the corner, and hit away right and left; Sampson was all abroad and in getting way was hit down. ("Lie there," exclaimed Byrne, "till you're tired of it.")

13. The Brums again tried to cheer their man by shouts, and bantering Pat, but it would not do. Byrne was all alive; it was getting dark, and he made the most use he could of the light which was left. He rushed to his man, jobbed him severely right and left on the nose, and then broke away. He then got well to him; Sampson made his right slightly, but had it bang in the middle of the head in return; Byrne closing, he threw Sampson heavily on his back, falling upon him. This was a burster, and cries of "it's all up" were roared from all directions, while a crowd rushed to the sides of the stage.

14. Byrne now went in to put on the final polish; Sampson stood up gamely and gallantly, but his time was gone by. Byrne punished him as he liked, and then closing, threw him again heavily, with his head on the planks.

again

15. Sampson, on being taken up, was quite groggy, but was once more lifted to the scratch, and was hit down in slaughtering style. This was the last round; for, on being again lifted to the scratch, he dropped of his own accord, quite insensible.

Byrne was, of course, declared the victor. The battle lasted one hour and forty-three minutes and a half, and Byrne may be said to have won without a mark; for with the exception of a little blood from his nose, and a very slight scratch over his lip, there was no appearance of his having been fighting, and especially with such a man as Sampson. five minutes past nine before the fight was concluded.

It was

Remarks.

This was the first appearance of Byrne among the London Fancy, and he has decidedly realized all the most sanguine of his friends could have anticipated.

He is the best two-handed scientific fighter we have ever seen from his country, and possesses a coolness and command of temper seldom witnessed in pugilists from the same quarter. He also possesses excellent science, and wears the nob of a good general-covers his points well, and where an advantage offers, seizes it with a masterly hand. That he is a game man, too, is beyond a doubt; where, then, are we to find his match? That he deserves, and will receive the highest patronage, is certain. When the fatigue which he had to encounter so shortly before the match was to come off is considered, the only surprise is that he should have done half so well. In the opinion of most of the judges who saw his prowess on Tuesday, he bids fair to get at the top of the tree. He has the great advantage, too, of being a well-behaved man, and never to have disgraced himself by the low broils in which some of his contemporaries have indulged. Sampson on this occasion fought well, and with great bravery, but he was clearly outfought, and is not the man he was. He boasted in Birmingham, when the match was made, that he would beat Simon without being unfitted for the ball-room. If he now appears in such a situation, it must be with an Irish beautyspot, commonly called a black eye. We trust his friend, Captain White, will take as much care of him now that the fight is over as he did before, for he has certainly entitled himself to a good name, as far as this battle is concerned.

Byrne returned, after the fight, to Wolverhampton, and from thence to Birmingham, where he arrived at three o'clock in the morning. He did not retire to rest, but sat up to wait for the coach, and travelling outside, amidst the incessant rain of Wednesday, reached the Castle Tavern at seven in the evening. He was set down by the Eclipse at the door, the guard playing, "See the conquering hero comes." Brown, of Bridgnorth, accompanied him.

On the next evening, Sampson showed at the Woodman, Birmingham, bearing ample marks of the forcible arguments of his antagonist. We do not think the betting was heavy on the fight; but those who lost, of course could not be beaten, in their judgment, by fair play, and therefore it must be a cross. As far as we could judge, we were satisfied Sampson did his best to win; but, we repeat, he is not the man he was; and although, in his own opinion, he was never better, we should say, like Ned Neal, he trained too much. It should not be forgotten, too, that he has fought numerous prize battles, and has lived at the rate of twenty knots an hour. Although originally intended for a parson, he preferred nob thumping to cushion thumping. His age is twentyeight years, and he commenced his career at fourteen, in the streets of Birmingham, when he thrashed a fellow called a pug.

At seventeen he fought and beat, in Shoulder-of-Mutton Field, Birmingham, a chap called Milling Camp. He was next beaten by a man named Graves, at Hales Owen. His merits were first recognized by Bob Gregson, by whom he was advised to come to London. This was in 1819, and his first show-off was with Dolly Smith, on Moulsey Hurst, whom he beat. He was beaten by John Hudson twice-two desperate battles.

