The true sportsmen of the period, amongst whom were the highest in the social and political world, took the same interest in contests in the ring as they did on the turf or in the cricket-field, and for the same reason.  Whether Jem Mace would beat Tom Sayers had as much interest at fashionable dinner-tables as whether Lord Derby would dispose of Aberdeen or Palmerston.  Lords and dukes backed their opinion in thousands, and the bargee and the ostler gave or took the odds according to the tips, in shillings.  The gentleman of the long robe, therefore, was not to be supposed as altogether out of his element in sporting circles any more than the gentleman who had not a rag to cover him.

Nor was it uncommon to meet what was called the cream of society at the celebrated rendezvous of Ben Caunt, which was the Coach and Horses, St. Martin’s Lane, or at the less pretentious resort of the Tipton Slasher; and what will our modern ladies think of their fair predecessors, who in those days witnessed the drawing of a badger or a dog-fight on a Sunday afternoon?

All mankind will attend exhibitions of skill and prowess, and although prize-fights are illegal, you never can suppress the spirit which engendered that form of competition.

I spent sometimes, with many eminent spectators, a quiet hour or two at Tom Spring’s in Holborn, and met many of the best men there in all ranks and professions, always excepting the Church.  After one of these entertainments I was travelling with John Gully, once a formidable champion of the ring, and at that time a great bookmaker, as well as owner of racehorses—­afterwards presented at Court to her most gracious Majesty the late Queen—­and Member of Parliament.  We were travelling on our way to Bath, and as we approached a tunnel not far from our destination, Gully pointed out a particular spot “where,” said he, “I won my first fight;” and so proud was he of the recollection that he might have been in a picture like that of Wellington pointing out the Field of Waterloo to a young lady.

This knowledge of the world, seen as I saw it, was of the greatest use in my profession.  If you would know the world, you must not confine yourself to its virtues.  There is another side, and it is well to look at it.  I thought on one particular occasion how useful a little of this knowledge would have been during a certain cross-examination of Arthur Orton in Chancery by a member of the Chancery Bar.  He put this question and many others of a similar kind,—­

“Do you swear, sir, that you were on board the Bella?” in a very severe tone.

“Yes, sir,” says the Claimant, “I do.”

“Stop,” says the advocate; “I’ll take that down;” and he did, with a great deal besides, his cross-examination materially assisting the man in prolonging his fraudulent claim.