It is Mistress O’Calligan Sheeley come to the rescue of her husband.
O’Brallaghan is pulled from Jinks—that hero rises, and attempts to flee.
He rushes into the arms of another lady, who, in passing near the crowd, has been caught up like a leaf and buried in the combat—Miss Sallianna.
But fate is again adverse, though impartial. Mr. Jinks and O’Brallaghan are felled simultaneously by mighty blows, and the rout closes over them.
As they fall, a swaying motion in the crowd is felt—the authorities have arrived—the worn-out combatants draw off, sullenly, and the dead and wounded only are left upon the field.
The crowd retires—they have had their fight, and broken numerous heads. They have vindicated the honor of their Saints—to-morrow they are friends and neighbors again.
One beautiful and touching scene is left for aftertimes—one picture which even the historic muse might have paused near, and admired.
Two lovely dames contend for the privilege of holding a bloody warrior’s head, whose nose is injured.
It is Mr. Jinks, Miss Judith, and Miss Sallianna.
THE END OF THE CHAIN.
We are conscious that the description of the great battle just given is but a poor and lame delineation, and we can only plead defective powers in that department of art—the treatment of battle-pieces.
We cannot describe the appearance of the battle-field after the combat, any more than the contest.
Wounded and crack-crowned, groaning and muttering heroes dragging themselves away—this is the resume which we find it in our power alone to give.
One hero only seems to be seriously injured.
He is a man of forty-five or fifty, with a heavy black beard, thick sensual lips, and dog-like face. He is clad roughly; and the few words which he utters prove that he is a German.
The fight has taken place opposite Mr. Rushton’s office, and thither this man is borne.
Mr. Rushton growls, and demands how he had the audacity to break the peace. The man mutters. Mr. Rushton observes that he will have him placed in the stocks, and then sent to jail. The German groans.
Suddenly Mr. Rushton feels a hand upon his arm. He turns round: it is Redbud.
“That is the man who sold me the necklace, sir!” she says, in a hesitating voice. “I recognize him—it is the pedlar.”
Mr. Rushton starts, and catches the pedlar by the arm.
“Come!” he commences.
The pedlar rises without assistance, sullenly, prepared for the stocks.
“Where did you get this necklace? Speak!”
The lawyer’s eyes awe the man, and he stammers. Mr. Rushton grasps him by the collar, and glares at him ferociously.
In five minutes he has made the pedlar speak—he bought the necklace from the mother of the young man standing at the door.