A dark sunless morning opened the eventful day of this fearful battle.  Gloom and melancholy breathed a sad spirit over the town and adjacent country.  A sullen breeze was abroad, and black clouds drifted slowly along the heavy sky.  The Dead Boxer again had recourse to his pageantries of death.  The funeral bell tolled heavily during the whole morning, and the black flag flapped more dismally in the sluggish blast than before.  At an early hour the town began to fill with myriads of people.  Carriages and cars, horsemen and pedestrians, all thronged in one promiscuous stream towards the scene of interest.  A dense multitude stood before the inn, looking with horror on the death flag, and watching for a glimpse of the fatal champion.  From this place hundreds of them passed to the house of Lamh Laudher More, and on hearing that the son resided in his aunt’s they hurried towards her cabin to gratify themselves with a sight of the man who dared to wage battle with the Dead Boxer.  From this cabin, as on the day before, they went to the church-yard, where a platform had already been erected beside the grave.  Against the railings of the platform stood the black coffin intended for Lamh Laudher, decorated with black ribbons that fluttered gloomily in the blast.  The sight of this and of the grave completed the wonder and dread which they felt.  As every fresh mass of the crowd arrived, low murmurs escaped them, they raised their heads and eyes exclaiming—­

“Poor Lamh Laudher!  God be merciful to him!”

As the morning advanced, O’Rorke’s faction, as a proof that they were determined to consider the death of their leader as a murder, dressed themselves in red ribbons, a custom occasionally observed in Ireland even now, at the funerals of those who have been murdered.  Their appearance passing to and fro among the crowd made the scene with all its associations absolutely terrible.  About eleven o’clock they went in a body to widow Rorke’s, for the purpose of once more attempting to dissuade him against the fight.  Here most unexpected intelligence awaited them—­Lamh Laudher Oge had disappeared.  The aunt stated that he had left the house with a strange man, early that morning, and that he had not returned.  Ere many minutes the rumor was in every part of the town, and strong disappointment was felt, and expressed against him in several round oaths, by the multitude in general.  His father, however, declared his conviction that his son would not shrink from what he had undertaken, and he who had not long before banished him for cowardice, now vouched for his courage.  At the old man’s suggestion, his friends still adhered to their resolutions of walking to the scene of conflict in a body.  At twenty minutes to twelve o’clock, the black flag was removed from the inn window, the muffled drums beat, and the music played the same dead march as on the days of uttering the challenge.  In a few minutes the Dead Boxer, accompanied by some of