“In Ipswich, ma’am! A duel in Ipswich!” said the magistrate, perfectly aghast at the notion. “Impossible, ma’am; nothing of the kind can be contemplated in this town, I am persuaded. Bless my soul, ma’am, are you aware of the activity of our local magistracy? Do you happen to have heard, ma’am, that I rushed into a prize-ring on the fourth of May last, attended by only sixty special constables; and, at the hazard of falling a sacrifice to the angry passions of an infuriated multitude, prohibited a pugilistic contest between the Middlesex Dumpling and the Suffolk Bantam? A duel in Ipswich, ma’am? I don’t think⁠—I do not think,” said the magistrate, reasoning with himself, “that any two men can have had the hardihood to plan such a breach of the peace, in this town.”

“My information is, unfortunately, but too correct,” said the middle-aged lady; “I was present at the quarrel.”

“It’s a most extraordinary thing,” said the astounded magistrate. “Muzzle!”