brutal nature it was; there were women fighters, too, more deadly and dangerous than the men, because they added cruelty to their ferocity.  Innumerable women there were who had lost the very nature of womanhood, and whose mouths were the mere outlet of oaths and filthy language.  Their shrill clamours deafened our ears and subdued the deep voices of the men, whom they chaffed, reviled, shrieked at, yelled at, and swore at by way of fun.

Amidst this turbulent rabble rode several members of the peerage, and even Ministerial supporters of the “noble art,” exchanging with the low wretches I have mentioned a word or two of chaff or an occasional laugh at the grotesque wit and humour which are never absent from an English crowd.

As we approached the famous scene, to which every one was looking with the most intense anticipation, the crowd grew almost frenzied with expectancy, and yet the utmost good-humour prevailed.  In this spirit we arrived at Bourne Bridge, and thence to the place of encounter was no great distance.  It was a little field behind a public-house.

Every face was now white with excitement, except the faces of the combatants.  They were firm set as iron itself.  Trained to physical endurance, they were equally so in nerve and coolness of temperament, and could not have seemed more excited than if they were going to dinner instead of to one of the most terrible encounters I ever witnessed.

To those who have never seen an exhibition of this kind it was quite amazing to observe with what rapidity the ropes were fixed and the ring formed; nor were the men less prompt.  Into the ring they stepped with their supporters, or seconds, and in almost an instant the principals had shaken hands, and were facing each other in what well might be deadly conflict.  There were illustrious members of all classes assembled there, members probably of all professions, men who afterwards, as I know, became great in history, politics, law, literature, and religion; for it was a very great fight, and attracted all sorts and conditions from all places and positions.  Nothing since that fight, except Tom Sayers and the “Benicia Boy,” has attracted so goodly and so fashionable an audience and so fierce an assembly of blackguards.

But in the time of the latter battle the decadence of the Ring was manifest, and was the outcome of what is doubtless an increasing civilization.  At the time of which I am now speaking the Prize Ring was one of our fashionable sports, supported by the wealthy of all classes, and was supposed to contribute to the manliness of our race; consequently our distinguished warriors, as well as the members of our most gentle professions, loved a good old-fashioned English “set-to,” and nobody, as a rule, was the worse for it, although my poor brother Jack never recovered his half-crowns.

We had been advised to take our cushions from the gig to sit upon, because the straw round the ring was soddened with the heavy rains, and I need not say we found it was a very wise precaution.  The straw had been placed round the ring for the benefit of the elite, who occupied front seats.