CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



would not leave their work for a dog-fight, fling down 

 scythe and rake, and over the hedges into the high- 

 road, a stalwart reinforcement. Weavers leap from 

 their treddles — doff their blue aprons, and out into 

 the air. The red-cowled tailor pops his head through 

 a skylight, and next moment is in the street. The 

 butcher strips his long light-blue linen coat, to engage 

 a Paddy; and the smith, ready for action — for the 

 huge arms of Burniwind are always bare — with a 

 hand-ower-hip delivery, makes the head of the king 

 of the gipsies ring like an anvil. There has been no 

 marshalling of forces — yet lo! as if formed in two 

 regular lines by the Adjutant himself after the first 

 tuilzie, stand the carters, the gipsies, and the Irish- 

 men, opposed to Bob Howie, the butcher, the smith, 

 the tailor, the weaver, the haymakers, and the boys 

 from the manse — the latter drawn up cautiously, but 

 not cowardly, in the rear. What a twinkling of fists 

 and shillelas! what bashed and bloody noses! cut 

 blubber lips — cheekbones out of all proportion to the 

 rest of the face, and, through sudden black and blue 

 tumefactions, men*'s changed into pigs' eyes! And now 

 there is also rugging of caps and mutches and hair, 

 ^^Jemineo ululatu^'' for the Egyptian Amazons bear 

 down like furies on the glee'd widow that keeps the 

 change-house, half-witted Shoosy that sells yellow 

 sand, and Davie Donald's dun daughter, commonly 

 [81 ] 



