were offered against him.

'Oh! pretty play with your right, Kit!' exclaimed Mallard, as Kit
fetched his man an ugly stroke on the round of the waist behind, and
the crowd sent up the name of the great organs affected: a sickener of
a stroke, if dealt soundly. It meant more than 4 showed. Kit was now for
taking liberties. Light as ever on his pins, he now and then varied
his attentions to the yeasty part, delivering a wakener in unexpected
quarters: masterly as the skilled cook's carving of a joint with hungry
guests for admirers.

'Eh, Madge?' the earl said.

She kept her sight fixed, replying: 'Yes, I think...' Carinthia joined
with her: 'I must believe it that he will: but will the other man, poor
man, submit? I entreat him to put away his pride. It is his--oh, poor
man!'

Ben was having it hot and fast on a torso physiognomy.

The voices of these alien women thrilled the fray and were a Bardic harp
to Lord Fleetwood.

He dropped a pleasant word on the heads in the curricle.

Mr. Owain Wythan looked up. 'Worthy of Theocritus. It's the Boxing Twin
and the Bembrycian giant. The style of each. To the letter!'

'Kit is assiduously fastening Ben's blinkers,' Potts remarked.

He explained to the incomprehensible lady he fancied he had somewhere
seen, that the battle might be known as near the finish by the behaviour
on board Lord Brailstone's coach.

'It's like Foreign Affairs and the Stock Exchange,' he said to the more
intelligent males. 'If I want to know exactly how the country stands,
I turn to the Money Article in the papers. That's a barometrical
certainty. No use inquiring abroad. Look at old Rufus Abrane. I see
the state of the fight on the old fellow's mug. He hasn't a bet left in
him!'

'Captain Mountain--Rufus Mus!' cried Lord Fleetwood, and laughed at the
penetrative portrait Woodseer's epigram sketched; he had a desire for
the presence of the singular vagabond.

The Rufus Mus in the Captain Mountain exposed his view of the encounter,
by growing stiller, apparently growing smaller, without a squeak, like
the entrapped; and profoundly contemplative, after the style of the
absolutely detached, who foresee the fatal crash, and are calculating,
far ahead of events, the means for meeting their personal losses.

The close of the battle was on the visage of Rufus Abrane fifteen
minutes before that Elgin marble under red paint in the ring sat on
the knee of a succouring seconder, mopped, rubbed, dram-p