"Men of Lunnon, if men you be, no chap can have fair play with you. It be all along of your swindling bets about things you don’t know nothing of. You offered me five hunder pound, afore ever here I come, to sell my back to the Northman. A good honest man he be, and the best cross-buttock as ever I met with; but a set of rogues and cowards that’s what you be; and no sport can live with you. As for your danged belt, I wun’t have it, no tino, it wud be a disgrace to the family; it shan’t never go along side the Devonshire and Cornwall leather. But I’ll throw your man over again, and any six of you to once as plases." Then, thorough gentleman as he was, he apologized to me for his honest anger, and for having drawn all eyes upon me, as there I stood at his side. "But never fear about the time, Miss Clara, I won’t kape you two minutes. I’ll give him Abraham’s staylace this time. They have a drove me to it, as us hasn’t a moment to spare." Proudly he stepped into the ring again, and again the North Country giant, looking rather ashamed, confronted him. No fencing or feinting this time; but the Devonshire wrestler, appealing thus to the public, "Now look here, Lunnoners, wull e, and zee if this here be a back," rushed straight at his antagonist, grappled him in some peculiar manner, seemed to get round his back, and then spun him up over his own left shoulder, in such a way that he twirled in the air and came down dead on his spine. Dead indeed he appeared to be, and a dozen surgeons came forward, in the midst of a horrible silence, and some were preparing to bleed him, when the farmer moved them aside; he knew that the poor man was only stunned by concussion of the spine. Awhile he knelt over him sadly, with the tears in his own brave eyes: