Morrow, is this—­two young men out of each parish go out upon the flure—­one of them stands up, then bends himself, sir, at a half bend, placing his left hand behind on the back part of his ham, keeping it there to receive what it’s to get.  Well, there he stands, and the other coming behind him, places his left foot out before him, doubles up the cuff of his coat, to give his hand and wrist freedom:  he then rises his right arm, coming down with the heel of his hand upon the other fellow’s palm, under him, with full force.  By jing, it’s the divil’s own divarsion; for you might as well get a stroke of a sledge as a blow from one of them able, hard-working fellows, with hands upon them like lime-stone.  When the fellow that’s down gets it hot and heavy, the man that struck him stands bent in his place, and some friend of the other comes down upon him, and pays him for what the other fellow got.

“In this way they take it, turn about, one out of each parish, till it’s over; for I believe if they were to pelt one another since (* from that hour to this), that they’d never give up.  Bless my soul, but it was terrible to hear the strokes that the Slip and Pat M’Ardle did give that night.  The Slip was a young fellow upwards of six feet, with great able bones and little flesh, but terrible thick shinnins (sinews); his wrist was as hard and strong as a bar of iron.  M’Ardle was a low, broad man, with a rucket head and bull neck, and a pair of shoulders that you could hardly get your arms about, Mr. Morrow, long as they are; it’s he, indeed, that was the firm, well built chap, entirely.  At any rate, a man might as well get a kick from a horse as a stroke from either of them.

“Little Jemmy Teague, I remimber, struck a cousin of the Slip’s a very smart blow, that made him dance about the room, and blow his fingers for ten minutes after it.  Jemmy, himself, was a tight, smart fellow.  When the Slip saw what his cousin had got, he rises up, and stands over Jemmy so coolly, and with such good humor, that every one in the house trembled for poor Jemmy, bekase, you see, whenever the Slip was bent on mischief, he used always to grin.  Jemmy, however, kept himself bent firm; and to do him justice, didn’t flinch from under the stroke, as many of them did—­no, he was like a rock.  Well, the Slip, as I said, stood over him, fixing himself for the stroke, and coming down with such a pelt on poor Jemmy’s hand, that the first thing we saw was the blood acrass the Slip’s own legs and feet, that had burst out of poor Jemmy’s finger-ends.  The Slip then stooped to receive the next blow himself, and you may be sure there was above two dozen up to be at him.  No matter; one man they all gave way to, and that was Pat M’Ardle.

“‘Hould away,’ says Pat,—­’clear off, boys, all of you—­this stroke’s mine by right, any how;—­and,’ says he, swearing a terrible oath, ’if you don’t sup sorrow for that stroke,’ says he to the Slip, ’why Pat M’Ardle’s not behind you here.’