It would indeed be a blessing if her principles could be carried out in this warring and jarring world.

But as this is rather difficult, what we ought to be careful about is, that we never fight except in a good cause and with a clear conscience.
It was well for Martin Rattler, on that great day, that the formation of the ground favoured him.

The spot on which the fight took place was uneven, and covered with little hillocks and hollows, over which Bob Croaker stumbled, and into which he fell,--being a clumsy boy on his legs,--and did himself considerable damage; while Martin, who was firmly knit and active as a kitten, scarcely ever fell, or, if he did, sprang up again like an India-rubber ball.

Fair-play was embedded deep in the centre of Martin's heart, so that he scorned to hit his adversary when he was down or in the act of rising; but the thought of the fate that awaited the white kitten if he were conquered, acted like lightning in his veins, and scarcely had Bob time to double his fists after a fall, when he was knocked back again into the hollow out of which he had risen.
There were no _rounds_ in this fight,--no pausing to recover breath.
Martin's anger rose with every blow, whether given or received; and although he was knocked down flat four or five times, he rose again, and, without a second's delay, rushed headlong at his enemy.

Feeling that he was too little and light to make much impression on Bob Croaker by means of mere blows, he endeavoured as much as possible to throw his weight against him at each assault; but Bob stood his ground well, and after a time seemed even to be recovering strength a little.
Suddenly he made a rush at Martin, and, dealing him a successful blow on the forehead, knocked him down; at the same time he himself tripped over a molehill and fell upon his face.