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Even on his cheeks, the bloom was scarce the breadth of a dollar.
Gin, thou wert plainly there! I would he had left thee to Hazlitt,
Ay, or to any one else, all during the process of training !
Bootless 'tis now to complain-Bill Neat, you were bothered by Daffy !
-Long did they pause ere they hit-much cautious dodging and guarding
Shewed their respect for each other; four tedious minutes, ere either
Struck, had elapsed ; at last Tom Spring hit out with the left hand,
So did Bill Neat with the right, but neither blow did the business.
Neat then made up for offence, and flung out a jolly right-hander,
Full for the stomach of Spring; but Spring judiciously stopped it,
Else it had flattened the lad as flat as the flattest of flounders :
Even as it was, it contused the fleshy part of his fore-arm.
Neat tried the business again—'twas now more happily parried.
Spring, with a smile at the thought of the smash he had given to Bill's fist,
Put down his hands for a while, but soon gathered up to the onset:
Hit and re-hit now passed, but Neat threw off a right-hander
Meant for certain effect. The true scientifical manner
Shewn by William in this was loftily cheered by the audience,
Thunders of clapping ensued, and the whole ring roared like a bullock.
Neat grew offensive now, but the stop and parry of Winter
[Winter is Spring's real name, though they call him, for brevity, Tom Spring]
Punished him step by step, as Bill drove him into the corner.
“ Now is the time,” cried Belcher, and Bristol waited the triumph.
But the position of Spring prevented all awkward invasion.
In-fighting then was tried, that came to a close and a struggle :
Under came Billy Neat, as Ajax under Ulysses.
Spring came over him hard--and 3 to 2 was the betting.

Round the Second. Spring shewed the same strong guard, but ever ready for action. Neat began to breathe short, when, WAP! came a flushy right-hander, Plump on his fore-head, and, lo! the stream of the claret was flowing, * Sanguine'as butchers will bleed, not at all like the ichor of angels. Out did he hit to the right--Spring sprung back-Neat again tried it, But, on the side of the head, he got such a lump of a twister, That he was turned quite round, and nearly saluted his mother.+ Stupid and senseless he looked like a young whig lawyer of Embro'(Some little mealy-faced pup, amazed with a recent suffusion From the uplifted leg of some big boardly bull-dog of Blackwood)Then did the hooting arise, from various people indignant; And, in the hubbub loud, “ Cross, Cross !” was frequently mentioned. This brought Neat to his senses, and straight he took to in-fighting. Bloody hard hits came from both—-'twas head-work chiefly between them : Down in the end went Neat, and blue looked the betters of Bristol !

Round the Chirð. Neat tried his hand at hard hitting—and then were the heavy exchanges. But in one counter-hit, his blow was heavier than Tommy's,

Sanguine as butchers will bleed, not at Sanguine, such as celestial spirits may all like the ichor of angels. ]

bleed.”_MILTON. M. OD. From the gash

+ His mother] i. e. the Earth. This ! A stream of nectareous humour issuing, explain for the groundlings.-M. OD.


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For it sent him away. Bill Neat then burst out a-laughing,
Like the Olympian Gods at Vulcan handing the stingo.
He followed up his success; and after ringing the changes,
Planted a terrible lunge on the short-rib department of Thomas.
Then he gave all his weight to a blow, and floored his opponent,
Coming down with him himself. On this, a terrible uproar
Rose from the Men of the West—a shout of jubilant cheering.
Short is the vision of man! that very round had undone him,
For, in the counter-hit, he broke a bone in his fore-arm.
What is the name of the bone ?-Well, since you ask me the question,
Radius, 'tis called by Cline, a most anatomical surgeon.

Round the fourth.
Firm was the guard of Spring ; Neat worked most anxious to get int
Vainly—for Spring baffled all his attempts, just as if he was sparring.
Soon he took the offensive, and the woful yokels of Avon
Heard his fists, right and left, rap! rap! on the body of Billy.*
One-two nobbers, besides, did he administer freely;
All the while poor Bill felt out for the ribs with the left hand;
Every hit being short, and the right hand quite ineffective:
Backward and forward jumped Spring, and grasping his burly opponent,
Caught him up from the ground, and fell down fairly upon him.
Glorious ! sublime was the feat, and there was no saying against it.
Bristol looked very blank, as blank as the Island of Byron.
Loud did the Westerns cry, “ Bill, what has become of your right hand ?
Gemini, man ! My eyes! Hey! Go it! What are you arter ?”+
Betting was 5 to 1.-In fact, Bill Neat was defeated.

Rounds Filth and Sirth.
Lump we a couple of rounds, for I'm in a devilish hurry,
Being invited to dine at the Dog and Duck with Pearce Egan.
Neat was quite stupified now, a mere Phrenological fellow,
Who, as we happen to know, cannot tell a man's head from a turnip. ·
All his hits were at random; on getting a bodier slanting,
Down he'd have gone for time, but Spring, with the kindest intentions,
Lent him a merry-go-down, to freshen his way in the tumble.
Murmurs then were of foul play, as if he had fallen out of fancy
Without the aid of a hit; but Jackson, unerring as Delphi, .
Stated the fact as it was, and decision dwelt on his dictate.
As for round the sixth, 'tis hardly worth the relating.
Neat was pelted about, and knocked down like a cow in the shambles.

