Volume 2 — CHAPTER XIII. PHIL SAMPSON (“THE BIRMINGHAM YOUTH”)—1819–1831.

Phil Sampson, who was to the full as ready at chaffing and writing as at fighting, occupied at one period an undue share of newspaper space and of the public time. His milling career, though chequered, was not without brilliant gleams of success.

Sampson was born on the 27th of September, 1800, at Snaith, in Yorkshire; but when he was no more than a few months old his parents migrated to Birmingham and settled in the “hardware village,” then rapidly rising in manufacturing prosperity as the metropolis of gun-making, cheap jewellery, and hardware. Pierce Egan tells us that Phil was “intended for a parson,” but that “he preferred thumping nobs to a cushion.” If so, and we remember him well, his acquirements in the literæ humaniores did not say much for his “college.” Indeed, we have seen specimens of Philip’s caligraphy which forbid belief in such a tradition. What we know, however, is that young Phil was a button-maker in a Brummagem factory at fifteen. We shall pass also young Phil’s apocryphal contests, in which he (and almost every other boxer in “Boxiana”) fought and “polished off” men of all sorts, weights, and sizes, and come to his introduction to the Ring.

Gregson being at Birmingham on one of his sparring tours, the proficiency of Sampson, who put on the gloves with several countrymen, attracted the attention of that clumsy practitioner, who observed to him, “I think thee hadst better coom and try thy fortin in Lunnon, lad, ’moongst some o’ t’ loight woights.” Sampson at that time had considerable scruples in his mind about fighting for a prize, although he was very fond of boxing, and declined the offer of Gregson. But, on his trade (button-making) failing badly from change of fashion, he determined to come to London to see his friend Bob. He found a hearty welcome from the latter at the 455“Mare and Magpie,” St. Catherine’s, but, before Gregson could bring his protégé into the Ring, he left London for Dublin. Sampson was now quite adrift, but owing to the good services of Mr. Baxter (brother to Ned Turner) he found a friend who enabled him to take a turn among the fistic heroes of the Metropolis.

Sampson’s first appearance in the London Prize Ring might be termed little more than a turn-up. He had been witnessing the battle, at Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, August 24th, 1819, between Cy. Davis and Boshell, and also Scroggins and Josh Hudson, and had crossed the water, on the point of returning to town, when he was unexpectedly brought into action owing to the following circumstance. In the conversation which took place during dinner at Lawrence’s, the “Red Lion,” Hampton, it was mentioned by Ned Painter that a youth from Birmingham, about eleven stone and a half, had been on the Hurst to offer himself as a candidate, but none of the middle weights, much less the light ones, had fancied him, at which he was much disappointed. An eminent brewer and a gallant captain immediately offered ten pounds if Dolly Smith, who was at hand, and who had fought Tom Cannon and Bill Abbot, would try what the new “piece of hardware” was worth. Phil was sent for, and cheerfully accepted the task.

The combatants were informed that if anything like collusion or division of the stakes occurred not one penny would be paid over, and that the best man must win. A select party thereon returned to the Hurst, and at six o’clock in the evening Smith stripped, seconded by Rolph and Ned Weston, Sampson being waited upon by Josh Hudson and Baxter. The reporters having gone off to town, we are merely told that in fifteen minutes poor Dolly (who was decidedly out of condition) was defeated, being nobbed all over the ring and thrown like a sack by the newcomer. The activity and slashing blows of Sampson astonished the amateurs, some of his right-hand deliveries appearing to completely stupefy Dolly, who behaved gamely and well, but had not even a chance turn throughout.

Phil, being an active, chatty, and certainly fast and bounceable young fellow, was at once in high favour with the “upper crust.”

Accordingly, on Tuesday, October 26th, 1819, he was at Wallingham Common, when, Turner having defeated Martin, ten guineas was announced as a purse, in addition to ten guineas from the Pugilistic Club, for the best of two men of eleven stone and upwards. Josh Hudson, ever ready, offered himself; and Phil Sampson, as the event proved rashly, challenged the prize 456from the John Bull Fighter. It was a tremendous fight for a short time, but at the end of forty minutes Sampson was defeated. (See Life of Hudson, ante, Chapter IV.)

Sampson, after a short interval, was matched against Abraham Belasco, the scientific Jew, for fifty guineas a-side. This battle took place at Potter’s Street, in Essex, twenty-one miles from London, on Tuesday, February 22nd, 1819. The badness of the day did not deter the Fancy from quitting the Metropolis at an early hour, and the combatants entered the ring, which was well covered with sawdust owing to the wetness of the ground, at one o’clock. Belasco appeared a few minutes before his opponent, attended by Oliver and Josh Hudson; the Birmingham Youth was waited upon by Painter and Shelton. Belasco was the favourite at six to four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sparring; Belasco let fly, but was stopped. Sampson put in a sharp hit under the Jew’s arm. Both went in. Exchanges. In struggling Belasco down. (“Go along, my little youth.”)

2.—Counter-hits; a pause; the Birmingham Youth rushed in, and got to the ropes. In the struggle to fib the Jew, he slipped down. (Two to one on Belasco.)

3.—The Birmingham Youth drew first blood, and, in a struggle, the Jew went down from a slip. (Great shouting in favour of the Birmingham Youth.)

4.—Belasco stopped and hit well; a good rally; Sampson received a heavy body blow and went down.

5.—The Jew went to work, bled his opponent, and sent him down on his rump, rather weak. The Jew also went down.

6.—Sparring, and the Birmingham Youth piping. The Jew put in two good hits. Sampson returned, till he was got to the ropes, where he got it sharply, and in the struggle went down, Belasco uppermost.

7.—Belasco slipped down, cunning, and the Youth stood looking at him. (Hissing.)

8.—This was a well-fought round, and Belasco hit Sampson away; but the latter, in game style, returned to the charge, and fought like a hero till both were down, the Jew uppermost.

9.—Sampson commenced this round in gallant style; but Belasco changed it by good fighting, and had Sampson down at the ropes.

10.—After a few exchanges at the ropes, Sampson went down, but a good round altogether. (“Well done, Belasco!”)

11.—After a hit or two, the Jew got Sampson at the ropes, and was fibbing him in good style, till he dropped on one knee. The strength and skill of Belasco enabled him to hold up his opponent, and weave on, till he got Sampson down on both his knees.

In the last two rounds Sampson was getting weak, and, to escape from severe fibbing in the eleventh, he fell to one knee, but Belasco kept holding him up and punishing till he was down on both of his knees. “Foul” and “fair” were instantly cried out, when Painter and Shelton took Sampson out of the ring, put him into a post-chaise, and drove off without appealing to the umpires on the subject. This was certainly wrong; and, owing to this circumstance, a fierce dispute arose. No man should be taken out of the ring till the umpires have decided upon the propriety of such a step. Both sides may dispute, but it is only the umpires that can set it right. The superior science of the Jew prevented the hitherto slashing hitting of Sampson, which was so heavily experienced by Josh Hudson. Belasco stopped many blows in good style, and gave the movements of Sampson the appearance of being slow. It was by no means a decisive fight, such as the “Ould Fanciers” are fond of witnessing; although two to one was betted on Belasco, and even a point further, on the round previous to Sampson’s being taken out of the ring. It was generally asserted that the Birmingham Youth was the best man, owing to his youth, but as to knowledge of milling, Belasco had the advantage.

The decision of the umpires being appealed to, the dispute was finally argued and determined before Mr. Jackson, in presence of several persons 457of experience. The judgment given was simply as follows—“That as no objection had been made to the umpires on their being appointed to their situations; and also both of them uniting in one opinion that Belasco’s conduct was fair; and, further, no interference of the referee having been called for, their decision must be considered final.” This decided the paying of bets; and as the battle-money was given up to the Jew, it was insisted upon, in sporting phrase, that bets follow the battle-money.

Sampson was not pleased with the termination of the fight, and accidentally meeting the Jew at a house in Bond Street, where some friends were arguing the subject, the men got suddenly in collision; but after fighting a few minutes, during which nothing was the matter, the friends of the Jew took him away, saying “it was no fun to fight for nothing.”

At Richmond’s benefit at the Royal Tennis Court, Windmill Street, Haymarket, on Tuesday, February 29th, 1820, on the announcement of “Belasco and the Birmingham Youth,” curiosity was on the stretch. It was a regular glove-fight for nine rounds, and Sampson appeared so determined to get the better of the Jew that he disdained allowing any time between the rounds, till he not only exhausted himself, but distressed his opponent to a stand-still. The Jew seemed now satisfied, and, while in the act of bowing to the audience and pulling off the gloves, Sampson said he should not leave off, and hit Belasco on the side of his head. The latter immediately returned the compliment, but had the worst of the round, and was thrown. It was considered necessary to part them, and Cribb took Sampson away. It was in fact a discreditable display of bad temper on the part of the Birmingham Youth.

In consequence of a purse of £50 given by the Pugilistic Club, and a private stake of £25 a-side, Sampson entered the lists with Jack Martin, at North Walsham, on the 17th of July, 1820. After a sharp battle Sampson was defeated. (See Life of Martin, ante.)

Sampson was now certainly “under a cloud.” Chance, however, brought him again into notice. A man of the name of Tom Dye, known as “Di the Table-lifter,” a public exhibitor of feats of strength, who could carry a mahogany dining-table seven or eight feet long with his teeth, tie a pair of tongs round a man’s neck by way of cravat, and break a poker across his arm like a rotten stick, was chaffed about the strength of Sampson. He expressed his opinion that he could dispose of the modern wearer of the name in very summary fashion, to which “the Youth” demurred, and a 458purse of five sovs. was offered if “Di” would make the experiment. It turned out an easy job for Sampson. In eight minutes, during which six rounds were fought, “Di” was completely hors de combat when time was called. On coming to, the “strong man” declared he was not fairly beaten, on which “the Youth” told him to “take his own time,” and “Di” again put up his hands. He soon repented, for Sampson milled him down so suddenly that poor “Di” forgot for a while all about tables and pokers. Sampson had not a mark, and presented the crestfallen table-lifter with half-a-sovereign “to wash his teeth with.”

