CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING J.VCKET 



o** fechting, and a' manner o' mischief!'' — and these 

 were the Irishmen! Retired and apart, hangs the 

 weaver, with his head over a wall, dog-sick, and hock- 

 ing in strong convulsions; some haymakers are wash- 

 ing their cut faces in the well; the butcher, bloody 

 as a bit of his own beef, walks silent into the sham- 

 bles; the smith, whose grimy face hides its pummel- 

 ling, goes oft* grinning a ghastly smile in the hands of 

 his scolding, yet not unloving wife; the tailor, gay as 

 a flea, and hot as his own goose, to show how nmch 

 more he has given than received, off*ers to leap any 

 man on the ground, hop-step-and-jump, for a mutch- 

 kin — while Bob Howie walks about, without a visible 

 wound, except the mark of bloody knuckles on his 

 brawny breast, with arms akimbo, seaman-fashion — 

 for Bob had been at sea — and as soon as the whisky 

 comes, hands it about at his own expense, caulker 

 after caulker, to the vanquished — for Bob was as 

 generous as brave; had no spite at the gipsies; and as 

 for Irishmen, why they were ranting, roving, red-hot, 

 dare-devil boys, just like himself; and after the fight, 

 he would have gone with them to Purgatory, or a few 

 steps further down the hill. All the battle through, 

 we manse-boys had fought, it may be said, behind 

 the shadow of him our hero; and in warding oft* mis- 

 chief from us, he received not a few heavy body-blows 

 from King Carew, a descendant of Bamfylde Moore, 

 [83] 