Round the Seventh.
Still there was pluck in Bill; Spring feared a customer rummish.
Cautiously, therefore, he fought and parried the sinister lunges.

Heard his fists, right and left, rap! # A mere Phrenological fellow, who, as rap! on the body of Billy.) - Imitated we happen to know, cannot tell a man's from

head from a turnip.)-See the organization 66 Heard the bell from the tower toll! toll! of that celebrated Swede, Professor Torn. in the silence of evening.”

hippson, as developed in those two scientific SOUTHEY.-M. OD. works, the Transactions of the Phrenologi. + Arter. ]-Bristolian for after.. cal Society, and the Noctes Ambrosianæ,


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One, however, took place on the right lower ribs of the hero,
Whereon he sparred for a hit, which he planted with ease and affection,
Right on the brain-box of Neat, who, though not given to praying,
Sunk on his marrow-bones straight, in a fashion godly and pious,
Instantly rose a shout, a riff-raff-ruffianly roaring,
Hallabulloo immense, a most voluminous volley;
Cockneyland crowed like a cock, and the hills gave an echo politely.

Round Eighth and Last.
Neat came up once more, but the fight was over; again he
Hit with the dexter arm, and felt that he now was defeated.
Spring in a moment put in a ramstam belly-go fister-
Down to the ground went Neat, and with him down went the battle.
“ It is no use," said Bill; my arm, do you see me, is injured-
Therefore I must give in." He spoke—and, mournfully placing
On the sore part his hand, he shewed the fracture to Tom Spring.
Seven-and-thirty minutes it lasted--ten of them wasted
In the first round alone. The glorious news came to London
Somewhere about eight o'clock; but still incredulous people
Held the report as false ; and, even approaching to midnight,
Bets were laid on Neat-so much was Spring undervalued.

Woe was in Bristol town-woe, woe on the Severn and Avon;
Clifton, the seat of the gay, looked dull and awfully gloomy;
Grief was in Bath the polite; a mournful air of dejection
Reigned o'er the tables of whist; and mugs, as fair as the morning,
Looked like the ten of spades, or the face of my Lord Grim-Grizzle.*
Round the old Redcliff church was held an aggregate meeting,
+Stormy and sad by fits—where some, with sceptical speeches,
Doubted the fact of the case or, cunningly crooking the fingers,
Made a X in the open air, affronting the moon-beams;
Others but shook the head, and jingled the coin in their pockets,
Cheering themselves with the much-loved sound of the gold for the last time.
But in the shambles of Bristol, among the butcherly people,
There was the blackness of sorrow ; loud oaths, or sorrowful moaning,
Rung in the seat of slaughter--but slaughter now was suspended ;
Mute was the marrow-bone now, the ancient music of Britain ;
Cleaver, and bloody axe, steel, hand-saw, chopping-block, hatchet,
Lay in a grim repose ; and the hungry people of Bristol
Could not the following day get a single joint for their dinner.
But when the cross was suggested, the whole black body of butchers
Raged, like a troubled sea, with a wild and mutinous uproar.

Such was the state of the West. Meanwhile Spring travelled to London, There to be hailed as the Champion bold of merry Old England. Neat he saw in bed-his arm was fastened with splinters-

Face of my Lord Grim-Grizzlc. 1. Is not mine something like ?-M. OD. An acquaintance of Mr Lambton's, who (Of course.-C. N.) calls him the Erl-King.

Mark the spon

1. The whole black body of butchers raged, daic again, Dr Carey.-M. OD.

like a troubled sea, with a wild and muti. + Stormy and sad by fits. 1--Sec Homer, nous uproar. 1-Imitated from 11. 7. “A meeting of Trojans was held,” - The whole dense body of darkness says the old fellow,

Raged like a troubled sea, with a wild and

mutinous uproar.-SOUTHEY." Δείδη και τετρήχυία. .

I quote from memory.-M. OD.

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And in the heel of his fist Tom nobly inserted some shiners.
Bill was sulky, however; and still he lustily vaunted,
That, if his arm had not broke, he must have been hailed as the Champion-
That can be known, however, to the Fates and Jupiter only.

Where are the chaffers now, who swore that Spring was no hitter?
That he could scarce make a dint in a pound or a half-pound of butter?
Melted all fast away, like the butter of which they were speaking.
Long live the Champion Spring! and may his glorious annals
Shine in the pages of Egan as bright as the record of Tom Cribb!
One man more must be fought, however ;--Arise to the combat,
Rise for the Champion's crown, arise, I say, Joshua Hudson !
That will be the fight-meanwhile Spring lords the ascendant;
Therefore huzza for Spring--and I make my bow to the public.
[“ To-morrow for fresh fights and postures new.")-Milton.