The ill feeling of Sampson towards Belasco again broke out, and the latter, it would seem, declared his intention of thrashing his late opponent wherever he met him. In consequence Belasco, at Tom Oliver’s benefit at the Tennis Court, on Monday, December 21st, 1820, mounted the stage, and said that being thus continually threatened he would accommodate Sampson for £100 or £50 a-side. Hereupon Sampson rushed on the stage intemperately and declared his intention to fight “if any gentleman, who is a gentleman, will hold the money. That is necessary,” he added, “as I have been robbed of the last fight. I am also ready to set to with Belasco immediately.” Belasco coolly replied by putting on the mufflers, and at it they went for

A GLOVE-FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both cautious, and eyeing each other. Sampson plunged in, and some exchanges took place, when Belasco slipped down, and Sampson was also on the floor.

2.—Very short work; Sampson’s temper got the mastery of his skill. Belasco caught him as he came in, got his head in the corner of the stage, and fibbed him down. (Hissing from some parts of the court. “Nothing unfair,” was the cry from the other. “Never mind,” said Sampson, “it’s all right, Belasco, come along.”)

3.—Milling without ceremony, till Sampson put in a most tremendous nobber on the Jew’s temple that completely stunned him for the instant, accompanying it with “Where are you now?” If it had been in the ring, it must have proved a winning hit. Belasco caught hold of the rails to prevent going down, and said, “Never mind, I’ll soon be ready for you.” The Birmingham Youth waited till the Jew was ready to commence another round.

4.—Very severe; both down.

5.—The Jew displayed science, but the rush of the Youth was sharp in the extreme, and pepper was the result, till they separated.

6.—Each man appeared anxious to have the “best of it.” This was altogether a fine round, but, in closing, both down, the Youth undermost. In separating, the Jew, on getting up, from the motions he made, seemed as if his shoulder were hurt. Belasco stretched his arm on the rail, and the Youth rubbed his shoulder, amidst much laughter.

7.—Both down again, when the Jew made a similar complaint, and rubbed his arm. Here a surgeon stepped up, examined the shoulder, and said it was not out.

8.—Sampson had the best of it; but in struggling and going down, they both nearly fell through the rails of the stage into the court.

9.—The Jew said his shoulder was now so bad that he could not use it; but, in order to prevent disappointment, he would continue the combat with one hand only, if Sampson would agree to it. The latter said he had no objection, and each of them pulled off one glove, and commenced this nouvelle exhibition. (Loud cries of “Leave off,” “Go on,” &c.) Belasco received some pepper, and went down.

10.—This round was well contested: the 459Jew, however, used his arm in the rally; indeed, neither of their hands were idle.

11.—Again a rally, and Sampson fought with both hands, Belasco following suit.

12.—This was the finale. Belasco was hit down, or seemed to be so. He sat upon his nether end quietly, and thunders of applause greeted the success of Sampson, who threw his remaining glove on the floor. Belasco rose and immediately addressed the spectators. He said he would fight Sampson that day six weeks for £50. (“Bravo.”)

Mr. Sampson’s skill in letter-writing, and in avoiding making a match, was now in full play for some months, and nothing done in re Belasco. Charley Grantham (alias Gybletts), however, was backed against Sampson for £50 a-side, and on Tuesday, July 17th, 1821, the men met on Moulsey Hurst. At one o’clock Sampson, attended by Tom Spring and Hickman (the Gas-light Man), threw his hat within the ropes. In a few minutes afterwards Gybletts, with Harry Harmer and Bob Purcell, entered the ring. Sampson was the favourite at seven to four.

“The Youth,” who looked in good condition, in his usual thrasonical style informed his friends he should “win in twenty minutes.” It was not, however, the “straight tip,” for Sampson was defeated in one hour and twenty minutes, the “flash side” losing their money, and another “moral certainty” going wrong.

Bill Abbott, whose recent victory over Tom Oliver had given him a high position, offered himself to Sampson, and the men met at Moulsey on December 13th, 1821. Here again Sampson was beaten in forty-seven minutes, forty-three rounds having been fought in that time.

The current of adversity now ran hard against Phil. His nominal townsman (Phil himself was a Yorkshireman), Bill Hall, assuming to himself the title of “the New Birmingham Lad,” challenged “the slashing and scientific Sampson,” as Pierce Egan was wont to call him.

On Tuesday, July 30th, 1822, on Warwick Racecourse, in a roped ring, in front of the grand stand, the “countryman” beat Sampson, after a shifty tumbledown fight of ninety-one rounds; Josh Hudson giving in for him with odds of two to one in his favour. The contemporary reports intimate that Sampson had only “a small amethyst under his eye,” and had hard work to “look like losing it.”

Sampson was pathetically verbose in print and talk about “the cruelty” of charging him with a complicity in his own defeat. He also expressed his desire for another trial with Hall, attributing his failure solely to want of condition. Meanwhile, Bill Hall had been consummately thrashed by Ned Neale (see Life of Neale), a fact which did not tend to the satisfaction of the backers of the boastful Birmingham Youth, who left London “disgusted at their desertion.”

460At length Phil, who had certainly improved in strength and condition, persuaded his Birmingham friends that if they would give him another chance with Hall he would dispose of him with ease and win their money to a certainty. So a second match was made for £50, and on Wednesday, March 19th, 1823, the old Hurst at Moulsey was the arena of encounter, after the ring had been quitted by Arthur Matthewson, who that day polished off Mishter Israel Belasco, brother of Aby of that ilk.

Sampson had good attendants; no other than Tom Spring, champion in esse, and Jem Ward, ditto in posse. Hall had behind him Josh Hudson and “a friend from Birmingham.” Such, however, was the want of confidence in “the Youth,” that six to four on Hall went begging. “We’ll wait and see,” said those who were asked to speculate. The spectators had not long to wait, as will be seen by our report of

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—No sooner had the men shaken hands than Hall ran at his opponent like a mad bull. Sampson got out of the way of his fury like an agile toreador, and then, by a half-turn, put in so severe a blow on Hall’s nob that he lost his legs in a twinkling. (“Halloo! What’s the matter? Sampson will win this time!”)

2.—Hall seemed furious at his unexpected floorer. He ran after Sampson, pelting away, without any regard to science, and making Sampson fight under the idea of reducing his strength. In a short rally at the ropes Sampson put in a right-handed hit on his opponent’s left eye, after the manner of his agonistic namesake, and Hall fell like a log. On his seconds picking him up he was completely insensible. The battle of course was at an end. A medical man stepped into the ring, bled Hall, and paid him every humane attention requisite, but several minutes elapsed before a return of consciousness could be discerned. Hall was then driven off, nearly in a state of stupor, in a coach, accompanied by the doctor.

Remarks.—Hall, not the “John,” but the “mad,” bull fighter, to the great surprise and satisfaction of his friends, appeared at the Castle Tavern as early as eight o’clock on the same evening, thus contradicting the alarming rumours of his death. It appears that his recollection did not return to him till after he had been twice bled, and twenty-five minutes had elapsed, and even then his ideas were in a very confused state, so tremendous were the effects of the blow. Hall informed the company he did not feel himself any the worse, except from the sore state of his arm, rendered so by the instruments of the surgeon. The latter thought Hall in fine condition. It was now evident to the amateurs that Sampson was an improved man; and this little slice of fortune increased his confidence so much that he returned to Birmingham with all the honours of war.

In January, 1823, we find Sampson inditing insulting letters on Israelites in general, and Belasco in particular, in the Weekly Dispatch, which were responded to in more parliamentary language in the columns of Bell’s Life, and “these paper pellets of the brain,” after five months of popping, assumed the form of “Articles of Agreement,” dated June 19th, 1823, whereby Philip Sampson and Abraham Belasco mutually bound themselves to fight in a twenty-four foot ring, half-minute time, for £100 a-side, on Tuesday, the 25th of August, 1823, Mr. Jackson to name the place. “On signing the articles,” says the reporter, “Sampson poured out a couple of 461glasses of port, and, handing one of them to his opponent, gave the toast, ‘May the best man win.’ ‘I hope he will,’ said Belasco, tossing off his glass.”

Crawley Downs, in Sussex, was the fixture, and such of the Fancy as respected their nags too much to give the animals some sixty-six miles in a day were to be seen on the Monday trotting through Riddlesdown, Reigate, and East Grinstead, stopping to bait, “blow a cloud,” and enjoy a chaff with Boniface, whose jocund countenance bespoke his pleasure at sight of such good customers.

In the morning Crawley Downs were alive with arrivals from all quarters of the compass. Sampson came on the ground in a barouche and four, enveloped in a large blue military cloak; while Belasco trotted over the turf behind eighty guineas’ worth of horseflesh, driven by a well-known East-end sportsman. At a few minutes past one Sampson threw his white nob-cover into the ring, and taking his bright crimson kerchief from his throat handed it to Josh Hudson, who, with Ben Burn, were his chosen seconds. Belasco quickly followed suit, dropping his beaver quietly within the ropes, and his colours, “a yellowman,” were also fixed to the centre stake. Peter Crawley, in a bright green Newmarket and Belcher tie, with Bill Richmond, in West End Corinthian costume, acted as “esquires of the body” to Aby, who said to Josh across the ring, “Now, let’s have a quiet fight, let it go which way it will.” The seconds concurred, and we must say we never saw a mill better conducted, as a whole, by all parties concerned. The betting opened at five to four on Belasco.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sampson never looked better. The appellation hitherto borne by him of the Birmingham Youth seemed a thing of the past; the gristle had become bone, and the smoothness of limb laced and knotted with hard and well-marked muscle. In fact, he looked a model athlete. Belasco was also a picture of a man in fine health; his bust, a perfect anatomical study, together with his black nob, penetrating eye, and Mosaic countenance, rendered the Jew an interesting object in this ballet of action. Confidence sat on his brow; he was cool, collected, and evidently anticipated victory. Upon shaking hands it was the general opinion that Sampson would have attempted to slaughter Belasco, in order to win off-hand, as a long fight might prove dangerous to him. Not so; Sampson was cautious in the extreme. Belasco placed his hands very high, convinced the spectators he was an adept in science, and appeared armed at all points against the slashing onset of his adversary. Considerable dodging occurred, and several slight offers were made on both sides, but neither of them was to be deceived by the feints of the other. Belasco’s left hand told slightly on Sampson’s body without a return; it was soon after repeated. Both eyeing each other for a short period, when Sampson put down his hands and rubbed them on his drawers. Sampson still cautious. The left hand of Belasco again told slightly on his antagonist’s body. A pause. Each combatant attempted to hit, but their blows fell short. (Four minutes had elapsed.) Sampson at length made himself up for mischief, and let fly at the Jew’s nob with tremendous force, but Belasco stopped it in the most skilful style. (“Beautiful! bravo!”) Sampson again tried it on, when an exchange of blows occurred, and Belasco’s right eye received a little damage. 462The Jew got away cleverly from another well-aimed nobber; and, in closing at the ropes, Belasco had the best of the fibbing, till Sampson went down on his back, and his opponent upon him. (Applause on both sides. The Sheenies said “it was all right,” and the Brums observed “nothing was the matter.”)

