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
much more he has given than received, offers to leap any man on the
ground, hop-step-and-jump, for a mutchkin--while Bob Howie walks about,
without a visible wound, except the mark of bloody knuckles on his
brawny breast, with arms a-kimbo, 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 gypsies; 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 off
mischief from us, he received not a few heavy body-blows from King
Carew, a descendant of Bamfylde Moore, and some crown-cracks from the
shillelas of the Connaught Rangers.

Down comes a sudden thunder-plump, making the road a river--and to the
whiff o' lightning, all in the shape of man, woman, and child, are under
roof-cover. The afternoon soon clears up, and the haymakers leave the
clanking empty gill or half-mutchkin stoup for the field, to see what
the rain has done--the forge begins again to roar--the sound of the
flying shuttle tells that the weaver is again on his treddles; the
tailor hoists up his little window in the thatch, in that close
confinement, to enjoy the cauler air--the tinklers go to encamp on the
common--"the air is balm"--insects, drooping from eave and tree, "show
to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold"--though the season of
bird-singing be over and gone, there is a pleasant chirping hereabouts,
thereabouts, everywhere; the old blind beggar, dog-led, goes from door
to door, unconscious that such a stramash has ever been--and dancing
round our champion, away we schoolboys all fly with him to swim in the
Brother Loch, taking our fishing-rods with us, for one clap of thunder
will not frighten the trouts; and about the middle or end of July, we
have known great labbers, twenty inches long, play wallop between our
very feet, in the warm shallow water, within a yard of the edge, to the
yellow-bodied, tinsey-tailed, black half-heckle, with brown mallard
wing, a mere midge, but once fixed in lip or tongue, "i