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fatigue than PUNISHMENT; he was not licked as to severe milling, but so completely worn out and distressed, that the fight was all out of him, and he could not lift his hands to continue the contest. We again repeat, he has only himself to blame for being defeated in Twenty-two Minutes and a Half. Had not Brown seriously injured his thumb in the third round, in all probability the battle would have been at an end in half the time; but he was afraid to hit with his right hand. We cannot find fault with the game of either of the men, if we cannot praise their science, or place them on a footing with Spring and Crawley. However, it was generally admitted that, Two Hundred and Eighty-eight Miles was rather too long a distance for so short an INNINGS!!!

Circumstances connected with the Battle. WINNING versus LOSING.-Brown immediately left the ring amidst the shouts of victory-accompanied by Spring and Neal, and a large mob of friends, to the King's Head Inn, in the High Town of Bridgnorth, kept by his brother, to partake of a good dinner. Brown appeared just as much at his ease as if he had not been fighting; his right hand was a little puffed, and his right peeper in mourning. Here it was "all happiness;" the smiles of victory gave an additional zest to the scene; the grub toddled off in quick time; the port and sherry went round like lightning, and the eloquence of Harry Holt, on the subject of Prize Fighting, by way of preface to his toast, "Success to Milling," was generally admired, and drank with enthusiasm.

THE LOSING MAN.-In the High Town, at Bridgnorth, only a few yards distant from the conqueror, at the Royal Oak, we visited Dobell within an hour after the fight. He was in bed, and his brother bathing his face with warm flannels, after he had been attended and bled by a medical man. We were surprised to find him in such good spirits: although in defeat, he was not in despair. He observed to the writer of this article, "that his heart was still in the right place; he did not complain of the punishment he had received, that from fatigue, and FATIGUE alone, he was compelled to give up the battle. He also acknowledged his bad state of health, his want of condition, and that he ought to have forfeited. Brown, in the course of the afternoon, paid him a visit, and they met each other like brave fellows.

Both the High and Low towns of Bridgnorth had a prime turn by the above Mill; all the cribs were filled to an overflow; and the house, "the Bottle-in-Hand Inn," formerly kept by Brown, was crammed to excess. The veteran, Tom Crib, enjoying his cigar; Tom Spring, Ned Neal, Harry Holt, and Harry Lancaster, all gave a friendly call at the "Bottle-in-Hand Inn."

Brown, previous to his defeat by Sampson, stood very high in the estimation of the town's

The

folks of Bridgnorth; and at his opening din-
ner, he disposed of three hundred tickets at a
guinea each; yet his loss with Sampson
tended to render him rather unpopular with
his backers; but although compelled to leave
his house, he sold his property, and paid all
his debts in the most honorable manner.
hero of Bridgnorth is very respectably con-
nected; his father was considered a topping
farmer in those parts, and the early part of
Brown's life was that of a young gentlemanly
farmer. He is also respectably connected by
marriage; and his better half has a small pro-
perty in her own right. Brown altogether is
a well conducted man, a merry excellent com.
panion, and nothing like the slightest degree
of ferocity allied to his manners or constitu-
tion.

Sampson, after the battle was over, rode through the lower town of Bridgnorth on horseback on his return to Birmingham. Several of the Johnny Raws, grinning, asked him if he had seen his Maester? they appeared so elated by the success of Brown. 66 Yes," replied Sampson (laughing), "he has been very lucky to me to day; he is one of my best friends, I have pocketed, by his exertions, £119; and I hope he will be lucky to me another day." "He is your master any day," said an old countryman, shaking his bag of money at him; "he'll tip it to you next time."

66

Very well, old boy," replied Phil, "you shall have it all your own way-so good bye." Sampson, on the previous evening, at Wolverhampton, had put down £10 towards fighting Brown £500 to £300, but he was rather inebriated at the time; and, as a matter of course, the match went off.