2.—Sampson hit the Jew in the body, but Belasco soon afterwards put in a sharp facer, and followed his opponent to do mischief. Counter-hitters and nobbers were the result. A short rally followed, the left eye of Sampson received a touch. In closing, both down, Sampson undermost. (“First blood,” exclaimed Josh; “look at the side of Belasco’s nose.” The claret was just peeping, as it were, between his ogles.)

3.—The fine science displayed by Belasco, in stopping the heavy hits of his opponent, was the admiration of the spectators. The Jew went sharply towards his antagonist, when, after an exchange of blows, Sampson got down.

4.—This was a pretty round, and fine fighting on both sides was conspicuous. In struggling at the ropes, Sampson went down rather awkwardly, and Belasco, being in the act of hitting, struck his opponent on the nob. “Foul, foul!” by the Sampsonites; “Fair, fair!” by the Sheenies. The referee said “nothing wrong had occurred; but he felt afraid that he had consented to take upon himself a very difficult situation, as the opposite parties did not appear to agree on the true principles of prize-fighting. However, he had not one farthing upon the fight, and he should do his duty if called on to decide.”

5.—This round was decidedly in favour of Belasco. He not only got away from a nobber that might have proved a settler, but in turn gave Sampson so heavy a hit on his head that the latter turned round from the force of it, and went a yard or two away; but he soon returned to fight. In closing at the ropes, pepper was used between them till both were down, Belasco undermost. (The latter was much applauded, and, up to this period of the fight, continued the favourite.)

6.—The Jew was also the hero in this round. Sampson appeared rather distressed. Belasco proved himself a more troublesome customer than his opponent had anticipated; he was indeed very difficult to be got at. Some blows were exchanged, when they closed at the ropes, and ultimately the Jew had the best of it, planting a blow on Sampson’s nob as he was going down.

7.—Sampson was on the look-out to put in a slogger on the nob of the Jew, but the science of the latter prevented him. In fact, Sampson, although rather evil-disposed towards his opponent, which he let escape now and then in words, was nevertheless cool in his conduct. The cunning of the Jew, and the firmness of his guard, pointed out clearly to Sampson that he must be careful to avoid committing mistakes when opposed to so accomplished a boxer as Belasco, which accounts, in a great measure, for the Birmingham hero altering his hitherto smashing mode of fighting. The Jew stopped well; and, after an exchange of blows, Belasco dexterously planted a heavy body hit about an inch and a half below the mark, which sent Sampson down on his latter end. (A great burst of applause from the partisans of Belasco, who now, without hesitation, offered £10 to £5—100 to 50—two to one, all over the ring. “It’s ash right ash the tay, Aby; feel for his vind next time.”)

8.—Sampson, however, did not appear a great deal the worse for his floorer, for he came to the scratch instantly at the call of time. This was a well-fought round on both sides; but the science displayed by Belasco extorted applause from all parts of the ring. He planted a body blow with his left hand, and protected his head so finely with his right as to stop a well-meant heavy hit. Counter-hitting, but Sampson’s blows were most severe, from his length; still in closing at the ropes the Jew fibbed Sampson down and fell upon him.

9.—Sampson went in quickly to do mischief, but Belasco made as usual some excellent stops. The Jew, in making a body blow, hit rather low. “What do you call that?” said Sampson. In closing, Sampson went down.

10.—This round was against Belasco. The Jew stopped delightfully at the commencement, but in counter-hitting Belasco received a terrific blow in the middle of his head, which almost knocked him backwards; but he returned to the attack as game as a pebble, and in closing at the ropes had the best of it while hanging upon them, until Sampson, by a desperate effort, extricated himself, and, strange to say, placed the Jew in his own former situation, fibbing Belasco till he went down, bleeding profusely. (The faces of the Brums, which had hitherto been very grave, now assumed a smile, and “Sampson for ever!” was the cry.)

11.—The face of Belasco exhibited punishment. Sampson had also the lead in this round, but he determined not to give a chance away, and in closing he went down. (Murmuring from the Sheenies.)

12.—Belasco endeavoured to plant a hit, but Sampson got away. In closing, Sampson again went down.

13.—The Jew put in a heavy body blow, but one of Sampson’s hard hits met Belasco in the middle of his head. The battle was now alive, all parties highly interested, and doubts and fears expressed on both sides. The Jew, full of game, tried to get the lead, obtained it, and Sampson went down.

14.—The length and height of Sampson enabled him to stand over his opponent, and this, added to his excellent knowledge of boxing and increased strength, rendered him no easy opponent for Belasco. (The Jew was 463irritated in this round from the expressions of Sampson, while they were sparring together, who observed, “I have got you now, Belasco, and I’ll not only lick you, but drive your Jew brother out of Birmingham.” “Be quiet,” said Josh; “fight, and don’t talk so.” “You can do neither,” replied Belasco, “but you are an illiberal fellow.” “Keep your temper,” urged Crawley.) Belasco ran in and planted two hits; and, in closing, Sampson went down in the best way he could, and received a hit in consequence, which occasioned cries of “Foul!” and “Fair!”

15.—Belasco displayed superior skill in stopping two blows, but in counter-hitting he received such a tremendous blow near his temple that he fell out of the ropes on his head quite stunned. (“It is all up,” was the cry; and “Ten to one he does not fight again!”) The Sheenies were alarmed, and none but the gamest of the game would ever have come again. Belasco might have left off with honour.

16.—No sailor “three sheets in the wind” appeared more groggy at the scratch when time was called. In fact, Belasco did not know where he was—his eyes had lost their wonted fire, and it really was a pity to see him standing up to a fine, strong young man like Sampson. The latter, very cautious, did not make play, and the Jew had none the worst of the round. Both down, but Sampson undermost. Six to four on Sampson.

17.—Belasco, recovered a little, fought like a brave man till he was hit down.

18.—The Jew seemed better—he exchanged hits, and was again sent down. Two to one on Sampson.

19.—Against Belasco; but he held up his arms well, and, after stopping a hit or two, got down.

20.—The Jew had recovered considerably; and, although he had the worst of it, Sampson thought it prudent to fight cautiously. Belasco made play with great spirit; but, in counter-hitting, received another severe blow on his head, which sent him out of the ropes. If he had not been a truly game man when time was called he would not have paid attention to it. Three to one.

21.—The Jew resolved that “his people” should have no reason to complain. He commenced fighting, although sorely distressed. The result of the round was that Sampson received a hit, and went down on his knees. (“Bravo, Belasco, you are a game fellow,” from Tom Owen, “but you are overmatched.”)

22.—The finish of this round was in favour of Belasco, and he fibbed Sampson down. (“It is anybody’s battle, now,” cried an old sportsman; “a good hit would decide it either way.” “I’ll lay forty to ten,” said Tom Oliver, “Sampson wins!” “Stake,” said a gentleman from Houndsditch, “and I will take it.” Oliver didn’t.)

23.—The face of Belasco was piteous, and his right eye swelled prodigiously; but he came to the scratch determined to dispute every inch of ground while a chance remained. “A little one for Mother Melsom,” said Josh, “and the battle is at an end.” Sampson saw that conquest was within his grasp, and he was determined to win it without risk. He accordingly let Belasco commence fighting before he offered to return. The Jew went down from a straight blow, quite exhausted. (“Take the brave fellow away; he ought not to be suffered to come again.” “I am not licked yet,” said Belasco.)

24, and last.—It was evident the battle must be soon over, but Belasco answered the call of time like a man. The Jew was too distressed to protect himself with his usual skill, and he received a hit in the middle of his face that floored him slap on his back. He was picked up by his seconds, but in a state of stupor. When the half-minute had elapsed Belasco remained insensible, and Sampson was declared the winner. It was over in forty-two minutes.

Remarks.—Sampson retired from the contest with very trifling marks upon his face. He is altogether an improved man; his frame is set, and his fighting eminently superior to the style he exhibited in his battles with Martin, Gybletts, and Abbott. We think that he ought to have won the last-named fight. Nevertheless, it confers honour upon his milling talents to conquer so accomplished a boxer as Belasco proved himself to be. To speak of the Jew as he deserves, or of one brave man that has surrendered to another, it is thus: It is true Belasco has been defeated, but he stands higher in the estimation of his friends than ever; let no more slurs be thrown upon him as to “a white feather”! He had to contend against height, length, weight, and youth, added to which Sampson was also a good fighter and a high-couraged man. He has not disgraced “his people.” The Jew was brought into the ring in spirited style, but we applaud most the feeling manner in which he was supported out of it. Every attention that humanity could suggest was paid to Belasco. A medical gentleman, of his own persuasion, brought down from London solely for that purpose, had the care of him. We could, if necessary, mention a list of Israelites who were most assiduous on this occasion, but we feel assured the sporting world will appreciate such feeling, generosity, and gentlemanly conduct. The weight of Sampson was said to be twelve stone three pounds; his height, five feet ten-and-a-half inches—Belasco, in his clothes, eleven stone six pounds; his height, five feet seven inches. To the credit of both men it may be stated that they now shook hands and became friends; Belasco, as we shall see, becoming a zealous second to Sampson on several important occasions.

