Whatever in other respects might be their failings--and these were,
indeed, many and grave--Scottish inns in those days were noted for the
goodness of their claret. As a consequence of our ancient alliance and
direct trade with France, that wine was not only good, but was plentiful
and cheap--cheap enough, indeed, to become almost the national
drink--and vast quantities were daily consumed; though there were not
wanting those who, protesting that claret was "shilpit" and "cauld on
the stomach," called loudly for brandy, and with copious draughts of
that spirit corrected the acidity of the less potent wine.
Possibly the very depth of the drinking in those days guarded many a
life from sacrifice; the hand is not steady, nor the foot sure, when the
brain is muddled by fumes of wine, and it was perhaps more often chance
than design that guided the sword's point in some of these combats.
Still, even so, Death too often claimed his toll from such chance
strokes.
A duel between opponents equally armed was fair enough, provided that
the skill and sobriety were not unequally divided, and that one of the
fighters did not chance to be unduly handicapped by age. If a man wore a
sword, he knew that he might be called upon to use it--even the most
peace-loving of men might not then, without loss of honour, always
succeed in avoiding a brawl; the blame was his own if he had neglected
to make himself proficient in the use of his weapon.
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