The ring was capacious, well kept, and not the slightest interruption occurred; it was also surrounded by several thousand persons, but it wanted the right sort of folks-the swells to give it importance. We are reluctantly compelled to acknowledge this fact, and the appearance of the thing was altogether different from the late ring at Leicester. This deficiency of gentlemen of character and rank was attributed to the recent conduct of Ward. The return from the field of battle to Bridgnorth was truly delightful: the fineness of the day, the windings of the road, of a hilly aspect, for a mile or two, filled with pedestrians and vehicles of every description; the magnificent and picturesque scenery which this part of the country affords; and the romantic appearance of the High Town of Bridgnorth, the castle, the houses built on the sides of a sort of rocky hill, the meanderings of the Severn, the bridge, and the vessels in the river, furnished a panoramic view to the eye of the traveller of the most interesting character, and not easily to be conveyed on paper; yet it tended, in a great degree, to banish the idea from the mind of the amateur, that he had travelled so long a distance from the Metropolis, to obtain so little sport between the above "big-ones."

Printed for Thomas Tegg, Cheapside, by J. Haddon, Castle Street, Finsbury.

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Easter time-'tis quite a treat,
The famous EPPING HUNT;
To view the Cockneys all dead beat,
And, PICKING up, the blunt.

Such jolly dogs-a roaring trade,
The high, the game, the poor;
With many a swaggering blade,
And many a noisy boor!

All sorts of coves, fat, thin, and lank,

All in a merry mood ;

Amongst them, fam'd GEORGE CRUIKSHANK,
And, pun-uing TOMMY HOOD.

To please the Town, and give a sketch,
With Oddities and Whims'-
The public mind upon the stretch,

To purchase his " BROAD GRINS!"

Then down they went to sketch the fun,
A caricaturing shy!

And Tommy Hood quite full of fun;
But BOTH "upon the sly!"

Then Hood he cast his eyes around,
As far as he could see,

The motley group with mirth abound,
To make his PUNS-so free!

George, with his pencil, heav'd a sigh,
On sketching Tommy's frame--
Said, "such a man should never die,*
So great in hunting fame!"
"Tommy must bolt! like other men!
No use to grieve and grunt,"
Said Tommy Hood, showing his pen,
"When Death does ROUNDING hunt."+

Said Hood to George, "come fill your glass,
Here's Tom Rounding's good health!
May years and years jollily pass,
Before Tom's ta'en by stealth."

"My thanks, my boys, clever young men, I've led a jolly life,

And drank and sang-three score and ten, Unmix'd with foe and strife!

"On Spankaway I've led the field,
And cheer'd the op'ning pack;
But Toм to Time must bend and yield,
Although was-" once the crack."

*If not expressed, perhaps, with the same warmth of feeling, as my uncle Toby did over the dying Lieutenant in his argument with Corporal Trim, we have not the slightest doubt but there was as much of heart attached to the sentence, and our friend, George, was perfectly right-such good fellows cannot be spared! Tom Rounding is not an every day sort of man, either in the character of "Mine Host," or in the field as a Sportsman, and the loss of such a character leaves an awful chasm in the society of his friends, who were frequently in the habit of enjoying his company.

It is well known that DEATH does hunt up all his subjects sooner or later, whether in the field or otherwise; and DBATH, so grimly personified by the artist in "Death's Doings," appears to be always in at the death; therefore, if any thing like a Pun can be construed towards the above sentence, if it is not considered as deadly, lively-at all events, it cannot be denied but it is a very grave one!

A good truism of Old Tom-for if George Cruik shank, and the facetious punster Thomas Hood, are not deserving of the title of "clever men," we do not know where to find them; but both the above Gents., as the Players wish to have it said of them, have been "found out" by the public; and those men who can make the multitude laugh heartily without appearing in propria persona before them, must prove themselves a tiny bit above the rank of Commoners in the Scale of Talent!