464Phil now flew at high game. He challenged Jem Ward, then the most promising of the candidates for the Championship. Jem, nothing loth, accommodated him for £100 a-side, and on Monday, June 21st, 1824, gave Mr. Sampson an indisputable thrashing in fifty minutes, as chronicled in the memoir of Ward (ante, p. 206).

One of the peculiarities of Sampson, which he shared with the renowned Blucher, was that of “not knowing when he was beaten.” He had further the remarkable faculty of talking and writing other people over to his own opinion. Thus, in December of the same year, 1824, he got himself backed a second time against Jem Ward, and on this occasion it took “the Black Diamond” only thirty-seven minutes and a half to finally floor “the strong man,” all the circumstances of which will be found fully written in the book of “Pugilistica,” in the Life of Ward (ante, p. 207), to which we beg to refer the reader.

Phil’s “vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps the lists and falls on the other side,” had now a temporary check, and “My Uncle Ben,” who was looking out for a job for his “Nevvy,” Jem Burn, proposed a battle with Sampson for £50 a-side. After much ink-spilling the articles were formulated, and Tuesday, June 22nd, 1825, fixed. Mr. Jackson named Harpenden Common, near St. Albans, and thither, on the day appointed, the Fancy repaired. Unfortunately on the previous evening a whisper had gone forth that it was to be a squared fight, in consequence of which unfounded rumour lots of gents made up their minds to turn their backs upon the thing altogether. Burn, of course, as he was to win, and nothing else, according to “the man in the street,” was backed at six to four, seven to four, and sooner than go without a bet those wiseacres (a wonderfully numerous class at all times) who thought they were in possession of the secret laid two to one. A meddlesome man in office, “dressed in a little brief authority,” also turned up, and forbade the mill taking place on the old spot at No Man’s Land. The Fancy, always ready to obey the mandates of the authorities, accordingly toddled on a few miles farther, and the ring was formed at Shere Mere, in Bedfordshire. Sampson declared he had been ill-treated by these sinister reports, and hoped his conduct would soon give the lie to his enemies. Jem Burn, at one o’clock, attended by Randall and Uncle Ben, threw his hat into the Ring, and was received with loud cheers. Sampson soon followed, and planted his topper within the ropes, waited upon by Josh Hudson and Rough Robin.

465THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Young Jem looked well; he was highly fancied, and the general opinion seemed to be that the Young One would win it. The canvas of Sampson appeared to be the tougher, and with the utmost coolness he himself went and tied his colours to the stakes, over his opponent’s, confidently observing, “These belong to me.” The caution displayed by Sampson showed he was anxious to win; and the steadiness of Jem told the fanciers victory was the object he had in view. Two minutes elapsed in eyeing each other, when the Young One let fly, and touched Sampson’s body. Sampson gave a grin. A long pause. (The John Bull Fighter was so tired that he laid himself down in the ring, observing, “We are all right; Phil will win at his leisure.”) Sampson put in a small taste on Jem’s cheek. (“Bravo, Samsy!”) The caution observed on both sides was so tiresome to the spectators that “night caps” were called for. At length Burn went spiritedly to work, but Sampson skilfully stopped him right and left. Sampson planted one on the head of his adversary, which provoked Jem to rush in, when Sampson caught him with an uphanded-hit, and My Nevvy fell on his face. The blow was a stunner, and visible on his forehead; the umpires, however, did not decide this to be a knock-down blow. Thirteen minutes and a half.

2.—Jem appeared to be fighting according to “orders”—he was over cautious. (“Never mind,” said Josh, “let them do as they like; it is the ‘Rising Sun’ against the ‘Half Moon’—the Moon for my money!”) Sampson had decidedly the best of this round, hitting his man right and left. In closing, Burn was hit down. This round decided first blood and the first knock-down blow. Five to four on Sampson.

3.—Jem was not deficient in pluck, and came to the scratch like a good one. Jem planted a nobber, but Sampson countered well. A rally, in which Jem was sent down. Seven to four on Brummagem.

4.—This was a fine round, and good fighting on both sides. Burn was troublesome; but the skill and coolness displayed by Sampson were the admiration of the spectators. Some exchanges that told on both sides, but Jem had the worst of it. The claret made its appearance under Burn’s left ogle, and Sampson, by way of a finish, hit his antagonist down. Two to one on the Brum.

5.—Burn, full of spirit, tried to punish the Brum, but he was stopped, nobbed right and left, and thrown into the bargain.

6.—This was short but sweet to Phil. Sampson stopped capitally, and, in turn, planted two facers—botherers—so much so that Burn staggered, turned round, and fell on his face.

7.—The nob of Jem was changed, but his courage never forsook him. The coolness of Sampson enabled him to plant his blows with effect. Jem lost many hits by being on the blinking system; he rushed in to mill, but Sampson caught him as he came. In a sharp rally, Jem went down.

8.—A tiny bit of a change for Jem—he sent Sampson down at the close of the round. (Loud shouting for Burn. “Do that once more; Phil don’t like it—you’ll soon make his knees tremble.” “Tremble, indeed!” replied the Brum. “Fetch a fiddle, and I’ll bet a pound I dance a hornpipe.”)

9.—Jem was piping, and Sampson a little winded. The latter planted a jobber over the left eye of his opponent, and got away. (Great applause. “Fighting such as this looks like a +, don’t it?” said jolly Josh, rubbing his hands.) Some excellent stops on both sides, and sharp exchanges of blows, till Burn napped an out-and-out one on his nob, which dropped My Nevvy. Three to one on Brummagem.

10.—Forty-eight minutes had elapsed, and Sampson was as fresh as a four-year-old. Burn, notwithstanding the state of his face, was game as a pebble, and stood to his work like a man. Sampson received a note of hand on his conk, without giving the return. Sharp fighting, till Burn went down.

11.—This round was a fine specimen of the art of self-defence; and both combatants displayed great skill. The right eye of Jem was nearly in the dark, and he raised his hand to wipe it. Sampson, quick as lightning, endeavoured to take advantage of the opening, let fly with his left, but to the surprise of the spectators Burn stopped him. This circumstance produced thunders of applause for Jem. Burn again stopped several blows; but at the conclusion of the round he was floored like a shot by a tremendous hit on the mouth. Jem put his hand to his head as he lay on the ground.

12.—This round, by the decided manner in which he took the lead, and also in finishing it by a heavy throw, rendered Sampson the favourite at four to one.

13.—The friends of Jem still stuck to him, and were filled with hopes that, as he had displayed so much real game, he might be able to wear out Sampson; but the latter was cool and collected. Jem was countered, and, in a hard struggle at the ropes, severely fibbed down. (“The ‘Half Moon’ now,” said Josh, “has nearly put the ‘Rising Sun’ into darkness. Very nasty, Mr. Broad Day, eh?”)

14.—Jem went down from a left-handed blow.

15.—Burn was really mischievous, and in close quarters nobbed Sampson heavily. (“Keep off,” said Josh, “don’t give a chance away.”) Sampson measured his distance well, and poor Jem again went down.

16.—It was booked that Jem could not 466win; but the brave fellow had not the slightest notion of saying “No!” Sampson waited for an opportunity, and by a flush hit nearly took the fight out of Jem by a floorer. (“Take him away!”)

17.—It was now lick or be licked with Jem, and he acted boldly on this determination. Notwithstanding his blinking state, he administered several heavy thumps on Sampson’s nob when in close quarters. In closing, Sampson caught Burn’s nob under his arm, fibbed, and dropped poor Jem with ease.

18.—A little turn in favour of Burn; the latter, by his boldness, planted some heavy hits, one of which made Sampson stagger, and he fell on the ropes. (A tremendous shout from the friends of Burn, who did not give up hopes of victory.)

19.—Jem came to the scratch, but he was nearly blind. He was soon thrown.

20.—It was piteous to see Jem throw his blows away; he could not see his opponent. Burn received a heavy blow on the nose, and fell on his back. Ten to one, but no takers.

21.—It was nearly “all up” with Jem; he appeared like a man groping in the dark. The humanity of Sampson is worthy of record; he scarcely touched him, and only planted a tap to put an end to the battle. Burn was sent down quite exhausted. (“Take him away.”)

22.—Jem, like a drowning man catching at a straw, made a desperate effort, and in a rush at Sampson received another floorer. (“Don’t let the brave fellow fight any more—take him away.”)

23, and last.—It is worse than death to a man of true courage to experience defeat, and Jem had made up his mind not to pronounce the afflicting “No.” Burn had scarcely arrived at the scratch when he was sent down by a trifling touch. (“He shall fight no more,” said Uncle Ben, positively, stepping up to the umpires.) It occupied an hour and ten minutes. Sampson immediately shook hands with his fallen opponent. Burn was severely punished about the head, but scarcely any body blows were given throughout the battle.

Remarks.—Burn fought according to orders. Had he adopted the milling style which characterised the last seven or eight rounds, even if he had not proved victorious, it might have rendered the fight a more even thing. Sampson in all his battles has proved himself a good fighter. Like Jem Burn, he began his career too young. This battle was a most honourable contest, and reflected credit on both the combatants. Jem Burn is a truly game man. Every person returned home well satisfied with the fairness and honesty of the battle.

Hall, of Birmingham, now declared himself anxious to try his luck in a third battle with Sampson; and Phil, with the utmost politeness, agreed to accommodate him without delay for £50 a-side. This mill was decided on Tuesday, November 22nd, 1825. The fight was booked as a certainty; “if,” as the chaff went, “it was not already made right.” Sampson was the favourite at six to four.

