rd Lowther
at his mansion. Indeed, so delighted were those great masters of the art
of war with the combats between those first-rate boxers, that Messrs
Blucher and Platoff had a second exhibition by their own express desire
at the Earl of Elgin's house. Actually even in the House of Commons Mr
Wyndham favoured the House with a description, warm and glowing, of a
recent contest between Richmond and Maddox, of which he had been a
spectator; and it is not long since Mr Gully, a prize-fighter,
represented Pontefract. The late George IV., when Prince of Wales, was
also a spectator at the fight upon a stage on Brighton Downs between Tom
Tyne, a distinguished boxer, with a publican of milling notoriety. The
latter was killed by a blow on his temple, and died almost upon the
instant. The royal debauchee never attended another, but his brother,
the late William the Fourth, was often a spectator of the matches on
Moulsey Hurst. In this respect the age has made progress. Our noblemen
no longer patronize the prize-ring. Our young princes have a purer
taste. Yet the institution, with all its brutality and blackguardism,
still exists, and in the _Advertiser_, side by side with an article
bewailing the spread of German neology in our dissenting colleges, or
speaking evil of such earnest workers in the wide field of philanthropy
as Maurice or Kingsley, you will read of one of the beastly prize-fights
which still disgrace the land. But the _Advertiser_ is the publicans'
paper, and it is a fact easily understood, that the prize-fighter, when
his day is over, generally keeps a public-house, which is generally
called a sporting-house. A warm admirer of them writes, "Fun, civility,
mirth, good-humour, and sporting events are the general theme of
conversation to be met with over a cheerful glass at the above houses."
Ben Caunt's, in St Martin's-lane, is perhaps the principal one, but there
are some five or six besides in various parts of the metropolis. Let us
enter one. In spite of the assurance of civility and good humour, I
don't think you will stay long, but will feel on a small scale what
Daniel must have felt in the lions' den.

We enter, we will say, Bang Up's hostelry, about ten on a Thursday
evening; there is Bang Up at the bar, with his ton of flesh and broken
nose. Many people think it worth while to go and spend one or two
shillings at Bang Up's bar, merely that they may have the pleasure of
seeing him, and conside