M. OD.

It is an undoubted historical fact, that Neat's brotherhood, the butchers of Bristol, betted particularly thick upon him. He must be a rigid moralist, indeed, who would condemn this. “Butcherus sum, butcheriani nihil a me alienum puto,” will hold as truly, ay, and more truly, than the original passage of the dramatist, which asserted, that all human cares were participated in by all human beings. The butchers, consequently, were severe sufferers; one poor flesher bled to the tune of six hundred pounds—an amiable man, with an interesting wife and six small children. The green visage of the Sheriff was seen in the market; and a vast quantity of the implements by which the most powerful of cattle fell, fell themselves in turn under the fatal hammer of the auctioneer. It is not wonderful, under such circumstances, that the butchers should shew much sore flesh. Among them it is a general belief that Neat did cross it; and accordingly he is not so popular a preacher as the Reverend Neddy Irving, by several degrees. Besides, national pride is against the belief, that a Herefordshire man, bred in London, should subdue the flower of Bristol, the wonder of the western land. Neat, however, is ina dignant at the idea, and lays the whole circumference of the blame upon his broken radius. We happened to be bye in Bristol, when a young gentleman, six feet two high, of a inild countenance, slightly pitted with the small-pox, and considerably blown up with brandy, was coming off a Southampton coach, in company with his father, a very decent-looking seventeen-stone old body. The father and son were conversing affably about the late event, which has brought more ruin on the western empire than any disaster since the days of Honorius; and the son, just as he stepped down, remarked gently, “ By Neat sold the fight.” A man of a certain appearance, with his right arm in a sling, was standing by, and asked, with more energy than politesse, “ Who the blazes dost thee speak of?”—“ Why,” said the youth, Neat, who sold the fight.” On which the man of the arm, putting forth his sinister bunch of fives, saluted the youngster under the ear with a blow that projected him about seven feet six inches across the street, deposited him in a place of safety in the sink, and sent the blood gushing forth, with the most fluent liberality, from mouth, nose, and ears. ". Now,” said the striker, “ I'm Neat; what dost thee say to that?”—“ Nothing at all,” replied the strikee, “ only that I am satisfied.”

But forty thousand knock-down blows would not satisfy the body-politic of the butchers. We were ourself in company with a very interesting and ingenious person of that tribe, with whom we had much conversation. He is a truly fine and amiable butcher, who had lost a quantity of cash on the fight. He vented his indignation sadly against Bill Neat, and his wrath would not be appeased. He ventured to suggest, that Bill's arm being broken, quite did up all his chance; and hinted, that, in fact, he had no chance even without the smash of his bone. In truth, we may as well at once tell the reader, that we look upon Spring as the better man--tardy to be sure, something like a

British reviewer, but still of guard impenetrable, great coolness, great courage, and great science. Neat is a man more of genius than cultivation-in ruffianing superb, in skill defective. Now, as we know that they are men of equal weight, or that the difference, if any, is for Spring, he being 3 pounds heavier, and that he has the advantage of being a nicer height, viz. 5 feet 114 inches, while Neat is 6 feet | inch, we say that no ruffianosity can ever beat science under such circumstances. This we stated with our utmost eloquence to our friend the butcher, but in vain. He had a preconceived theory that Neat could beat, and would not, which no facts could conquer. Una doubtedly, however, our friend, the feller of oxen, is a man of genius ; for he wrote a song in the height of his indignation, of which he kindly gave us a copy, on condition that we should keep it a secret. We therefore commit it in confidence to our readers :

Lament of a big Bristol Butcher.

I was as raw as butcher's meat,

I was as green as cabbage,
When I sported blunt on Billy Neat,

The ugly-looking savage.

I was as dull as Bristol stone,

And as the Severn muddy,
Or I should have had the humbug known,

Of that big bruiser bloody.

I was as dull as a chopping-block,

As stupid as a jack-ass,
Or I'd not have laid on such a cock

One whiff of my tobaccoes.

For budding flower, or leafing tree,

I now don't care a splinter;
For Spring is a colder thought to me

Than the bitterest day of Winter.

Woe, woe unto the market-place !

Woe, woe among the cleavers !
For sad is every greasy face

Among Bill Neat's believers.

I'm rooked of notes both small and great,

I'm rooked of every sovereign;
So bloody curses on Bill Neat,

Whatever king may govern! We do not hesitate to say, that the author of these verses is a poet, and are not without a hope, that the same age, which saw raised from humble degree to the heights, or at least declivities, of Parnassus, such souls as those of our own, our dear friend Hogg the Shepherd of Ettrick, or, to leave him out of the question, of Clare the hedger, Cunningham the mason, Blomfield the herd, Keates the apothecary, and Mrs Yearsley the milkwoman, will also have the happiness of witnessing the rise and progress of the author of this Lament, Humphry Huggins, the butcher.

Quod Testor,

M. OD.

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