“It might be, indeed, that there were those on both sides who thought that, if the marriage was obstructed, their own sons and daughters would have a better chance.  Rose had many admirers; they might have envied John his happiness; many fathers, on the Other side, might have wished their sons to succeed with Rose.  Whether I am sinister in this conjecture is more than I can say.  I grant, indeed, that a great portion of it is speculation on my part.  The wedding-day, however, was arranged; but, unfortunately, the fair-day of Knockimdowny occurred, in the rotation of natural time, precisely one week before it.  I know not from what motive it proceeded, but the factions on both sides were never known to make a more light-hearted preparation for battle.  Cudgels of all sorts and sizes (and some of them, to my own knowledge, great beauties) were provided.

“I believe I may as well take this opportunity of saying that real Irish cudgels must be root-growing, either oak, black-thorn, or crab-tree—­although crab-tree, by the way, is apt to fly.  They should not be too long—­three feet and a few inches is an accommodating length.  They must be naturally top-heavy, and have around the end that is to make acquaintance with the cranium three or four natural lumps, calculated to divide the flesh in the natest manner, and to leave, if possible, the smallest taste in life of pit in the skull.  But if a good root-growing kippeen be light at the fighting-end, or possess not the proper number of knobs, a hole, a few inches deep, is to be bored in the end, which must be filled with melted lead.  This gives it a widow-and-orphan-making quality, a child-bereaving touch, altogether very desirable.  If, however, the top splits in the boring—­which, in awkward hands, is not uncommon—­the defect may be remediated by putting on an iron ferrule, and driving two or three strong nails into it, simply to preserve it from flying off; not that an Irishman is ever at a loss for weapons when in a fight, for so long as a scythe, flail, spade, pitchfork, or stone is at hand, he feels quite contented with the lot of war.  No man, as they say of great statesmen, is more fertile in expedients during a row; which, by the way, I take to be a good quality, at all events.

“I remember the fair-day of Knockimdowny well; it has kept me from griddle-bread and tough nutriment ever since.  Hard fortune to Jack Roe O’Hallaghan!  No man had better teeth than I had till I met with him that day.  He fought stoutly on his own side; but he was ped then for the same basting that fell to me, though not by my hands, if to get his jaw dacently divided into three halves could be called a fair liquidation of an old debt—­it was equal to twenty shillings in the pound, any how.