"With Gladsome good-Governess gay,
And Syren at my heels;

Ev'ry dog has had his day,

The adage-OLD TOM-feels!*
"With gratitude my pulse will beat,
Nor e'er depart therefrom;

Till I'm gone to my last RETREAT,'
You'll then remember-TOM!"

Nothing can be more pleasing to the feelings of the biographer, when he has little more to perform respecting the hero of his sketch, than to deliver " a round, unvarnished tale!" Such being the case in the present instance, and the touches of art not being required to increase the portrait we are about to present to the supporters of the "Book of Sports," we have only to say-come forth thou truly sportsman-like hero-TOM ROUNDING -and the likeness, we flatter ourselves, will be pronounced, genuine :—

Thrice happy they who sleep in humble life, Beneath the storm ambition blows!

Tom and Dick Rounding were brothers, and were born at Woodford on Epping Forest, bred up in the sports of the chase, and lived together fifty years; and if Tom has never had occasion to trouble the Heralds' College to furnish him with a 'Coat of Arms,' nor have been called upon to produce his pedigree, the following song in the Opera of The Farmer' bears so strong an analogy to his ancestors, and his own immediate character, that we are induced to quote it:

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Ere around the huge oak, that o'ershadows yon mill,
The fond ivy had dared to entwine;
Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill,
Or the rooks built their nest on the pine;

Could I trace back the time, of a far distant date,
Since my forefathers' toil'd on this field;
And the farm I now hold on your honour's estate,
Is the same which my grandfather till'd.

He dying, bequeath'd to his son a good name;
Which unsullied descended to me;

For my child I've preserved it, unblemished with shame ;

And it still from a spot shall go free!

The two Roundings commenced their hunting career with the celebrated Will Dean, Dick Fairbrother, and Tom Hatterill, as good Sportsmen as ever England produced; and continued hunting with them, as also with the fox-hounds of Andrew Archer and Esqs., and other gentlemen, till the year 1792. At that period, Toni and Dick Rounding established a pack of fox-hounds, and hunted

Coke,

* Such thoughts will, at times, come across our minds, in spite of all our fortitude to ward off the grand climar of our existence. Shakspeare has most beautifully impressed this sublime truth upon our memory:

-the Great Globe itself!
Yea, all who inherit it, shall dissolve!
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a wreck behind!

"Thusman passes away;" observes an elegant modern author," his name perishes from record and recollection: his HISTORY is as a tale that is told, and his very MONUMENT becomes a ruin."

a great portion of Essex, including a circumference of upwards of one hundred miles; having run equal to any pack of hounds that ever hunted the country. "As the foxes in Essex are so vermin bred," Dick has been heard to say to Tom, "There will be no end to such a fox." "But we'll try, Dick," replied Tom; " and so let us be off, and see which has the best bit of blood." In the true huntsman's style, it was a fine treat to hear Tom Rounding in the field, calling out," Hark` forward! look at Tyrant, Gladsome, and Governess. See here they go! what a head they make altogether! get forward my boys! they are laying at him, as bitter as soot. Now, now for the brush!"

A celebrated fox-hunter in Essex has been

often heard to say, "I compare Dick and his gray horse to the moon; the longer and faster I ride, no nearer can I get to them."

It is worthy of remark, at the period alluded to, the two Roundings did not possess an acre of ground in the country; and no hounds hunted a country more pleasant than they did. The land-owners and farmers of Essex were such lovers of fox-hunting, and the excellent sport which the chase afforded them, that not a murmur escaped their lips. Indeed, the contrary was the fact, as it was the general expression of these gentlemen to Tom and Dick Rounding, "Why do you pass our houses in returning home? You know we have at all times ale and bread and cheese for you and the field, with a hearty welcome."

The two brothers continued hunting with those hounds till 1813, when poor Dick was attacked with a fever and died. This proved a severe separation for Tom Rounding; and it was a considerable time before he got the better of it. At length he took the field once more, and mounted his old favorite horse, Spankaway, to join his brother sportsmen. Tom's appearance amongst them was hailed with delight; and many brave sportsmen can bear testimony of the unrivalled sport they enjoyed, and also the numerous glorious chases which took place.

