On the same occasion, Mr. O’Maher’s second said to G.’s, (the famous Counsellor Ned Lysight,) “Mr. Lysight, take care:—your pistol is cocked!”—“Well, then,” said Lysight, “cock yours, and let me take a slap at you, as we are idle!” However, this proposition was not acceded to.
There could not be a greater _game-cock_ (the Irish expression for a man of determined courage) than my friend G—. That he was not only spirited himself, but the cause of infusing spirit into others, will appear from the following humorous letter which I received from him during my contested election for Maryborough. That election gave rise to many characteristic Irish adventures, for which this volume does not afford compass. Lord Castlecoote, the returning officer, (himself also a joint _proprietor_,) evinced an excessive horror of becoming acquainted with the _reporters_. Some person having jocularly told him of my friend’s letter, it became a subject of great amusement, and afforded a variety of anecdotes for the Honourable Robert Moore, who supported me on that election against his brother, the Marquis of Drogheda.
“I have this moment sent to the mail coach-office two bullet-moulds, not being certain which of them belongs to the _reporters_: suspecting, however, that you may not have time to _melt_ the _lead_, I also send half-a-dozen bullets, merely to keep _you going_ while others are preparing.
“I lament much that my situation and political feeling prevent me from seeing you _exhibit_ at Maryborough.
“Be _bold, wicked, steady_, and _fear nought_!
I took his advice:—our friendship was long and close; and we never (that I am aware of) had any cause for coolness.
There could not be a better elucidation of Rule No. 5. of the code of honour, than an anecdote of Barry Yelverton, second son of Lord Avonmore, baron of the exchequer.—Barry was rather too odd a fellow to have been accounted at all times perfectly _compos mentis_. He was a barrister. In a ball-room on circuit, where the officers of a newly arrived regiment had come to amuse themselves and set the Munster lasses agog, Barry, having drunk too many bumpers, let out his natural dislike to the military, and most grossly insulted several of the officers; abusing one, treading on the toes of another, jostling a third, and so forth, till he had got through the whole regiment. Respect for the women, and the not choosing to commit themselves with the black gowns on the first day of their arrival, induced the insulted parties to content themselves with only requiring Barry’s address, and his hour of being seen the next morning. Barry, with great satisfaction, gave each of them his card, but informed them that sending to him was unnecessary;—that he was _his own second_, and would meet every man of them at eight o’clock next morning, in the ball-room; concluding by desiring them to bring their swords, as that was always his weapon. Though this was rather a curious rendezvous, yet, the challenged having the right to choose his weapon, and the place being _à propos_, the officers all attended next day punctually, with the surgeon of the regiment and a due proportion of small-swords, fully expecting that some of his brother gownsmen would join in the rencontre. On their arrival, Barry requested to know how many gentlemen had done him the honour of giving him the invitation, and was told their names, amounting to nine. “Very well, gentlemen,” said Yelverton, “I am well aware I abused some of you, and gave others an offence equivalent to a blow,—which latter being the greatest insult, we’ll dispose of those cases first, and I shall return in a few minutes fully prepared.”