“It’s a bargain,” returned Coverdale, “so come on.”--As his antagonist bared his brawny arms and muscular throat, Harry felt that, if his skill were at all commensurate with his strength, he had cut himself out a somewhat troublesome task, and he began to own, in his secret soul, that Hazlehurst was right, and that he was about to do a very foolish thing. However, he had great confidence in his own skill and activity, and to these qualities did he trust to relieve him from his difficulties. If those amiable philanthropists, whose ranks, once numbering a large majority of the aristocracy and gentry of the land, have, as civilisation has spread, grown “small by degrees and beautifully less” (we allude to the “Patrons of the Ring,”)--if these humane and enlightened individuals expect a detailed account, _à la Bell’s Life_, of the “stunning mill between the Coverdale Cove and the Stylish Farmer,” they must be doomed to the pangs of disappointment; for unfortunately neither our taste, nor our talent, lies in that direction. Suffice it then to relate, that Mr. Styles’ science proving an article of the very roughest country manufacture, while his antagonist went to work with the skill and composure of a finished artist, Coverdale soon perceived that he had only to stop or avoid his opponent’s blows, to keep cool and to abide his time, in order to insure him an easy victory--and the event justified his expectations. After six rounds--in the course of which the farmer acquired two beautiful black eyes, while Coverdale had not got a scratch--time was called, and the seventh round commenced. Styles, smarting from the punishment he had received, and irritated to the highest degree by his adversary’s coolness, rushed on so furiously, and hailed such a shower of blows upon his opponent, that Coverdale found it would be impossible entirely to ward them off, and, not wishing to be disfigured by a black eye or flattened nose, was forced to exert himself in real earnest to endeavour to bring the battle to a conclusion;--watching his opportunity, therefore, he drew back; stopped a terrific hit cleverly with his left hand, and then flinging out his right arm straight from the shoulder, and bounding forward at the same moment, he struck his antagonist a crashing blow, which, catching him full on the side of the head, sent him down like a shot. “That has terminated the case for the defendant, I expect,” observed Hazlehurst, sententiously, as, breathless and with bleeding knuckles, his friend seated himself on his extended knee--“he had had nearly enough before, and he has got rather too much now. You hit him an awful crack!”