His fine old horse, Spankaway, was bred by G. Smith, Esq., and got by Ruler, out of a Phenomenon mare, and foaled in the year 1792. Time will undermine the strongest fabric; therefore, his brother sportsmen may form some opinion of the place his master now can take with the hounds; but he still will be with them now and then to join in the whoo-whoop

No man, in the character of "Mine Host," stands higher in the estimation of the public than the above veteran sportsman, as an excellent caterer for his friends, Tom's wines are of the first quality; his liquors equally excellent; and his dinners are served up in a style so attractive, as to evince Rounding's taste for the good things of this life,'

The Horse and Groom is a place of great resort during the summer months: the situation of which from the Metropolis is just the

66

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right sort of pleasant drive" to the man, and not fatiguing to the horse; and from twenty to thirty gigs, besides other vehicles, may be seen standing before Tom Rounding's house every Sunday. The garden attached to the inn is delightful, and the prospects by which it is surrounded truly picturesque and interesting to the spectator; and the "How d'ye do?" and "How do you?" again, occasioned by the meeting of old acquaintances, render Woodford Wells a most attractive situation for the lively and wealthy cits and sporting men in general. Indeed, it might be said, the Horse and Groom is the resort of men of talent of every description, where they can unbend with ease and pleasure, and yet preserve their dignity. The heroes and heroines of the Sock and Buskin' are frequently to be met with here enjoying their hour,' and admiring the beauties of nature! Old Tommy is a favorite with every body-there is so much hospitality and frankness attached to his character and manners-and the most prominent feature in his face, is good nature. We have drank Champaigne here with the celebrated Meg Merrilies;' took Madeira with King Harry the Eighth; and had our goblet of brandy and water filled, again and again, with the highly talented Dogberrymoments only to be remembered with satisfaction and delight. We have also given our opinion on claret with some of the "Plumbs * of the City" who have left their great weight and importance at home for a short period, in order to spend a pleasant hour or two like rational beings, giving Cocker a holiday, with clever fellows and men of intellect, but less favored by fortune-and who had not acquired the secret of "How to grow rich."

At the Horse and Groom also, we have met with in "Life's variegated scene," on our "Road to the Mill," and at other times some of the tip-top heroes of the Fancy; and we never have yet had to complain that our imagination has been injured in the slightest degree by an intercourse with the brave fellows of the P. R. In truth, from the Duke to the Beggar, Tom Rounding never appeared at a loss-civility and attention are his guides upon all occasions-and every visitor is treated according to his deserts; and yet there is nothing like "whipping" attached to his conduct. Hem!-Shakspeare.

The sports on Easter Monday may be said to be under the control of Mr. Rounding, who turns out the stag on the above day, and which circumstance gives such notoriety to the EPPING HUNT, so famous in the annals of cockneyism and which is so richly and characteristically described by the facetious TOMMY HOOD, that we have made the following quotation from his amusing work :

All sorts of vehicles and vans,
Bad, middling, and the smart ;
Here roll'd along the gay barouche,
And there a dirty cart.

* City slang.-A man worth 100,000.

And lo! a cart that held a squad,

Of costermonger line,

With one poor hack, like Pegasus,
That slav'd for all the Nine!

Yet marvel not at any load,

That any horse might drag;

When all that morn at once were drawn
Together by a stag!

Now when they saw John Huggins* go,
At such a sober pace;
"Hallo!" cried they; "come, trot away,
You'll never see the chase !"

But John, as grave as any judge,
Made answers quite as blunt;
"It will be time enough to trot,

When I begin to hunt."

And so he paced to Woodford Wells.
Where many a horseman met,
And letting go the reins, of course,
Prepared for heavy wet.

And lo! within the crowded door,
Stood ROUNDING, jovial elf;

Here shall the Muse frame no excuse,
But frame the man himself.

