They continue in this strain of jargon for some
time, until at length it becomes evident the storm of war is fast
approaching a crisis. Mr. M'Fadden is mentally unprepared to meet
this crisis, which Romescos will make to suit himself; and to this
end the comical and somewhat tragical finale seems pretty well
understood by the candidates and a few of the "swell-ocracy," who
have assembled more to see the grand representation of physical
power on the part of these free and enlightened citizens, than to
partake of the feast or listen to the rhetoric of the speeches. In
order to get a good view of the scene they have ascended trees,
where, perched among their branches like so many jackals, they cheer
and urge on the sport, as the nobility of Spain applaud a favourite
champion of the ring. At length the opposing parties doff their hats
and coats, draw knives, make threatening grimaces, and twirl their
steel in the air: their desperation is earnest; they make an onset,
charging with the bravado of men determined to sacrifice life. The
very air resounds with their shouts of blasphemy; blood flows from
deep incisions of bowie-knives, garments are rent into shreds; and
men seem to have betaken themselves to personating the demons.
Would that they were rational beings! would that they were men
capable of constituting a power to protect the liberty of principle
and the justice of law! Shout after shout goes up; tumult is
triumphant. Two fatal rencontres are announced, and Mr.
Pages:
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419