They tugged, and
strained, and panted, without either getting the mastery, until both
came to the ground, and rolled upon the green. Just then, the
disconsolate Phoebe came by. She saw her recreant lover in fierce
contest, as she thought, and in danger. In a moment pride, pique, and
coquetry, were forgotten; she rushed into the ring, seized upon the
rival champion by the hair, and was on the point of wreaking on him
her puny vengeance, when a 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
midst 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.
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