blood flows, more blood
than in the fight: those blows are given with right good-will, those are
not sham blows, whether of whip or fist; it is with fist that grim
Shelton strikes down the big yokel; he is always dangerous, grim Shelton,
but now particularly so, for he has lost ten pounds betted on the brave
who sold himself to the yokels; but the outer ring is cleared: and now
the second fight commences; it is between two champions of less renown
than the others, but is perhaps not the worse on that account. A tall
thin boy is fighting in the ring with a man somewhat under the middle
size, with a frame of adamant; that's a gallant boy! he's a yokel, but he
comes from Brummagem, he does credit to his extraction; but his adversary
has a frame of adamant: in what a strange light they fight, but who can
wonder, on looking at that frightful cloud usurping now one-half of
heaven, and at the sun struggling with sulphurous vapour; the face of the
boy, which is turned towards me, looks horrible in that light, but he is
a brave boy, he strikes his foe on the forehead, and the report of the
blow is like the sound of a hammer against a rock; but there is a rush
and a roar over head, a wild commotion, the tempest is beginning to break
loose; there's wind and dust, a crash, rain and hail; is it possible to
fight amidst such a commotion? yes! the fight goes on; again the boy
strikes the man full on the brow, but it is of no use striking that man,
his frame is of adamant. "Boy, thy strength is beginning to give way,
thou art becoming confused"; the man now goes to work, amidst rain and
hail. "Boy, thou wilt not hold out ten minutes longer against rain,
hail, and the blows of such an antagonist."

And now the storm was at its height; the black thunder-cloud had broken
into many, which assumed the wildest shapes and the strangest colours,
some of them unspeakably glorious; the rain poured in a deluge, and more
than one water-spout was seen at no great distance: an immense rabble is
hurrying in one direction; a multitude of men of all ranks, peers and
yokels, prize-fighters and Jews, and the last came to plunder, and are
now plundering amidst that wild confusion of hail and rain, men and
horses, carts and carriages. But all hurry in one direction, through mud
and mire; there's a town only three miles distant, which is soon reached,
and soon filled, it will not contain one-third of that mighty rabble; but
there's another town farther