After this came the “Passage of Arms.” Tagrag and the Baron ran courses against the other champions; ay, and unhorsed two apiece; whereupon the other three refused to turn out; and preciously we laughed at them, to be sure! “Now, it's OUR turn, Mr. CHICOT,” says Tagrag, shaking his fist at the Baron: “look to yourself, you infernal mountebank, for, by Jupiter, I'll do my best!” And before Jemmy and the rest of us, who were quite bewildered, could say a word, these two friends were charging away, spears in hand, ready to kill each other. In vain Jemmy screamed; in vain I threw down my truncheon: they had broken two poles before I could say “Jack Robinson,” and were driving at each other with the two new ones. The Baron had the worst of the first course, for he had almost been carried out of his saddle. “Hark you, Chicot!” screamed out Tagrag, “next time look to your head!” And next time, sure enough, each aimed at the head of the other. Tagrag's spear hit the right place; for it carried off the Baron's helmet, plume, rose-wreath and all; but his Excellency hit truer still--his lance took Tagrag on the neck, and sent him to the ground like a stone. “He's won! he's won!” says Jemmy, waving her handkerchief; Jemimarann fainted, Lady Blanche screamed, and I felt so sick that I thought I should drop. All the company were in an uproar: only the Baron looked calm, and bowed very gracefully, and kissed his hand to Jemmy; when, all of a sudden, a Jewish-looking man springing over the barrier, and followed by three more, rushed towards the Baron. “Keep the gate, Bob!” he holloas out. “Baron, I arrest you, at the suit of Samuel Levison, for--” But he never said for what; shouting out, “Aha!” and “Sapprrrristie!” and I don't know what, his Excellency drew his sword, dug his spurs into his horse, and was over the poor bailiff, and off before another word. He had threatened to run through one of the bailiff's followers, Mr. Stubbs, only that gentleman made way for him; and when we took up the bailiff, and brought him round by the aid of a little brandy-and-water, he told us all. “I had a writ againsht him, Mishter Coxsh, but I didn't vant to shpoil shport; and, beshidesh, I didn't know him until dey knocked off his shteel cap!” ***** Here was a pretty business! OVER-BOARDED AND UNDER-LODGED. We had no great reason to brag of our tournament at Tuggeridgeville: but, after all, it was better than the turn-out at Kilblazes, where poor Lord Heydownderry went about in a black velvet dressing-gown, and the Emperor Napoleon Bonypart appeared in a suit of armor and silk stockings, like Mr. Pell's friend in Pickwick; we, having employed the gentlemen from Astley's Antitheatre, had some decent sport for our money.