the most of it."

"Then you won't fight?" said I.

"Not for the Pope," said the radical; "I'll see the Pope--"

"Dear me!" said I, "not fight for the Pope, whose religion you would turn
to, if you were inclined for any. I see how it is, you are not fond of
fighting; but I'll give you another chance--you were abusing the Church
of England just now. I'll fight for it--will you fight against it?"

"Come, Hunter," said the other, "get up, and fight against the Church of
England."

"I have no particular quarrel against the Church of England," said the
man in the snuff-coloured coat, "my quarrel is with the aristocracy. If
I said anything against the church, it was merely for a bit of corollary,
as Master William Cobbett would say; the quarrel with the church belongs
to this fellow in black; so let him carry it on. However," he continued
suddenly, "I won't slink from the matter either; it shall never be said
by the fine fellows on the quay of New York, that I wouldn't fight
against the Church of England. So down with the beggarly aristocracy,
the church, and the Pope, to the bottom of the pit of Eldon, and may the
Pope fall first, and the others upon him."

Thereupon, dashing his hat on the table, he placed himself in an attitude
of offence, and rushed forward. He was, as I have said before, a
powerful fellow, and might have proved a dangerous antagonist, more
especially to myself, who, after my recent encounter with the Flaming
Tinman, and my wrestlings with the evil one, was in anything but fighting
order. Any collision, however, was prevented by the landlord, who,
suddenly appearing, thrust himself between us. "There shall be no
fighting here," said he, "no one shall fight in this house, except it be
with myself; so if you two have anything to say to each other, you had
better go into the field behind the house. But, you fool," said he,
pushing Hunter violently on the breast, "do you know whom you are going
to tackle with? this is the young chap that beat Blazing Bosville, only
as late as yesterday, in Mumpers' Dingle. Grey Moll told me all about it
last night, when she came for some brandy for her husband, who, she said,
had been half killed; and she described the young man to me so closely,
that I knew him at once, that is, as soon as I saw how his left hand was
bruised, for she told me he was a left-hand hitter. Ar'n't it all true,
young man? Ar'n't you he that beat Flaming Bosville in Mumpers' Dingle?