flapping and dapping each other over the mazzard and the chaps, like a couple of great awkward girls, and had they been no better jockeys than boxers, their names would never have been entitled to a place in the chronicles of sport.

George Morland, the painter, was fond of boxing, and at one time hired a large room which he kept as a school for sparring; but the pugilists soon did so much injury to the premises that the landlord was glad to get rid of such mischievous tenants. While this academy was supported, he took great delight in the sport; he would often give prizes to the combatants, and provided them with plenty of good cheer. The pugilists, of course, were always taking advantage of Morland's good-nature. One day Ward applied to him for a horse to ride to some fight; Morland assented, and the boxer proceeded to the stable, selecting one which, exclusive of the saddle, was worth about twenty guineas. A week had elapsed before the animal was missed, from among so many; and Ward being questioned concerning him by Morland, when next they met, the pugilist impudently informed him that the horse was sold. When Morland was asked if he did not reprove him for his dishonest conduct, his answer showed that he feared the consequences.

Morland seems to have been very averse to respectable society, and particularly disliked meeting people of high rank, even when they shared his vulgar propensities. On one occasion, having made an appointment together with Bob Packer, the prize-fighter, to

meet some congenial pillars of the ring at the Rummer Tavern, Charing Cross, the expected party did not arrive, but in their place entered the Duke of Hamilton who, looking at the artist, said to Packer, "Who is he?" Bob replied, "Morland, the painter." "Can he spar?" "Yes, your Grace." The Duke then bade him stand up, and Morland obeyed; but the first blow knocked him across the room; and he afterwards declared he was so upset by the name of the nobleman, that, had he possessed the utmost skill, he could not have employed it. His Grace next ordered a coach, and after enquiring of Morland where he was going, desired him to get into it, with Packer, and said he would set him down. The noble Duke then mounted the box, and the coachman got behind. When they arrived near Morland's mansion, the Duke stopped and asked which was the house. On being told it was three doors farther, he abruptly bade the painter get out, and in a manner that did not a little hurt his pride; for he often observed, when speaking of this incident, that he never was so chagrined at any insult he had ever received. In fact, Morland had a considerable share of pride, which was exceedingly mortified when, from being treated disrespectfully, he felt the effects of his dissipated and careless life.

Notwithstanding the popularity of the ring, there were from time to time-especially in 1820-rumours that prize-fighting was to be rigorously suppressed by fresh legislation. When one of the pillars of the ring, Scroggins, was told this, he said he could not understand such a thing at all. "He'd lived all his life by

fighting either the enemies of his country, abroad, or his friends at home; it was all alike to him, so as he could get his grog; and what harm there was in a bit of a set-to he could not discover. Howsomedever, he hoped as the Prince Regent would think better of the thing, and let them go on in the old way."

Scroggins had been reared in a real fighting school, his nursery being a British man-of-war, and no tar in the ship was more good-humoured or accommodating. He was found to be equally ready and expert in boxing the compass or in boxing his shipmates, and in this practice he continued till the arrival of peace, when an opportunity was no longer afforded him to correct his friends or to chastise his enemies. On quitting his natural element he at once determined to make fighting his trade.

In consequence of the apprehension which the proposed restrictions excited amongst the Fancy, a heated debate was held at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, which some time was the head-quarters of the prizering, kept by two of its heroes, Tom Belcher and Tom Spring. Here was instituted the Daffy Club, as the assemblage of all the prominent prize-fighters was called. The long room was adorned with sporting prints and portraits of pugilistic heroes, including Jem Belcher, Burke, Jackson, Tom Belcher, old Joe Ward, Dutch Sam, Gregson, Humphries, Mendoza, Cribb, Molineux, Gully, Randall, Turner, Martin, Harmer, Spring, Neat, Hickman, Painter, Scroggins, and countless other pillars of the ring.

In 1827 Belcher retired, being succeeded by Tom

Spring (whose real name was Winter). Spring, who boasted the proud title of being the immediate successor of Cribb, as Champion of England, prospered at the "Castle" many years.

Cribb presided at the meeting held to discuss the dangers which seemed to threaten the very existence of the prize-ring.

"Brave Tom, the Champion, with an air
Almost Corinthian, took the chair,

And kept the coves in quiet tune,

By showing such a fist of mutton

As on a point of order soon

Would take the shine from Speaker Sutton.

Many of the leading prize-fighters made stirring orations-Gregson, in particular, was loudly applauded. He deplored the attempt to interfere with professional pursuits. As far as he could see, fighting in the open air was to be prohibited, and prize-fighters would have to conduct their mills in a confined room, to the injury of their health, and to the exclusion of many of their kind friends—or they could not fight at all; and if they could not fight at all, what was to become of them? Why, they must starve (cries of "Too true"). Was this state of things to be endured? Was the spirit of Britons to be thus cowed? Were they, in spite of themselves, to keep their teeth in their heads, and their heads on their shoulders? It was not to be borne-it was not natural-it was not rational. It was treating them like brutes, and, therefore, he should propose that a petition should be

sent to Parliament, praying that the "milling coves might be left out of the bill.

Ned Turner made a more ambitious oration. He said that he considered the Fancy, like the political world, to be composed of three distinct bodies; the latter had their Tories, their Whigs, and their Radicals, and the Fancy had their amateurs, their milling coves, and their prigs. The amateurs and the milling coves might always agree, but the prigs spoilt all; and it was from the rascality of the latter that the former were brought into disrepute. He should, therefore, while he agreed to vote for the original motion, beg leave to add another resolution, and that was, that they should one and all unite to eradicate every prig that should hereafter infest the ring.

Though the rumoured restrictions were never put in force, the palmy days of prize-fighting ended about 1822, when most sporting gentlemen became disgusted with the ring and left it, their places being supplied by low horse-dealers, keepers of public-houses and bullies; men who had not the most distant idea of boxing, as it contributed to the maintenance of honour and fair play, but supported it on account of the money they got by the roguery of those they bribed to sell their best friend.

At this period greed of gain had thoroughly corrupted the ring, and prize-fighters sneered at the small sums which their predecessors had gladly received. The following conversation shows the state of things which prevailed in 1826. Jem Ward and Peter Crawley having accidentally met in St. Paul's Churchyard,