staring and grinning apes. There was even a
timid old gentleman present who, rather than
stay away, had hired two professional fighting-
men to protect him.

When the immortal Sayers stepped into the
ring, at about seven o'clock in the morning, he
was received, like a popular performer, with a
round of applause. His immortal face was a
deep sallow brown, and looked like a square
block of walnut wood. His expression was even
a little more strongly marked for pugilism than
that of most of his craft. He was slightly
nervous upon facing the company.

His opponent, the immortal Heenan, next
entered the ring, to be received with quite as
much enthusiasm as the English champion. He
looked much fairer than Sayers in the face, and
was equally nervous. His portraits had flattered
him in the eyes of the British public. There are
two styles of nose which all prize-fighters must
be content to select from—one, presenting a
flat, triangular appearance: the other, indented
near the tip, and slightly turned up, so that you
could hang a key upon it. The immortal Heenan
had a moderate nose of the last pattern.

The two immortal men shook hands, and
seemed to inquire cordially after each other's
health: which was the signal for another round
of applause. They eyed each other curiously
and reflectively, as they had never met before.

The ring-keepers—some twenty selected
pugilists with long sticks, of whom some were
afterwards disgraced for grossly neglecting
their duty—were now very busy in arranging
the visitors: causing those in front, who had
purchased inner-ring tickets, at ten shillings
each, for the benefit of the P.B.A. (Prize-
fighters' Benevolent Association), to sit down
upon the wet turf, their railway rugs, or
camp-stools that were selling at a sovereign
apiece. One indefatigable caterer openly
lamented the loss of a ten-pound note, through his
not having brought down a few boxes for
gentlemen to stand upon. The country people
seemed to make little harvest of the general
excitement, except in the sale of oranges. The
thieves were very busy, and the Americans
were their greatest victims. The picking of
pockets, however, is no more peculiar to the
prize-ring than to popular chapels.

Rounds of applause were very freely bestowed
at every opportunity. There was one when
the immortal Sayers took off his coat and
shirt; there was another when the immortal
Heenan did the like; there was a tremendous
burst of satisfaction when the two men, in
full fighting order, stripped to the waist,
and advanced towards the “scratch” in the
centre of the ring. They looked firm, muscular,
and cheerful, the result of their training; but
the constitution is not improved by these violent
changes from indulgence and idleness, to
temperance and enforced exercise. Consumption
and dropsy are common amongst professional
pugilists, and sometimes the two diseases
combine. Everything in training is sacrificed to
showy muscle and wind.

There was a ceremony of tying the combatants'
colours—two gaudy pocket-handkerchiefs
—to the stakes; there was another ceremony of
shaking hands between seconds and champions;
there was another ceremony of tossing for choice
of “corners,” or position in the ring. There
were almost as many ceremonies as at a Coronation.
Everything was conducted according to
certain forms and rules, almost superstitiously
observed.

The choice of the corner was won by the
American, and he took his place. His back was
to the sun—a bright, glaring sun—and his
ground was slightly higher than that of his
adversary. In stature he is six feet one and a
half inch high; and besides being five inches
taller than Sayers, he is, of course, heavier, and
eight years younger.

The two immortal heroes of the hour stood up
before each other in the most approved attitudes.
Their left sides were advanced; their right arms
were laid across their chests; their left arms
were thrown out and drawn back, like the pawing
leg of a horse. Their visitors watched every
movement, for the present, in breathless silence;
while their seconds peered at them from opposite
corners, like wicket-keepers in a cricket-
field. There was a forced laugh on each
champion's face, that was meant to be agreeable.
Their left feet kept tapping the ground, in a
kind of dancing step; their heads were
frequently thrown back, or bobbed down; and
they skipped from side to side after aiming or
parrying a blow. At last the first stage in the
fight was reached, amidst uproarious applause;
the immortal Sayers had succeeded in drawing
“first blood” from his antagonist.

These movements were repeated with such
slight variation, that pugilism, like most games
of skill, must be pronounced monotonous. It
was some little time before the next great stage
in the battle was reached, and the first knock-
down blow was received by the Englishman.

The excitement round the ring now began to
break out, and hoarse shouts were exchanged
from each side. Enormous sums of money were
loudly offered, by rough and shabby-looking
people, upon either champion, and aristocratic
eyes stared intensely through many eye-glasses.
Unruly visitors leaped up from the grass, and
danced wildly near the ropes: while the ring-
keepers applied their sticks, without stint or
favour, to the visitors' heads and shoulders.
The same movements were repeated, again and
again, by the champions, with pretty nearly the
same results. The immortal Sayers was knocked
down at least twenty times by the immortal
Heenan, or fell, humouring his blows. The turf
was soft, and he had to counterbalance his many
disadvantages by “science,” or careful tactics.
He was always picked up by his seconds in the
most affectionate manner, and carried to his
corner, like a Guy Fawkes, to be sponged.

An hour soon passed in this way, without any
signs of the battle drawing to a conclusion.
The immortal Sayers's face, with the sun full
upon it, was like a battered copper tea-kettle;