Early on Tuesday morning the Fancy were on the alert at Birmingham, Worcester, Coventry, Lichfield, &c., to arrive at Basset’s Pole, between Birmingham and Tamworth. Few of the London Fancy were present, as their “minds were completely made up,” from the capital fight Sampson made with Ward at Stony Stratford, that Phil must win the battle in a canter; therefore “it would not pay” to undertake so long a trot.

The description of the fight between Sampson and Hall lies in a nutshell, one round having put an end to the contest. Sampson was in prime condition, and certain of winning. Hall was upon equally good terms with himself. Sampson was seconded by Ward and Holland, and Hall by two brothers. On setting-to Sampson did not treat his opponent with indifference, but waited for him cool and collected. Three minutes had nearly elapsed in dodging about, when Hall planted a bodier. (“Bravo!” 467from his friends.) Sampson returned the compliment with great activity; hit for hit soon took place, and a sharp rally was the result. The men separated, and a trifling pause occurred. Sampson made himself up for mischief, and with his left delivered a heavy blow under his opponent’s ear which gave him the doldrums; by way of quietus he then planted with his right so severe a facer that Hall was floored like a shot. When time was called Hall was insensible, and remained in a state of stupor for several minutes. Thus Sampson was pronounced the conqueror in the short space of four minutes and three-quarters. The backers of Hall looked not a little blue on viewing their man so easily disposed of by Sampson, and the spectators in general were much disappointed at so short a contest. The winners, however, held a contrary opinion, and were in high spirits, observing “the fight was long enough for them;” and Sampson, with a smile upon his face, stated that “he should like to be paid for such another job, as £100 for under five minutes was not to be done every day, even in the highest professions.” The “Sage of the East,” in a discourse upon the event, declared Sampson’s right-hander to be “a golden hit”!

Owing to a quarrel with Josh Hudson at the East End, January 31st, 1826, Josh being by no means compos, Sampson beat the “John Bull Fighter” in six rounds, not much to the credit of the former. As a per contra, on June 30th, 1826, his bounce and quarrelsomeness got him a third thrashing from Jem Ward, which was administered by the Champion in ten rounds, at Norwich, while on a sporting tour. Sampson also put out at this time a challenge to Brown, of Bridgnorth, to fight for £50 a-side; but the “big one” replied that the price did not suit him, so Sampson wrote again and again to show that Brown ought to fight for that sum!

Paul Spencer, a native of Ireland, elegantly designated the “Mud Island Devil,” having defeated Manning, of Manchester, felt anxious to obtain a higher situation on the pugilistic roll, and challenged Sampson for £50 a-side. Phil approved of this match, observing at the same time, “No Irishman can lick me.” The articles stated that the fight should take place on Tuesday, November 27th, 1827, between Birmingham and Liverpool; and Newcastle-under-Lyme was named as the rallying point. During the Sunday and Monday previous to the battle the above town was filled with visitors from Liverpool, Birmingham, and Manchester. About two miles from Newcastle-under-Lyme the ring was made in front of the grand stand on the race-course. A few minutes before one o’clock the men 468arrived on the ground. Sampson threw his hat into the ring, attended by Tom Oliver and Young Gas; and Spencer was waited upon by Donovan and Bob Avery. Both combatants were in excellent condition. Spencer was an object of great interest to his Irish friends. He was a fine strong young fellow, in height five feet eleven inches and a half, weighing thirteen stone one pound. The colours were a crimson fogle for Sampson, and a green with a yellow spot for Spencer. Six to four on Sampson.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men prepared for action in good style, Spencer adopting Ned Neale’s mode of keeping up his left hand. Sampson was also on the alert. After a short time occupied in manœuvring, Spencer endeavoured to make his right and left tell, but Phil got out of danger. A short pause; both on the look-out for an opening, when the Mud Island Devil planted his right hand on Sampson’s nob; the latter boxer returned left and right, and a brisk rally was the result. In closing Phil fell on his knee, and Spencer, in fibbing, hit Sampson as he was down. (“Foul!” “Fair!”) The friends of Sampson claimed the fight, but the umpires ordered the battle to proceed.

2.—Caution on both sides. Spencer held his left still up, and let fly with his right. Sampson stopped him skilfully, and hit out right and left, delivering well on the nob. A desperate rally followed, in which sharp hits were exchanged. Sampson planted his right on Spencer’s mouth as he was rushing in, when Spencer caught him on top of his canister with his right, and made a slight incision. Sampson then closed, and fibbed at the body with his right, while Spencer peppered away at his upper works, but without much effect. At length Spencer got the lock with his right leg, and threw Sampson a cross-buttock, falling heavily upon him. (The Liverpool blades in an uproar; and, “You are sure to win it, Pat.”)

3.—Sampson showed blood from his nob, and Spencer from his mouth. Spencer looked a little flushed and dropped his left. Sampson saw the opening, rushed in, and hit him down with a straight one, two, right and left. (“Sampson for ever!” and “Phil, it’s all your own!”)

4.—Sampson again planted his right and left from the shoulder, cutting Spencer on the left eye. Spencer was not to be shook off, but instantly went to work, hitting out right and left, but wildly. Sampson met Spencer as he rushed in with a few flush hits—a close followed, and some good in-fighting ensued, Sampson feeling for the bread-basket, and Spencer at the nob. Spencer then tried for another cross-buttock, but Sampson was not to be had, and slipped down in time. (Two to one on Sampson.)

The fight was now stopped by the interference of a magistrate. “You cannot fight any longer,” said he; “I will not permit it.” “It won’t be long,” cried Sampson; “I’ll soon finish him, so let us have it out.” “No,” said his worship, “I must not. I should have no objection myself, but I have been applied to in my magisterial capacity, and I am forced to act. I am sorry for it, but ‘needs must.’” Submission was the order of the day; his worship retired, and the men adjourned back to Newcastle, there to deliberate on further proceedings, Sampson proclaiming to his friends that he was sure to win, and offering three to one on the issue. The men had fought just eight minutes.

On reaching Newcastle Spencer was put to bed, while Sampson remained up with his friends. At length it was agreed, according to the “articles,” that the fight should be fought out, and the word was given for taking up new ground at a village called Woore, in Shropshire, on the borders of 469Cheshire. The moment the signal was given, “The devil take the hindmost!” was the order of the day, and the rush of the motley group to arrive at the scene of action in time beggared description. It was half-past four, and quite dusk, before the cavalcade reached the “Horse and Jockey,” at Woore, in a meadow behind which the ring was again pitched by Tom Oliver.

The best pedestrians were completely knocked up in the run, and several first-rate roadsters beaten to a stand-still. The entire group, owing to the wretched state of the road, were nothing but mudlarks.

No time was lost, both men appearing “eager for the fray,” and each feeling equal confidence. Sampson showed first in the ring.

SECOND FIGHT.

Round 1.—The eagerness of Spencer to go to work delighted his friends. He cut away right and left, but the superior science of Sampson enabled him to stop the Mud Island Devil’s efforts. Still Spencer would not be denied; he bored in so hard and fast that Sampson was a little bothered, turned round, and retreated to prepare himself for the rude attacks of his opponent. The strength of Spencer was so great that he caught hold of Phil by the neck, and, in going down, pulled Sampson on him.

2.—Phil let fly right and left, and produced the claret from Spencer’s domino-box; nevertheless Spencer peppered away with rapidity; but Sampson’s counters were heaviest, and in the close both were down.

3.—Sampson waited for his opponent and popped in his left with terrific force. Spencer was not to be deterred, but rushed to in-fighting, when Sampson hit him up severely. Spencer then closed and delivered some home thrusts, grappled for the fall, and Sampson slipped down.

4.—Sampson planted his left hand on Spencer’s muzzle. Spencer fought wildly, and in closing Sampson went down to avoid being thrown. (Cries of “Foul!” answered by shouts of “Fair!”)

5.—Spencer took the lead, and hit out right and left, making his blows tell. Sampson went to work, but missed a terrific right-handed blow, which went over Spencer’s shoulder. A good rally followed, and Sampson fell on his knees, receiving a hit as he went down.

6.—Neale called to Spencer to keep his left hand up. Sampson waited, and at length popped in his left on the ear. Counter-hits followed, and Spencer, in closing, pulled Sampson down.

7.—Counter-hitting in a spirited rally. Sampson down.

8.—Sampson was mischievous with his left, Spencer rushed in, when Sampson went down cleverly.

9.—Sampson stopped well, and both fought to a rally; heavy hits were exchanged, when Spencer seized Sampson round the waist and threw him.

10.—This was a capital milling round. Counter-hitting, and no flinching. Spencer planted right and left, but Sampson caught him dreadfully on the jaw with his right. In the close, Sampson would not be thrown, and got down.

11.—Sampson delivered heavily on Spencer’s mug with his left, and broke away. Spencer rushed in, and some good in-fighting followed. In closing Sampson was thrown.

12.—Sampson again put in a dangerous nobber with his left. Spencer countered, but again received right and left, and in the close Sampson went down.

13, and last.—Sampson waited for his man and delivered heavily with his left. Spencer would go in vigorously, but Sampson met him right and left with punishing hits, and jobbed him down. Spencer was hit stupid; he rolled about, and could not stand when “time” was called. Sampson was proclaimed the victor. The second mill lasted fifteen minutes, making the fight, in the whole, twenty-three minutes. Spencer was heavily punished about the head, but Sampson was not much hurt. Both men were reconducted to Newcastle the same night.

Remarks.—Spencer was the right sort of boxer for Sampson. Men that will go and fight with Phil stand a good chance to be polished off-hand. A rushing boxer like Spencer is a sort of gift to him. It is, however, but common justice to observe that Spencer proved himself a game man and a troublesome customer to the Birmingham hero. The amateurs pronounced it a good battle. The right hand of Phil is at all times dangerous, and his experience in the P.R. and his science united render him a fit opponent for any countryman, let him be as strong as Hercules.

