Rage, redoubled by disappointment, now fired the hero in black; he stood to the charge, and by a dexterous manæuvre with his spur of polished steel, one of his rival's orbs of vision was buried in eternal darkness. Such was the fury by which the weapon was impelled; that it sprung from the leg of its owner, hissed across the house like an arrow, and stuck in the breech of a cow boy, who the rafters.
Still the battle rages: betts are doubled, wings flutter, limbs dart, and beak meets beak. The unfortunate half-blind hero receives another stroke on his remaining eye, it flashes a momentary gleam, fierce as the lightning, and closes in everlasting shade.
Breathless, but not vanquished, he sank on the floor, and death seemed hovering over that devoted head, from which the cheerful light was for ever banished. Again the adherents of the sable champion began to wake the shout of victory, when its starting note roused his prostrate foe. Like another Polyphemus groping in his den, slowly he traversed the pit in quest of his enemy, he raised his head to listen for the steps of him whom he could no longer behold. Again they meet, and blows are dealt with redoubled fury. The sightless warrior sometimes misses his stroke; but still he fights with one advantage-he shrinks not from danger which he no longer perceives. For a moment they pause, as if to call forth all their strength expectation is on the rack, and anxious crowds gaze in breathless solicitude. Here an eye beams bright with hope; there the corners of mouth