He beat and was beaten by Aby Belasco, in two prizefights, and won a third, independent of glove rencontres, with the same man. In 1821 he was beaten by Giblets; but while a militiaman in his own country, got the better of Tom Hickman, the gasman, in three rounds. In his next effort, with Abbott, he was beaten, as he was with Birmingham Hall, although he afterwards recovered his laurels by beating Hall in turn! He was subsequently beaten twice by Jem Ward, and once by Ned Neal. With Jem Ward he was more successful. He defeated Paul Spencer, and Brown, of Bridgnorth, and was ultimately floored himself by Simon. So that, taking the whole of his services into consideration, in having to meet a fine fresh young man like Byrne, there is nothing extraordinary in the prostration of his glory. Byrne, we believe, has fought but five times in the Prize Ring-namely, with Larkins, Manning, Avery, M'Kay, and Sampson.

DEAR MR. EDITOR,

John Dockery's humorous account of a day with the Nuggur Hounds set me cock-a-whoop for the pastime; and, on my return from the Presidency, the raw air of the Deccan bringing on my appetite for hunting in a ravenous degree, I determined, although much pushed for time, at once to become acquainted with the master of the hounds-(a man who as a first-rate workman holds a high place in the pages of your magazine) and to form my own opinion of the performances of his kennel. To this end I provided myself with a bit of paper, and arrived in time to receive a hearty welcome to mine host's good cheer, for which he is as notorious as for his style across country.

But first, Mr. Editor, since I have the misfortune to be unknown either to yourself or to the bulk of your readers, I may be permitted to introduce myself as a quiet steady-going personage, so anxious to be considered a tiptop sportsman that I have actually succeeded in cajoling myself into a belief thereof; rather too long in the fork to distinguish myself as an equestrian, otherwise than by repeated quandaries and a lamentable seat; badly mounted

VOL. I.

and by no means addicted to the toilet; on this occasion, moreover, I had contrived to outstrip both my tits and best hunting suit. Now, I had been given to understand that mine host studied a

correct style and appearance (in the field), and hated an ill-dressed man worse than a wall-eyed horse. To follow the Nuggur pack otherwise than on foot, and even then with mine host's consent, appeared therefore impossible.

any

Contrary to expectation, I soon propitiated the master, for I talked away of dogs, horses, and hunting, of which I knew but little, and of Nimrod and the Sporting Magazine, of which I knew still less, for they are both very unintelligible to other than a tiptop sawyer (as will be plainly evinced, since so shrewd and clever a man as Stephen has been compelled to solicit definitions). It was not long ere my new acquaintance gave me to understand that he looked for my attendance at "Boxwood Cover " at six the next morning, when the Nuggur pack would throw off, and a certain find might be calculated upon.

This brought me to the point. I made several awkward apologies for my snobbish dress, and modestly hinted that my hunters

2 c

were still on the road and could not arrive in time; but all was in vain, for my host came down most handsomely with a pair of jack-boots, and his whipper-in generously insisted on mounting

me.

If there be anything in this world more at variance with my general habits than another, it is the practice which obtains with the bang-up ones of the Nuggur Hunt of disjointing time and turning night into day, and I had barely time to jump into bed and bewail the limited period left for repose, when I was abruptly summoned by a blast of the horn,

"Proclaiming the hunting morn."

I confess my ardour for foxhunting was somewhat damped, but I had been caught with my mouth open, and my credit as a sportsman was at stake; so up I got, drew on my double damnables, shook myself into a red waistcoat, nankeen shooting-coat, and my friend's jacks, topped by a steeplecrowned hat, which, like Toby's dog, had been for the last five years my inseparable companion on all sporting occasions, and surveyed myself with the greatest possible satisfaction. I had scarcely lit a cigar to keep out the cold, anticipating from my friend some kind term of approbation, when I was saluted by a view hollo! accompanied by certain witty allusions, which I had conceived my tout ensemble did not in the slightest degree authorize.