470After this slice of luck the friends of Sampson rallied round him, and he immediately sent forth all sorts of challenges to all sorts of boxers by means of his editorial amanuensis and his weekly paper. As, however, these epistles, from their bad grammar and attempts at rude wit, do not commend themselves as “elegant extracts,” we pass them by. One, to White-headed Bob (who was under articles to fight Ned Neale), was pure “buncombe;” others, such as those to Jem Ward, proposed ridiculously low stakes, and others were mere “gag.” One to Big Brown, of Bridgnorth, however, had better fortune.

One of Phil’s challenges having taken the form of “Brown giving me (Phil) £20 to make a match for £300 a-side,” the Big ’un thus replied in another weekly journal:—

“To the Editor of ‘Bell’s Life in London.’

“Sir,—I apprehend that addressing Philip Sampson through the medium of your valuable paper will be to little purpose. There seems to have been a little bounce, but I wish I could flatter myself there was any reliance to be placed on what he has sent forth to the public.

“With regard to his proposal of my giving him £20 to fight me for £300, my intention was to propose fighting him £320 to £300; for be it remembered that he once got £20 of my money in a way not very satisfactory to myself; but it is not my intention that he shall have any more of it unless I am fairly beat out of time by him, which, if he should happen to do, he shall be most welcome to.

“I will fight him £320 to £300, half-way between Birmingham and Bridgnorth, and I will attend at the place he appoints—the ‘Woodman,’ Birmingham—on Monday the 24th inst., between the hours of eight and ten p.m., for the purpose of making a deposit and entering into the necessary articles.

“I remain, &c., yours respectfully,

“THOMAS BROWN.

“Bottle-in-Hand Inn, Bridgnorth, December 19th, 1827.”

The hero of Bridgnorth in this instance was mistaken about the bounce of the thing; for Sampson’s friends were at the place at the appointed time, at the “Woodman,” and articles were signed without delay, Mr. Beardsworth, of the Birmingham Repository, being stakeholder.

This big affair was decided at Bishop’s Wood, in Shropshire, one hundred and thirty-four miles from London, on Tuesday, April 8th, 1828; and, since the battle between Spring and Langan, no pugilistic event had excited more interest. It appears that Sampson had some difficulty in making up the battle-money, and had it not been for little Arthur Matthewson—who not only stuck to Phil during his training, but procured him the last £70—a forfeit might have been the result of a rash engagement.

The principal patrons of the Ring left London in considerable numbers, on the Sunday and Monday previous, for Birmingham and Wolverhampton. 471The latter place was overflowing with company of every description, all the inns crowded to excess, and beds not to be had at any price. The towns and villages contiguous to Wolverhampton came in also for their share of visitors.

Wolverhampton Racecourse was named as the scene of action, in front of the grand stand, an erection capable of accommodating upwards of a thousand spectators, which had been pointed out as a most convenient arena; but a magistrate interposed his authority, and Bishop’s Wood was chosen, a lofty eminence, commanding an extensive and delightful prospect. It is situated in Shropshire, on the borders of Staffordshire, twelve miles from Wolverhampton, and about the same distance from Bridgnorth.

On Tuesday morning vast multitudes were en route for the scene of action. Vehicles of all sorts were in motion; equestrians and pedestrians thronged the way from Birmingham, Walsall, Dudley, Wednesbury, Bridgnorth, and Stafford, Lichfield, Shrewsbury, and other towns. Brown cut a dash on his turn-out to the ground; he was seated, with his friend Spring and several others, in a landau, his own property, decorated on the panels with the sign of his house at Bridgnorth (a hand holding a bottle), and drawn by four fine horses, while a great number of well-mounted gentlemen formed, as it were, a body-guard. Both Sampson and Brown waited at the “Bradford Arms” till the time arrived for entering the ring. Arrangements on the ground had been made with much judgment. A circle of wagons, with a stage on a convenient spot, formed the external barrier; in front of these the spectators on foot were kept at a distance of several yards from the twenty-four feet ring by a strong circle of ropes and stakes. The ring itself was formed with posts of great thickness, deeply fixed in the earth, and three ropes (one more than the usual number) were affixed to them. The number of spectators could not have been less than 25,000—some persons guessed their numbers at 30,000; of these, at least 15,000 were unable to see the twenty-four feet ring, and were consequently continually pressing forward.

A few minutes before one o’clock, Brown, leaning on the arm of Tom Spring, threw his hat into the ring. He was received with a loud welcome. The appearance of the Bridgnorth hero was prepossessing; he was dressed in the then country gentleman’s costume, a blue coat, white cord breeches, and top boots. Sampson appeared soon afterwards, and his friends, in their turn, rent the air with applause. Phil was also well got up. On the entrance of the latter boxer, Brown, who was sitting on the hamper containing 472the bottles, &c., rose up, and, holding out his hand with a good-natured smile, said, “Well, my boy, how are you?” Sampson gave him his hand, but turned another way with an angry scowl, and merely repeated, “How are you?” Harry Holt and Dick Curtis seconded Sampson, and never was man better attended to. Harry had sported his money on Brown, but he communicated that fact to Sampson’s backers, and they at once decided on trusting to his honour to do the best he could for Phil, promising, at the same time, to make up his losses if Sampson won. Brown was seconded by his friend Tom Spring and by Bill Richmond. The toss for sides was won by Sampson, and at about twenty minutes after one the fight commenced. Colours—crimson for Sampson; and crimson with white stripes for Brown. Betting, two to one, and in some parts of the ring five to two, on the latter.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Brown, when divested of his outer garments, looked extremely well, not to say gigantic, weighing, at the least estimate, fifteen stone. A smile of confidence embellished his mug, and he seemed to say to himself, “I shall lick this Sampson like fun.” Phil was equally slap-up in condition—in truth, we never saw him to more advantage in any of his previous encounters; he weighed nearly thirteen stone. His countenance indicated composure, calculation, and perfect preparation for the job he had undertaken. On setting-to, Brown did not appear exactly “at home;” he put up his arms more like a pupil who had been taught the rudiments of the art of self-defence than as a pugilist acting from his own suggestions. He scarcely seemed to know whether he should commence offensive operations or wait for his active adversary to make the onset. The science displayed by Sampson was judicious, correct, and decisive; he crept in, as it were, to measure his distance, and having ascertained he was right, he let fly with both hands. The mug of Brown felt them; when Sampson, in the style of Curtis, stepped backwards, by which means Brown, in returning, did not reach his opponent. (“Well done, Sampson!”) The Birmingham blade again tried on the manœuvre with increased effect, and planted a heavy blow just under the temple of Brown. The latter now attempted to fight first, but his movements were slow, and his right hand did little more than touch the side of Sampson’s nob. Some sharp exchanges occurred, but the hitting of the “big one” was round, while Sampson planted his straight facers with electrifying effect, and had the best of the rally. Brown, by his superior strength, bored his adversary to the ropes, where he held Sampson, and endeavoured to fib him with his right hand but not à la Randall. The “big one” kept pegging at Phil everywhere until he was down. (Great disapprobation, and loud cries of “Foul,” “Fair,” &c.) It was the general opinion that a foul blow had been given by the hero of Bridgnorth, but perhaps not intentionally; therefore the umpires did not notice the transaction. (“First blood!” said Curtis; “that’s an event worth summut to me.”)

2.—The skill of Sampson again was the admiration of the ring. He, as in the previous round, coolly measured his distance so correctly as to plant two facers, and stepped back out of trouble. Sampson repeated the offence without delay by another left-hander on the mug of the “big one,” when the latter returned a blow on the side of Phil’s head. Sampson kept a good look-out; when, at length, he saw an opening, he planted a precious teaser on the left peeper of Brown, which not only damaged it, but placed it on the winking system. (“Go in,” cried the friends of Brown; “don’t stand out to be punished.”) The Bridgnorth hero rushed to a close, laid hold of Phil at the ropes, and would have made mincemeat of him if Sampson had not got down cleverly.

3.—Of no importance. Sparring for a short period, when Brown endeavoured to plant a right-handed hit on the upper works of Sampson, but Phil got away from mischief, and Brown, with the force of the blow, fell on his knees. The “big one” jumped up, ready to renew the contest; Sampson was also on the alert to hit; but Spring, considering the round at an end, drew Brown back, who immediately seated himself on the knee of his second.

4734.—Phil took the lead, like a master of the art; his left hand told twice successively on the mug of his adversary, and he retreated from mischief. Sampson put in a tremendous blow with his right on the left cheek of Brown, the claret following profusely. (“He’s winning it nicely,” said the Brums.) The hero of Bridgnorth, rather wild at such unexpected rough treatment, went to work desperately; but Sampson kept milling on the retreat—jobbing Brown, as he followed, with both his hands, until the “big one” closed, got the fall, and dropped on Sampson.

5.—The nob of Brown was considerably damaged; he was also piping. The “big one” made a good stop, but Sampson, undismayed, went to work, and had the best of a short rally. Phil, with a sneer of derision and ill-nature, observed, “You Champion of England!” then, planting a heavy blow on Brown’s left eye, exclaimed, “There’s a small taste for your Championship!” The hero of Bridgnorth, irritated at the taunts, went in to do mischief, but Sampson met his rush with two heavy blows in the front of his head, which floored the soi-disant Champion. (The applause was deafening. “Sampson for ever!” “Sampson for choice!” “He can’t fight at all!” “Send him back to Bridgnorth!”)

6.—Sampson, quick as lightning, went to work, and Brown fought with him; but the former took the lead and had the best of it. Brown, in his anxiety to punish his opponent, stumbled, and his head went against a stake.

7.—The weight of the “big one,” enabled him to drive Sampson against the ropes. The situation was rather dangerous. Brown held him as if he had been screwed in a vice, and kept milling his ribs with his right hand. (The row was immense—applause by the friends of the “big one,” and the Sampsonites hissing and hooting beyond description.) Phil shifted his arm, and changed his position, but still it was most distressing. (“Don’t hang the man, Brown!”) The struggle was terrible on both sides. Phil at length got down, Holt sticking to him closely, and giving him advice how to get out of the clutches of his powerful adversary.