A snow white head,t a merry eye,
A cheek of jolly blush ;
A claret tint laid on by health,
With master Reynard's brush.

A hearty frame, a courteous bow,
The prince he learn'd it from;
His age about three-score and ten,
And there you have Old Toм.
In merriest key, I trow was he,
So many guests to boast,
So certain congregations meet,
And elevate the host.

"Now welcome lads," quoth he," and prads
You're all in glorious luck:
Old Robin has a run to day,

A noted forest buck."

A pleasing association of ideas is connected with the recollection of our first visit to the Easter Hunt-the animating bustle on the road-a complete picture of life in all its varieties-the strange mixture of pedestrians and esquestrians, from the costermonger on his donkey to the best thorough-bred gent. The gibes and sneers from the well-mounted downy ones to the flats and dragsmen-the fast goers, with the friendly nods of sporting spiritstheir rendezvous and pull up at our esteemed and old friend Tom Rounding's. We think we see this fine old huntsman, with his goodhumoured countenance, greeting his friends with his hearty "How d'ye do glad to see you here what, my old acquaintance? Harry, take this gentleman's horse," &c. Here follow-seeing the stag, finishing your lunch, and, while commenting on the motley arrivals, some friend whispers à cheval :

*The hero of Mr. Hood's Epping Hunt-a second John Gilpin who also went further than he intended, but nevertheless came home safe at last.

+ Mr. Hood, we trust, will pardon us, but taste is every thing; and although we love a good pun, and enter into the spirit of that species of wit, when it flows spontaneously from the mind-yet, in our humble opinion, the above two verses are the very best in the Book-they are true to Nature-there is life blood attached to them, and must be considered as a rich pen and ink portrait of our worthy old Sporting friend, "mine Host" of Woodford Wells.

'Tis near the time o' day The hounds begin to bay; Each at his best speed Starts for Fair Mead.

Then begins the bustle of mounting, and, or the hill, the beautiful assemblage of the fair sex, in elegant carriages, finely grouped with the pedestrians and equestrians, form, with the surrounding scenery, a beautiful panoramic view. Then comes our friend Tom

with

All the attendants of the chase,

While anxious sportsmen take their place;
The stag turns out, and gracefully bounds
Before the music of the hounds.

Then follows a scene that is as difficult to conceive to those who have not seen it as to describe by those who have seen huntsmen who never hunted before. Horses that hunt without riders are to be seen scattered over the forest, intermixed with chay-carts, donkies, ponies, and pedestrians, while the few well mounted sportsmen, who know how to keep their proper places, are soon lost sight of:-it is thus that Mr. HooD gives the reader a fine pictorial sketch of it:

'Twas strange to think what difference
A single creature made;

A single stag had caused a whole
Stagnation in their trade.

Now Huggins from his saddle rose,
And in the stirrups stood;
And lo! a little cart that came,
Hard by a little wood,

In shape like half a hearse-though not
For corpses in the least;
For this contained the deer alive,
And not the dear deceased!

And now began a sudden stir,

And then a sudden shout,
The prison doors were open'd wide,
And Robin bounded out!

His antler'd head shone blue and red,
Bedeck'd with ribbons fine,

Like other bucks that come to list,
The hawbucks in the line.

Good lord! to see the riders now,
Thrown off with sudden whirl,
A score within the purling brook,
Enjoy'd their " early purl !"

Some lost their stirrups, some their whips,
Some had no caps to show:

But few, like Charles at Charing Cross,
Rode on in statu quo.

"O dear! O dear!" now might you hear, "I've surely broke a bone;"

"My head is sore," with many more

Such speeches from the thrown.

Away they went then dog and deer,
And hunters all away,-

The maddest horses never knew,
Mad staggers such as they!

When thus forlorn, a merry horn
Struck up without the door;
The mounted mob were all return'd:
The Epping Hunt was o'er.

And many a horse was taken out

Of saddles, and of shaft;
And men, by dint of drink, became
The only "beasts of draught."

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