After pacing to and fro with considerable anxiety for some time, I was at last hailed by the whipper-in and other élite of the hunting men, whose swallowtailed scarlets, oval-shaped waterproofs, correct tops, and white cords, did in no way tend to increase my self-confidence. Here, for the first time, I had an oppor

tunity of surveying the tit selected for me, and which I was assured was just cut out for my work; he appeared to my eye a clipper of good size and bone, but I have since suspected that he was in the market, for I soon found out that he had an unhappy trick of what the knowing ones call "overreaching," of which they had said nothing.

A start was now made, "And in the dark I followed groping," till we arrived at the fixture; here we were soon joined by my host and the huntsman (who, by-the-by, noticed me only by a sly and most knowing screw of the eye), surrounded by his pack, well brought together by a leatherbreeched, thick, ugly-looking, short, hard groom, mounted on a razor-backed, snuff-coloured galloway, altogether approaching vastly near to Beckford's description of

"enraged whipper-in." The country appeared somewhat awkward, and there was a cruel show of Red Coats and patent Borradailes; my friend the huntsman was a most business-like looking man, mounted on a piece of blood, said to be a good one, known by the appellation of Mowbray; named, I believe, after a celebrated sporting character in Yorkshire. In a few minutes a tantivy from the master's horn set the whole cavalcade in motion; away we went, all of a lump, my commodity with his pimple well in the air, and I was soon brought up in a bog hobble. Having got my toddler out of trouble, I kept my goggles well about me, and had a right good screw to make up lee way. After cramming it full dig for upwards of 40 minutes, I felt much satisfaction in fixing my eyes upon the energetic emulation of the hounds, in "breaking their fox."

They were a set of silent, desperate devils, and during the whole run did not squeak a note for the information of a country lad upon a blower.

I expected to have had a rubbing down after this heat, from the master of Overreach, who had smoked my leg in the plug hole; but after taking breath, mine host approached with an air of satisfaction at so happy a result, and thus accosted me, "Pray, sir, what part of the run might you have considered most worthy of approbation?" to which I most innocently, and, as it subsequently turned out, unfortunately, replied "When they was a catching of him." This answer, it appears, was not by any means calculated to raise me in my friend's estimation, especially after the blunders I had committed regarding my faithful and well-beloved hat, &c. I had barely time to dismount my nag, who was piping all hands aloft, and looked rather thick winded or so, loosen the girths, and congratulate myself on the dangers I had surmounted, not by any means forgetting the good place I had held during the run, when the word "Home" was given.

Whilst returning at a slow pace, I had a splendid opportunity of minutely inspecting all those notorious characters of the Nuggur pack, whether riders, nags, or dogs, collectively and respectively; all so justly renowned in the sporting circles. The huntsman led the van, closely followed by

SIR,

the dogs, each of whom had a portion of the fox in his mouth, the shares of which I observed to be most unequally distributed; one had the fore quarters, a second the head, and a third the tail, and so on; then came two English foxhounds, whose slow pace during the run had precluded any previous acquaintance with them; last and least, came a little bowwow of most remarkable breed, which I learned to be an earthen terrier, used when the fox goes to hole; an animal of the kind I had never before seen; his make was altogether most unique and ingenious, and far exceeds the power of my pen to describe, but I shrewdly suspect that his father is to be found not one hundred miles from the Bandy. In rear of all came leather breeches, on the three-cornered snuff-coloured, and on nearer examination a cruel ordinary man he was.

We soon got home, and the dogs were all flogged into the kennel, excepting two new hands returned N. E. I. We then sat down to an excellent breakfast, after which I mounted my steady one, and bid adieu to mine host under a firm conviction that I might ride very far before meeting so quick, decided, and excellent a sportsman as my new friend, or a better pack of tormentors than his little hounds.

Yours obediently,
NOSING TOM.

With the view of contributing all the assistance in my power (small though it may be) towards your admirable Sporting Magazine, I beg to transmit to you the following account of the last

month's proceedings of our Sholapore Hunt. On the 11th of January, 1830, a party of seven belonging to the Hunt, met at the Bosrah jungle, 40 miles from Sholapore; beat about half through it, when a sounder of four hog took