“All this,” continued the landlord, “was friendly and civil: you then ordered a double quantity of brandy in the brewage--if you don't believe me, look in the bill,--and, in about half an hour, I found you fighting in downright earnest, and in all manner of ways;--kicking, cudgelling, wrestling, pulling, punching, tearing one another to pieces very ungentlemanly, and so forth, and clearly bent on destruction. You had cracked the looking-glass, broke the table, 'shod the liquor, and tore the porringer,' as the man said; or, in other words, shed the cider and brandy, and broke the bowl; all which you'll find I've made correct memorandums of in the bill. Then I called in the blacksmiths, from next door, our ostler, and three waggoners who were drinking outside;--we all pitched into you, and, at last, got you asunder: but not before the mischief you see and feel was done; and to shew what minds you were in, when we pulled you, by main force, apart, each of you carried away his hold, like a couple of bull-dogs:--Harry brought off a piece of Ralph's sleeve and his shoulder-belt, and Ralph the forepart of Harry's coat, full two-thirds of his waistcoat, and a pattern of his linen. We then contrived to get you to bed--as you'll see in the bill; and--and--” “Aye,--and here we be,” added Ralph; “nice objects for a wife and family to look at!” “Thou'rt quite a scarecrow, cousin Ralph,” said Harry. “Do get him a glass, and let him look at himself, landlord,” said Ralph. “I'm sorry for thee, Harry;--it's my belief 't'ant exactly as the landlord says; but we can't belie the story he has told us, so where's the use of disputing? The question is,--what shall we do?” “Be dashed if I bean't ashamed to go home,” replied Harry; “I sha'n't be able to look my wife in the face.” “Ah! that's touching a sore place, Harry.'Tisn't my bruises, nor thine, that I care much about--after all; but frightening the women, poor dear souls!--thy Jane and my Grace, Harry--by staying out all night, eh?” “Don't talk about it,--but let's get some drink.” “Small ale, or leek broth, let it be, then, and we'll start while we be sober and solid. We'll get a couple of carts--you shall go to my wife, and smooth her over, and I'll go to thine; and then, at night, let'em come and fetch each of us home.” “Well! so be it, Ralph; but sha'n't we have a stirrup-cup?” “No, not this time.--Your hand, Harry--I like thee, cousin; but it strikes me there's some truth in old women and witches. I wouldn't pass another evening with thee, for half the land from here to Axminster.” A week after the rencounter at Sawney's Cross, each of the cousins was lying at his own home,--a-bed, bandaged, and still suffering from the bruises which they had conferred on each other. They soon, however, recovered: the watchful care of their friends was doubled; neither of them evinced much inclination for the other's company, and a whole year passed away, without any thing remarkable occurring between them.