buxom, strapping, country lass, the sweetheart of the prostrate swain,
pounced upon her like a hawk, and would have stripped her of her fine
plumage in a twinkling, had she also not been seized in her turn.

A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of the two villages became
embroiled. Blows began to be dealt, and sticks to be flourished. Phoebe
was carried off from the field in hysterics. In vain did the sages of
the village interfere. The sententious apothecary endeavoured to pour
the soothing oil of his philosophy upon this tempestuous sea of passion,
but was tumbled into the dust. Slingsby, the pedagogue, who is a great
lover of peace, went into the middle of the throng, as marshal of the
day, to put an end to the commotion, but was rent in twain, and came out
with his garment hanging in two strips from his shoulders; upon which
the prodigal son dashed in with fury to revenge the insult which his
patron had sustained. The tumult thickened; I caught glimpses of the
jockey-cap of old Christy, like the helmet of a chieftain, bobbing about
in the midst of the scuffle; while Mrs. Hannah, separated from her
doughty protector, was squalling and striking at right and left with a
faded parasol; being tossed and tousled about by the crowd in such wise
as never happened to maiden gentlewoman before.

At length I beheld old Ready-Money Jack making his way into the very
thickest of the throng; tearing it, as it were, apart, and enforcing
peace _vi et armis_. It was surprising to see the sudden quiet that
ensued. The storm settled down at once into tranquillity. The parties,
having no real grounds of hostility, were readily pacified, and in fact
were a little at a loss to know why and how they had got by the ears.
Slingsby was speedily stitched together again by his friend the tailor,
and resumed his usual good humour. Mrs. Hannah drew on one side to plume
her rumpled feathers; and old Christy, having repaired his damages, took