which was
the pride of the nation."

The jury found the prisoners guilty, but "recommended them to mercy."

Evidence of character was given, but it amounted to this, that the
defendants "were quiet, good humoured people, who never took advantage
of anyone."

They were sentenced to three months' imprisonment with hard labour, and
"seemed overjoyed with the leniency of the Court."

In his interesting _Autobiography of a Stage Coachman_, Mr. Cross, who
for many years drove the Lynn coach, says he saw the young man Phelps
both before and after the fight, and gives the following graphic and
pathetic incident. The Lynn coach, on leaving Kingsland Road, picked
up three passengers, and upon its being mentioned that the coach had
some fighting men inside, a clergyman, who was riding on the box, and
whose wife, a young and beautiful lady, was inside, protested against
allowing such company to sit in the coach with his wife; and, says Mr.
Cross, his mind was set at rest by two coarse-looking fellows in rough
great coats getting on the outside, and a well-dressed gentlemanly
young man getting in. Upon the husband assisting his lady out, she
asked him who was the gentleman who got in last; for {142} his
conversation had been extremely interesting, and she was sure by his
general information he must be a gentleman of distinction at the
University. Dressed in an elegant suit of black, and displaying on a
delicate white hand a diamond ring, he took his place at the table at
the inn for refreshments on the road, and, his manners corresponding
with his appearance, no one could suspect him of being a fighting man.
"Reader, this was the man known as 'Brighton Bill'--his real name I
never knew, but that he was of respectable parents, and intended by
them for a better calling I was convinced. When two days afterwards I
saw his contused and distorted countenance, the only part visible from
under the bedclothes, at the 'Wheatsheaf,' at Barkway, when he was
deserted by all, and had no friend or relative near to watch over his
fast-departing spirit, I could not restrain a tear. I silently, as I
descended the stairs, invoked a curse on such barbarous practices, as
well as on the authors of his death!"

If the writer of the above was correct in the identity of the dying
pugilist with his cultured passenger, his parents or friends never came
forward to recognise him. He was buried in a corner, the lower corner,
of the Barkway Churchyard