8.—Sampson came to the scratch much better than could be expected after the severe hugging at the ropes in the last round. Phil put in two facers, but received in return a heavy blow on the side of his head. Brown closed, but, failing in a cross-buttock, he dragged Sampson off his legs and fell by the side of him.

9.—The left ogle of Brown was almost in darkness, and one of his listeners and his nasal organ much swelled and out of shape. Sampson, on the sharp look-out, planted another facer with his left. Brown bored in, and caught Phil at the ropes; here the latter not only got out of danger well, but faced his opponent suddenly, and sent in a couple of blows as he went down. (“Well done, Sampson; you are sure to win.”)

10.—Short. Brown was again met in his rush in the middle of his nob; he nevertheless bored in and got Sampson down.

11.—Sampson commenced fighting, and took great liberties with the pimple of Brown, using it for a drum by repeated hits upon the face of the Bridgnorth hero; the latter rallied in the most decisive manner, until they were both down. (Here the outer ring was broken, and thousands of persons rushed forward to the ropes, which were trodden down, in spite of all the opposition of whips, sticks, blows, &c. It was “dangerous to be safe,” and the combatants were compelled to fight in the midst of a mob. Sticks and whips were at work, even to get for the men the space of a yard. No description can be given of the confusion; the heat was intolerable, and the spectators jammed together almost to suffocation.)

12.—Brown could not protect his face from the repeated visits of Sampson’s fists, and went in to bustle him, until they both went down.

13.—The right hand of the Bridgnorth hero told on Sampson’s pimple, but not until the latter had planted two facers. In closing, Sampson down.

14.—Brown was of little use in this round. Sampson hit his nob as if he had a sack of flour before him. It was first a facer—ditto, ditto, and ditto. The hero of Bridgnorth went down covered with claret. (“Sampson for a thousand!” and rounds of applause.)

15.—Brown was distressed beyond measure when he appeared at the scratch, but he recovered and went to work. Sampson again nobbed him, but the strength of Brown obtained him the fall.

16.—The confusion within the ring was dreadful; in fact, it was a mob of persons pushing and hitting each other to keep out of the way of the combatants. The men were suffering severely under the deprivation of air, violent perspiration streaming down their faces. Sampson took the lead as to blows, but he was fought down by his opponent.

17.—The coolness displayed by Tom Spring in this round was the admiration of the spectators, and showed his desire that the battle should be fought out fairly. In all probability, had he returned a blow for the one given to him by Phil, the battle might have been prematurely ended, or at all events brought to a wrangle. In bringing Brown up to the scratch, Spring got before his man, observing Sampson was on the wrong side of the mark. Phil considered the conduct of Spring wrong, and without hesitation gave him a facer, pushed Spring out of his way, and suddenly floored the Bridgnorth hero like a shot.

18.—The “big one” showed game, and came up like a man. But he was of “no use to himself,” and reduced to a bad lot for his 474friends. He napped it in every way, and a floorer finished the round.

19.—Sampson lost no time, but went to work as soon as he had got his adversary before him. Brown fought wildly, till the punishment was too much for him, when he drew back, and Sampson, catching him with an upright hit, dropped him on his knees, giving him a facer as he was going down. (“If that ain’t doing him brown, I never saw anything like it before,” said a Brum who had taken the long odds.)

20.—The heat of the weather and pressure of the crowd operated terribly on Sampson; so much so that froth came from his lips, and he seemed nearly exhausted; nevertheless he came to his work like a man determined to conquer. Phil only wanted room for the display of his milling capabilities. The Championship was completely out of the grasp of Brown, and he might now be registered as Receiver-General. He was hit to a stand-still, and then dropped. (“It’s all over!” was the cry.)

21.—The customers from Bridgnorth now began to look all manner of colours; the secret was told—Brown was beaten against his will. Sampson sent his adversary down like winking.

22–23.—The weight of Brown, in close quarters, enabled him, in closing, to roll Sampson down in both of these rounds.

24.—It was now clear to every spectator that Sampson must prove the hero of the tale. Brown, as a last effort, exerted himself to overwhelm his adversary, but he napped it right and left as he went in, and was sent down like a sack of sand.

25–28.—Brown down. Ditto. Repeated by Sampson. Of a similar description.

29.—Brown staggering like a drunken sailor three sheets in the wind until Sampson hit him down. (“Take him home—take him away; he’s of no use!”)

30–31.—It is true Brown answered the call of “Time,” yet his appearance at the scratch was only to receive additional unnecessary punishment. Sampson sent him down almost as soon as placed before him.

32–42, and last.—The calls of “time” were obeyed by the “big one” in the whole of these rounds, but he had not the slightest chance in his favour. Indeed, it was a pity he was permitted to contest them. At the conclusion of the forty-second round, when he was down, he complained of his shoulder, and was not able to come again. The battle was over in forty-nine minutes. The “big one” was reduced to a complete state of distress—his left peeper completely in darkness, his right severely damaged, and his face fearfully cut. His left shoulder was afterwards found to have been dislocated. His feelings, we have no doubt, were equally cut up, for he had flattered himself that the Championship was within his grasp. He displayed game of the first quality, and after a short period walked out of the ring to his carriage, assisted by Spring and Richmond. Sampson had scarcely a mark upon his face, except a touch under his left eye; but the same side of his nob was peppered a little, and several other contusions were visible. Sampson left the ring amidst loud and repeated shouts in honour of his victory.

Remarks.—No person could dispute the bravery and game exhibited by Brown throughout the fight; he was out-fought by the superior skill and tactics of Sampson. The latter entered the ring with a confidence which surprised the oldest ring-goers; his conduct was decisive in every round, and he never lost sight of the idea of conquest during the battle. The broken state of the ring and the very confined space for the men to fight in were certainly great drawbacks to Sampson against so powerful an opponent as Brown. It was evident that Sampson had improved in strength, and he altogether appeared a better man than in any of his former battles; his right-hand blows were tremendous. The hero of Bridgnorth must have suffered severely from the injury to his shoulder, and none but a brave man would have contested the battle after so severe an accident against such precision and straight hitting as met Brown’s repeated efforts to get on to his opponent.

The return was full of bustle and incident. Sampson’s colours were flying in all directions, out of the windows of houses on the road, on the tops of the coaches, and “Sampson for ever!” to the end of the chapter. The roadside houses never experienced such a day for the return of the ready; and “success to milling” was on the tip of the tongue of every landlord in the county.

Sampson left the ground under the patronage of Mr. Beardsworth in style, and during part of his journey on his victorious return to Birmingham the carriage which conveyed Phil and his friend was drawn 475by eight horses. Through the streets of Birmingham his reception was enthusiastic; Sampson was loudly cheered by crowds, and drawn by six fresh horses, until he reached the house of Arthur Matthewson. Every room in Arthur’s crib was crowded to excess, and the anxiety of the persons in the street to gain admittance, to get a peep at the conqueror of “Big Brown,” defied description.

The Shropshire folks looked upon their champion as invincible, and accordingly dropped their money heavily. In no previous instance of a big fight was there such an unanimity on the side of the “talent” and the “professionals.” Careful betting men laid rash odds and suffered the proper penalty, as the “knowing ones” were thrown out. This battle was followed by an epidemic of letter-writing in the newspapers, provincial and metropolitan. First came our old friend Thomas Winter Spring, who, favoured by the ablest writer who ever devoted his talents to ring reporting (we mean Vincent George Dowling, Esq., Editor of Bell’s Life for upwards of thirty years), gave a graphic account of poor Brown’s dislocated shoulder, which took place in the fourth round, and which fully accounts for Brown’s incapacity to ward off Sampson’s “nobbers.” Spring was justly indignant at Sampson’s blow, and thus, after commenting warmly on the “ruffianism” of Sampson’s friends, he wound up with a formal challenge to Sampson to meet him for £200 a-side, “as it is not my principle to submit to a blow without wishing, like a man, to return it.” Sampson’s reply was characteristic of the man and his wordy amanuensis—full of boasting, bombast, and scurrility. Spring was taunted with “not daring to fight Ward,” beating “stale old men,” Oliver and Painter to wit, &c., &c. Attack, reply, and rejoinder stuffed the columns of the Dispatch, Pierce Egan’s short-lived weekly paper, Life in London, and Bell’s Life. Spring was at last provoked by the repeated threats of Sampson, who boasted in all company how he would serve the “old woman,” to retort with a promise of chastisement. He says:—

“Sampson accuses me of acting wrong in the ring, but he forgets to say in what respect. I defy him or any person to say I did wrong. He also says I wanted to bring it to a wrangle. If that had been my object, I had a very good chance when he struck me—not once nor twice, but thrice; had I returned the blows, it must have put a stop to the fight.

“I think, Mr. Editor, I have answered quite enough of Mr. Sampson’s scurrilous language; but when he speaks of chastising me I pity his weakness, and would have him take care that chastisement does not fall upon himself; for, the first time I meet him, I will put the toe of my boot against his seat—not of honour, Mr. Editor, he has none about him—but where his sense of feeling may be readily reached.

“I hope, Mr. Editor, you will pardon me for taking up so much room in your valuable paper, but unless Mr. Sampson chooses to come forward with his money I shall not condescend to take the least notice of anything he may say after this.

“I am, Sir, your obliged,

“THOMAS WINTER SPRING.

“Hereford, April 24th, 1828.”

