the other, fearing the consequences, denied that they had

done so!

According to the account of the transaction given in the work, the Clubs of London, the members saw there was nothing for it but to send the intruder to Coventry; and he was therefore left to occupy himself drinking at one of the side-tables. On the departure of the wretch, which was a great relief to all the members, it was resolved to have him taken into custody by a body of constables, should he again present himself. Of some such measure, Fitzgerald seemed to be aware; for he never shewed himself at Brookes's again, though he boasted everywhere that he had been unanimously chosen a member of the club!

The narrator of the circumstance has thought it necessary to vindicate the character of the members of the club, lest it should be supposed that they were deficient in personal courage. He observes that 'in addition to the well-founded and rational dislike which many men have to duelling, family considerations and a natural love of life were sufficient to deter any man of sense from encountering the Fighting Fitzgerald either with sword or pistol; for, being really a good swordsman and marksman, and being accounted almost invulnerable in his own person, the result of a combat with him ceased to be an affair of chance, but amounted to a dead certainty. Is it surprising, then, that no gentleman should have had the hardihood to espouse the cause of all, by throwing away his own life on the desperate chance of overcoming a professed bully?'

We would not dispute the correctness of this view of the affair; but take leave to say, that the members were in no small degree blameable for not at once calling in the aid of constables to prevent the anticipated outrage. Such undoubtedly would have been the solution of the difficulty in the present day; and that the club did not in this manner shelter itself under the protection of the law, gives one a strange idea of the state of public feeling, as well as of social arrangements, seventy years ago.

Subsequent to this ridiculous event, 'Fitzgerald returned to Ireland, and resided either at his house, Merrion Street, Dublin, or at Rockfield, near Turlough. In Dublin, his conduct was marked by deeds wild and unwarrantable, which would be now intolerable, but which then did not much outrage the spirit of the times. Besides fighting a duel with John Toler, afterwards Lord Norbury, he is said to have fired a pistol on one occasion at Denis Brown, the brother of Lord Altamont, in the open day, in Sackville Street; on another occasion he insulted, and, it is said, struck John Fitzgibbon, afterwards so well known as the stern, overbearing Lord-Chancellor Clare; and it has been said that he well remembered the blow, when he acted as crown prosecutor, on Fitzgerald's trial.'

Of the trial here alluded to, we shall presently speak. It is proper, however, to mention before going farther, that an event occurred which irretrievably damaged Fitzgerald's reputation as a duellist. In one of his encounters, it was discovered that he wore an underwaistcoat of chain - metal, which was ball and sword proof. On this discovery, he was chased from the field with scorn, and cannot be said to have afterwards held up his head among persons of proper feeling. He continued to live a blustering life, and to mix himself up with political intrigues and petty local disturbances. Associated with despicable companions, he at length, in a dispute respecting some family property, quarrelled with a relation named M'Donnell, upon whom he determined to wreak his vengeance. At this point in Fitzgerald's career, the most charitable thing that can be said of him is, that he was in a state of mental derangement, and was, properly speaking, a fit object for an asylum: his conduct towards M'Donnell leads to no other conclusion. He endeavoured to have this person assassinated, but the shot of Murphy, a miscreant whom he employed, only wounded Mr M'Donnell in the leg. Murphy was arrested on suspicion of this foul act, kept a short time in prison, and discharged without trial. Fitzgerald, taking up the cause of Murphy, entered a complaint against M'Don

nell for false imprisonment, and procured a warrant for his arrest. Accompanied by a band of retainers, and a person named Brecknock as his law-adviser, Fitzgerald proceeded to capture the object of his malice, and carry him in the first place to his own residence at Turlough. The design was, if possible, to provoke a rescue, and to shoot M'Donnell in the scuffle-such, according to Brecknock, being allowable in law! This diabolical plot went exactly as was intended. A hubbub took place, and poor M'Donnell was remorselessly shot through the head. This was the crowning act of Fitzgerald's mad career. Wretchedly as the law was administered in Ireland, it could not overlook the horrible outrage that had been committed. Fitzgerald, an accomplice named Fulton, and his adviser Brecknock, were pursued by a crowd of partisans, captured, and consigned to prison for trial. Fitzgerald was found concealed among a bundle of bedclothes, and dragged with indignity from his home, which was forthwith pillaged so effectually by the mob, that not a single article of any value was left in it from garret to cellar.

