The remarkable prevalence of dueling, which rose in Ireland to almost an insane height toward the end of the eighteenth century, had at least the good effect of encouraging a chivalrous feeling toward women, who thenceforward depended on their male relatives and friends for protection. It is said that if any gentleman presumed to pass between a lady and the wall in walking the streets of Dublin, he was considered as offering a personal affront to her escort, and if the parties wore swords, as was then customary, the first salutation to the offender was usually "Draw, sir!" However, such affairs mostly ended in an apology to the lady for inadvertence. But if a man ventured to intrude into the boxes of the theatre in his surtout or boots or with his hat on, it was regarded as a general insult to every lady present, and he had little chance of escaping without a shot or a thrust before the following night. It must be confessed that this species of punctiliousness was carried too far. Some say that dueling reached to such an extravagant pitch in Ireland because the Protestant gentry were a garrison in a hostile country, and were obliged to cultivate familiarity with the means of defence. It is possible that this state of affairs may have originally led to the remarkable prevalence of the custom, for when such transactions as that between Mr. Morris and Arthur O'Leary were of frequent occurrence, there must have been much to provoke the bitterest enmity. Nevertheless, it would seem that there was really a good deal in the practice to warrant the old saying that "the English fight for liberty, the French for glory and the Irish for _fun_." A gentleman who is said to have been one of the most humane men existing quieted his little son in this wise when the child was crying for something: "Come, now, do be a good boy. Come, now, don't cry, and I'll give you a case of nice little pistols to-morrow. Come, now, don't cry, and _we'll shoot them all in the morning_."--"Yes, yes," responded the child, drying his little eyes and delighted at the notion--"Yes, we'll shoot them all in the morning." In the regulations for dueling, called in Galway the "Thirty-six Commandments," one of the rules laid down was that when the seconds disagreed and resolved to exchange shots, they should stand at right angles with the principals and all fire together. A duel of this nature took place near Glinsk, the seat of Sir J. Bourke, between that gentleman and a Mr. Bodkin, when the old family steward and other servants brought out the son, then a child, and held him on men's shoulders to see papa fight! Professed duelists were called "fire-eaters," and the first two questions always asked as to a young gentleman's respectability and qualifications, particularly when he proposed for a wife, were, "What family is he of? Did he ever blaze?"