476All this gasconading, so foreign to Spring’s character, came to a “most lame and impotent conclusion.” Sampson could not get backed, and the affair fell through. Spring, meeting Sampson soon after at Epsom races, in Merryweather’s booth, declared his intention to fulfil his promise, made under sore provocation, to have satisfaction or an apology for the blow received by him at the fight with Brown. Sampson began to argue the matter, but Spring threw off his coat and called upon Sampson to defend himself. Sampson set to with his coat and hat on. “The crowd and confusion,” says Bell’s Life, “were so great that we have not been able to learn who gave the first blow.” The rally was, however, a determined one, and after being separated the belligerents got together again and fought four sharp rounds. Spring, it is well known, required room to show off his fine fighting, and thus Sampson had the best of the tussle, for such it was. The combatants were of course soon parted by their friends, neither having fulfilled his intent of giving the other “the value of a bating.” Spring, it was stated, was struck by other persons besides Sampson. It ought to be mentioned that Spring proposed to Sampson to come out of the booth and meet him on the course in the open, but the latter declined the offer. The next evening, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, Sampson declared himself ready to fight Spring for £300 a-side, half-way between London and Bridgnorth. Spring accepted the challenge at Tom Cannon’s benefit, at the Tennis Court, the very next day.

A meeting was appointed to take place at Harry Holt’s, where the battle-money in Neale’s fight with Baldwin was to be given up. Here, after some argument, mutual explanations took place. Sampson said that when he “challenged Spring for £300 he was rather fresh; that he would retract it, and declare he had no animosity against Spring.” The latter said he would have an apology for the blows he had received, and Sampson, persuaded by his friends, expressed his regret. Finally Spring offered his hand to Sampson, who accepted it; and over a cheerful glass it was agreed to bury the past in oblivion.

Phil’s next encounter was with Simon Byrne, the Irish champion, for £200 a-side. The battle was fought on a stage at Albrighton, on the 30th June, 1829, when Sampson succumbed after a severe fight of forty-five rounds, occupying one hour forty-three and a half minutes. This, with the disgraceful draw with Big Brown, at Doncaster, in 1831, the details of which will be found in our memoir of Brown (Chapter XII., p. 451), closed the chequered pugilistic career of Phil Sampson, “the Birmingham Youth.”

477APPENDIX TO PERIOD VI.

TOM REYNOLDS—1817–1825.

As a connecting link of two generations of pugilists and of the Irish and English P.R., Tom Reynolds deserves a niche in our gallery. He was best known in his latter days as the mentor of Jack Langan and Simon Byrne, as a sound adviser, a professor of the ars pugnandi, a patron of aspiring talent, and a jolly Boniface in the “swate city of Dublin,” where he died on the 15th of May, 1832, much respected.

Tom was born on the 20th of January, 1792, at Middleton, in the county of Armagh, and early in life came to London as salesman to a relative, with whom he some time lived in James Street, Covent Garden, until, being grown to man’s estate, he became a “murphy-dealer” on his own account.

Tom was decidedly, with the single exception of Henry Josiah Holt, the most erudite pugilist of his day. He had received a good education, possessed a strong mind, and could write as good a letter as any of the “scribes” of the time. Of this he was not a little proud, and the cacoethes scribendi with which he was occasionally afflicted often led him into epistolary contentions in the sporting papers, in which he invariably had the best of his competitors. His “Defence of Pugilism” proves him to have been a writer of no mean pretensions, and the view which he takes of his own profession affords the best apology for its adoption as well as for its encouragement.

About the close of the great Napoleonic wars Reynolds fell into difficulties and was arrested. Reverses in trade, combined with a love of company, at length led to his introduction to the once well-known “College” in what is now Farringdon Street, then called “The Fleet.” Here he had time and opportunity for study, and, having long had a predilection for the science of milling, he attended a regular course of 478lectures, and became a perfect adept at the practice of fives, tennis, and the gloves, and a great favourite with his brother “Collegians.” Being at the top of his class, and rising in fame, it was determined by some envious opponent to take the shine out of him, and for this purpose the celebrated George Head, one of the most scientific sparrers of the day, was introduced as a stranger, and, in a set-to which followed, Head found it necessary to try his best before he could convince Tom that there was a superior to himself. The trial ended in a friendly manner, but both having afterwards partaken rather freely of the “rum puncheon,” some wag insinuated to Reynolds that Head had spoken contemptuously of his fistic talents. This roused Tom’s ire, and he at once challenged Head to combat. Head, nothing loth, accepted the invitation, and a battle commenced on the “College Green” (so called upon the Horatian principle of there being nothing green on or around it), in which the “murphy-dealer” was down in every round. The “janitors,” at length, interfered, and Head was expelled from the “College,” but not till he had received a crack on the listener which considerably confused his senses.

Shortly after his emancipation from the thraldom of “College” duties, Tom commenced business as a professional pugilist, and on the 23rd of July, 1817, entered the lists on Moulsey Hurst with Aby Belasco, the Jew, whom he beat by his determined game in sixty-six rounds and one hour and twenty minutes. In September in the same year (the 9th) he fought and beat Church on the same ground; and on the 11th of November following beat the Broom-Dasher (Johnson), in Lord Cowper’s Park, near Canterbury. Subsequent to these “slices of good fortune,” he became a publican in Drury Lane, but having fallen through a trap-door his health became impaired, and he determined on a sparring tour in the country for the benefit of his health. He was accompanied by Jack Carter and Sutton the Black, and was well received in Manchester, Liverpool, and Dublin. While in the latter city he was matched against John Dunn, a novice, for £50 a-side, and fought him on the 4th of July, 1820, in Donnelly’s Valley, on the Curragh of Kildare. In twelve rounds and fifty-four minutes Dunn was completely done up, being hit to a state of insensibility, while Reynolds had scarcely a scratch.

In his way back to London our hero took Macclesfield in his course, where he was matched against Sammons, who had beaten all the Lancashire pugilists who had been opposed to him. On August 21st, 1820, the match came off within a mile of Macclesfield, and the Lancashire hero was disposed 479of in seven rounds. Tom now proceeded to London, but shortly after returned to Ireland to fight Cummins, but that fight went off in consequence of a forfeit.

Tom next took Jack Langan under his tuition and care, and was his mentor when he fought Tom Spring; acting the part of his secretary, and dipping his pen in gall, then much used in the composition of ink, in the course of his correspondence. His next protégé was Simon Byrne, to whom he afforded the most friendly assistance, and seconded him in his fights with Sampson, M’Kay, and Jem Ward. Previous to the last affair, which ended in the defeat of Simon, he opened a public-house in Abbey Street, Dublin, which he conducted with great regularity until “his sand was run out.” He was decidedly a brave man and a scientific boxer, and left a wife and two children to lament his loss.

As a specimen of Tom’s talent in the use of the pen we append his

DEFENCE OF PUGILISM.

“I must acknowledge the gentlemen of the Press are favourable to the cause of pugilism; and it is not surprising when we consider that the persons conducting it are men, in general, possessing a liberal education, and blessed with a greater share of brains than the average of the community. Yet there is no rule without an exception; for two or three of the London journalists, imitated by a few country flats, occasionally give us a ‘facer;’ though I am confident it is not from conviction, but because they think a little opposition to generally received opinions may suit their pockets better than following the tide, where the brightness of their genius would not make them conspicuous. One of these worthies speaks of us as monsters that brutalise the country; another describes our poor little twenty-four foot ring as the only place in the three kingdoms where rogues and blacklegs spring up like mushrooms; a third says a pair of boxing-gloves debase the mind, and recommends the use of the foils as a preferable exercise; and a fourth, after a most violent philippic against the Ring, blames Government for not immediately putting an end to pugilism, and recommends, as a substitute, that Government should take into their wise consideration the propriety of giving greater encouragement to dancing assemblies. This idea is ridiculous. Certainly, if the editor does fill up his leisure hours as a hop-merchant, I do not blame him for putting in a good word for the shop, but what the devil has dancing to do with fighting? Can two men decide a mill by ‘tripping on the light fantastic toe’? The French dance every night in the week, and all day on Sunday, and what are they the better for that? Are they better men? Can they boast nobler feelings than Britons? They certainly make graceful bows, and there is no doubt dancing has an effect on the heels, for Wellington has often scratched his head, and given them a left-handed blessing, for their quickness in giving leg-bail.

“Because the English are not considered a dancing nation, that is no reason they are brutalised. The most savage people dance; the American Indian dances round his captive while he is roasting him alive; the Italians dance, fiddle, and sing; and, if they consider themselves offended, employ ruffians to assassinate the offender. The dancing Frenchman would shudder with horror at the sight of two London porters giving each other a black eye or a bloody nose, and say ’twas a brutal practice; yet the same fellow, in his own country, would take snuff, grin like a monkey, and cry ‘Bravo!’ at seeing two poor devils boring holes in each other’s hide with a yard of steel. So much for the consistency of the ‘Grande Nation,’ and the sense of the men who recommend dancing as a substitute for pugilism.

“I am no enemy to dancing; in fact, I am passionately fond of music; but there is a time for all things. With every inclination in the world to let every one ride his own hobby in his own way, I see no reason why a poor pugilist should take a facer from the wielder of the foil. Two hundred years ago, when the sword was worn, and decided quarrels in the streets, fencing was, without doubt, a necessary part of every man’s education; but, at the present day, though the foils may be very good exercise, I consider it the height of folly for any man to throw away his money and time in the attainment of an art that can never be of use. But we will suppose two pupils taking their lessons, the one with the gloves attaining a 480graceful method of drawing a cork, painting the margin of an ogle with some of the most beauteous tints of the rainbow, or directing a customer to the victualling-office; the other, with the foil, passes away his hours in attaining precision to pierce the centre of the heart, or in transfixing the ball of the eye, to cause instant death by perforating the brain. Let me ask in this mimic warfare which man’s mind was most debased? Blacklegs are not the peculiar growth of our Ring. Wherever men will sport on chance events, there Mr. Blackshanks will be found walking, and that, too, on shores where the fist is never used except by our brave tars, who often make them scamper by the mere flourish of their bunch of fives. Thieves may be found in the mob that surrounds our Ring; but where are they not to be found? A Radical assembly or Bible meeting is not exempt from their visits; and they will even be found at a charity sermon, praying they may have good luck when the jostling comes on, and may be considered as instruments of divine mercy, sent to deliver good men from the sinful dross of the earth.