irly
offset by Low's superior litheness and activity. From their heads to the
Union colors around their waists, their costumes were similar to that
of the Greek slave; from thence down they were clad in flesh-colored
tights and grenadier boots.

The ring was formed upon the beautiful level sandy beach above the Cliff
House, and within twenty paces of the snowy surf of the broad Pacific
Ocean, which was spotted here and there with monstrous sea-lions
attracted shoreward by curiosity concerning the vast multitude of people
collected in the vicinity.

At five minutes past ten, Brigadier-General Wright, the Referee,
notified the seconds to bring their men "up to the scratch." They did
so, amid the shouts of the populace, the noise whereof rose high above
the roar of the sea.

First Round.--The pugilists advanced to the centre of the ring, shook
hands, retired to their respective corners, and at the call of the
time-keeper, came forward and went at it. Low dashed out handsomely with
his left and gave Stanford a paster in the eye, and at the same moment
his adversary mashed him in the ear. (These singular phrases are
entirely proper, Mr. Editor--I find them in the copy of "Bell's Life in
London" now lying before me.) After some beautiful sparring, both
parties went down--that is to say, they went down to the bottle-holders,
Stewart and Field, and took a drink.

Second Round.--Stanford launched out a well intended plunger, but Low
parried it admirably and instantly busted him in the snoot. (Cries of
"Bully for the Marysville Infant!") After some lively fibbing (both of
them are used to it in political life,) the combatants went to grass.
(See "Bell's Life.")

Third Round.--Both came up panting considerably. Low let go a terrific
side-winder, but Stanford stopped it handsomely and replied with an
earthquake on Low's bread-basket. (Enthusiastic shouts of "Sock it to
him, my Sacramento Pet!") More fibbing--both down.

Fourth Round.--The men advanced and sparred warily for a few moments,
when Stanford exposed his cocoa-nut an instant, and Low struck out from
the shoulder and split him in the mug. (Cries of "Bully for the Fat
Boy!")

Fifth Round.--Stanford came up looking wicked, and let drive a heavy
blow with his larboard flipper which caved in the side of his
adversary's head. (Exclamations of "Hi! at him again Old Rusty!")

From this time until the end of the conflict, there was nothing regular
in the proceedings. Th