could stand it no longer, and complained. Parson Bate was a notable ‘bruiser,’ and he took her part, and struck Croftes a blow. Cards were exchanged, and next morning an interview was arranged, at which the clergyman and officer were reconciled, when in bounced Fitzgerald, and declared, in a most insolent manner, that Mr. Bate should give immediate satisfaction to his friend, Captain Miles, whom, he said, the former had grossly insulted the evening before. Miles was introduced, and declared that he had been affronted by the clergyman, and if he did not immediately strip and fight with him, he (Miles) would post him as a coward, and cane him wherever he met him.

Mindful of his cloth, Mr. Bate hesitated; but Miles, saying something about cowardice, the parson threw all consideration of his calling to the winds, a ring was formed, and Captain Miles received the handsomest thrashing he ever had. Soon afterwards it transpired that Captain Miles was Fitzgerald’s own servant, who had been compelled by his master so to behave. Mr. Bate very properly exposed the affair in the Morning Post.

We next hear of him engaged in a duel with Captain Scawen of the Guards, which was fought at Lille, and twice he fired before his adversary. Luckily he missed him, and the second time the captain, having fired in the air, the affair ended.

He was concerned in another duel, which made some stir at the time (1775). There was a young fellow named Walker, the son of a plumber and painter, whose father left him a large fortune, and Daisy Walker, as he was called, became a cornet in Burgoyne’s Light Dragoons. His fortune soon went in gambling, and he had to retire from the service, whilst his guardians looked into his affairs. At that time Fitzgerald held a bill of his for three thousand pounds, and pressed for payment. It was ultimately compromised, and, on receipt of five hundred pounds, he gave up the bill. Subsequently Daisy Walker made some lucky bets, and Fitzgerald at once became clamourous for payment of two thousand five hundred pounds. Walker denied his liability, saying the matter was settled by the payment of five hundred pounds and the return of the bill; but this was not Fitzgerald’s view of the matter, and he dunned young Walker whenever he met him, and at last, at Ascot races, he cut him across the face with his cane.

Of course, in those days, there could be but one course to be taken, and a challenge was sent, and accepted. Walker, as being the insulted party, should fire first. They duly met, and the distance was fixed at ten paces, but the second who measured the ground took such strides that it was virtually twelve paces. Walker fired, and his antagonist was unhurt. Fitzgerald, who had the whole etiquette of the duello at his finger’s ends, then stepped forward and apologised for having struck Walker – which apology was accepted. But, as soon as this ceremony was finished, Fitzgerald again began dunning for his £2,500, and, when he was told that it was not owing, he prepared to take his shot, offering to bet £1,000 that he hit his adversary. The pistol missed fire, and he calmly chipped the flint, reiterating his offer to bet. He fired, and the ball grazed Walker in the arm just below the shoulder, but did not wound him, and they left the field. Subsequently, however, Fitzgerald declared that Walker was ‘papered,’ i. e., protected in some way, and published an account of the duel in a pamphlet, addressed to the Jockey Club. To this Walker replied, and Fitzgerald followed up with another pamphlet, in which he says: —