The trial of the murderer and his accomplices shortly afterwards took place, and all were found guilty and condemned. Strange to say, Fitzgerald was on the occasion calm, reasonable, and resigned. The only favour he asked of the judge was 'to give him a long day' to settle his affairs; but the sun was not allowed to set on the criminals after the passing of sentence. It would appear as if the high-sheriff, the prosecutors, and indeed all the gentry of Mayo, were afraid that if there were any delay, a reprieve might have been procured by means of Fitzgerald's high connections.' The execution was disgracefully managed. The rope by which Fitzgerald was hung up broke, and he fell to the ground. Rising to his feet, he requested a better rope to be brought, and that there might be no more botching. The second time, the rope slipped from the cross-beam, and the feet of the wretched man again reached the ground. A bystander, shocked with the spectacle, interposed, and drawing up

the rope, fixed it so effectually that an end was soon put to Fitzgerald's sufferings. The two others appear to have been executed at the same time without any accident. The description given of what followed is too characteristic to bear omission. The body being taken down, it was, by the sheriff's permission, conveyed, unmutilated, to Turlough House; and it is a striking fact, that he who had been reared in the lap of luxury, and the associate of the highest in the land, was waked with lights placed in bottles-so utter had been the wreck, so entire the plunder of a house which had contained such an abundance of various valuables, that not a single candlestick was left for the performance of the last rite he should require on earth.' Such was the inglorious end of Fighting Fitzgerald!

Enough, we think, has now been said respecting the prevalence of duelling up till a comparatively late period. The strange thing is, that a practice so repugnant to religion, reason, law, and decency, should so long have received the sanction of public opinion. Although divines preached, and moralists railed against it, still the custom of fighting by challenge continued. It in fact remained

in force so long as the law gave it a shelter. At length, by a marked improvement in public feeling, a few years ago, the practice began to be scouted and ridiculed; and on the occurrence of a very shocking duel within the military circle, the highest authorities found it necessary to interpose. A knowledge that in future, the person who killed another in a duel would be tried as a murderer, had its proper influence. Society at large sanctioned this view of affairs, and it became somewhat perilous to be concerned in homicidal encounters. An argument in favour of duelling cannot be omitted. It was alleged, that but for this guard on personal honour, no man would be safe from insult; and that in the army especially, life would not be endurable without this protection. The experience of only a few years has demonstrated the fallacy of these suppositions. A respect for mutual rights and feelings has indeed advanced with the

decay of duelling; and as society no longer considers a man to be a coward who shrinks from the acceptance of a challenge, but rather approves of his reluctance, so do individuals, under a higher sense of delicacy, refrain from saying or doing what is calculated to wound the feelings of each other. Thus has duelling disappeared from amongst us, and now only exists where rude natures have not received the polish of an advanced civilisation.

THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON.

MARIA LETIZIA RAMOLINI, the mother of Napoleon Bonaparte, was descended from a noble Italian family, and was born at Ajaccio, in the island of Corsica, on the 24th of August 1750. Being possessed of great personal attractions, she was married at an early age to Carlo Bonaparte or Buonaparte, an advocate, the descendant of an Italian family as noble as her own, which had settled in Corsica in the sixteenth century. In January 1768, she gave birth to her eldest son Guiseppe (Joseph), who became king of Naples, and subsequently of Spain and the Indies.

At the time of the marriage of Carlo Bonaparte to Maria Letizia Ramolini, the island of Corsica was the scene of war and tumult. The people, under their celebrated leader Pascal Paoli, had struggled for several years to assert their independence of the Genoese republic; and, having baffled that enemy, they had now to contend with the king of France, to whom Genoa had made over her claims, as if a nation had been a piece of merchandise liable to be bartered from one hand to another. Carlo Bonaparte was the friend and zealous co-patriot of Paoli, and had distinguished himself in the war against the Genoese. In 1768, when an army of 5000 French landed for the purpose of reducing the island, the most of the considerable families in Ajaccio,