at my first announce, awoke into tremendous agitation.  ’I will not be murdered!’ he shrieked aloud; ’what for will I lose my precious throat?’ ‘What for?’ said I; ’if for no other reason, for this—­that you put alum into your bread.  But no matter, alum or no alum, (for I was resolved to forestall any argument on that point,) know that I am a virtuoso in the art of murder—­am desirous of improving myself in its details—­and am enamored of your vast surface of throat, to which I am determined to be a customer.’  ‘Is it so?’ said he, ’but I’ll find you custom in another line;’ and so saying, he threw himself into a boxing attitude.  The very idea of his boxing struck me as ludicrous.  It is true, a London baker had distinguished himself in the ring, and became known to fame under the title of the Master of the Rolls; but he was young and unspoiled:  whereas this man was a monstrous feather-bed in person, fifty years old, and totally out of condition.  Spite of all this, however, and contending against me, who am a master in the art, he made so desperate a defence, that many times I feared he might turn the tables upon me; and that I, an amateur, might be murdered by a rascally baker.  What a situation!  Minds of sensibility will sympathize with my anxiety.  How severe it was, you may understand by this, that for the first thirteen rounds the baker had the advantage.  Round the fourteenth, I received a blow on the right eye, which closed it up; in the end, I believe, this was my salvation:  for the anger it roused in me was so great that, in this and every one of the three following rounds, I floored the baker.

“Round 18th.  The baker came up piping, and manifestly the worse for wear.  His geometrical exploits in the four last rounds had done him no good.  However, he showed some skill in stopping a message which I was sending to his cadaverous mug; in delivering which, my foot slipped, and I went down.

“Round 19th.  Surveying the baker, I became ashamed of having been so much bothered by a shapeless mass of dough; and I went in fiercely, and administered some severe punishment.  A rally took place—­both went down—­baker undermost—­ten to three on amateur.

“Round 20th.  The baker jumped up with surprising agility; indeed, he managed his pins capitally, and fought wonderfully, considering that he was drenched in perspiration; but the shine was now taken out of him, and his game was the mere effect of panic.  It was now clear that he could not last much longer.  In the course of this round we tried the weaving system, in which I had greatly the advantage, and hit him repeatedly on the conk.  My reason for this was, that his conk was covered with carbuncles; and I thought I should vex him by taking such liberties with his conk, which in fact I did.

“The three next rounds, the master of the rolls staggered about like a cow on the ice.  Seeing how matters stood, in round twenty-fourth I whispered something into his ear, which sent him down like a shot.  It was nothing more than my private opinion of the value of his throat at an annuity office.  This little confidential whisper affected him greatly; the very perspiration was frozen on his face, and for the next two rounds I had it all my own way.  And when I called time for the twenty-seventh round, he lay like a log on the floor.”