from a well-filled purse. Enter a closely-shaven
bullet-headed fellow in an ecstasy of excitement
at having just seen Cuss, and at the
exquisite "fitness" of that worthy. "Swhelp my
blank blank!" he cries, delightedly, "if he ain't
a blank picter, with the weins in his face, down
'ere and 'ere, a showin' out just as if a blank
hartist 'ad painted him. Tell yer he's beautiful,
fine as a blank greyhound, with a blank heasy
air with him that looks blank like winnin'.
Take yer two quid to one, guv'nor?" adds the
speaker, suddenly picking out a stout purple-
faced farmer from the group of eager listeners.

Let me here say, that just as it is impossible
to transcribe the pugilistic dialect accurately,
so all idea of its richness and beauty would be
lost if some indication were not given of the
senseless repetition of strong oaths which
garnish the simplest conversation. Bill Judah,
who chimes in here, is an exception to this
rule, and is wonderfully polite. " I'm gettin'
an old man now, and I've been turnin' the
gas out all my life"—a playful euphuism for
keeping late hours—" and I've seen some
sweet mills in my time, but I don't fancy any
of 'em 'el be prettier than wot yer'll 'ave
tomorrer. Yer see, Spice is wonderful clever,
and Cuss 'as youth and strength, and they'll
have a game tussle, that yer may depend
on!" Next, the veteran Judah tells us, in bland
and oily accents, of the experiences of his hot
youth. How he once took the vice-chair at a
dinner where "the Baron" presided; how he
were frightened like, at bein' oppersite so much
talent, for the Baron were that clever and chock-
full o' larnin' there were no touchin' him;
how the Baron made after-dinner speeches, a
quotin' Latin and Lord knows wot; how he
insisted upon old Bill proposing a toast, and
how the latter "licked him out o' time by
stickin' in a lot o' 'Ebrew, which, you'll understand,
I knows a little of naterally, as one may
say;"how this, the brilliant event of Judah's
life, culminated in compliments from the Baron
and from those around, were all told us over the
festive glass. Meanwhile, the sale of tickets
went steadily on, and the scene became a little
dull. The conversation was limited to the
one subject; and though the long line of
figures seated in regular order against the wall
might have sat for the engravings representing
Brutality, Passion, Vice, in Lavater's great
work, the continuous contemplation of their
ugliness became monotonous. Therefore, Leofwine
and myself edge off, and follow our leader
down the cramped and crooked stairs into the
bar. The scene has greatly changed since we
passed through it half an hour ago. The place
is fuller and noisier. A broken-down fighting-
man stands at the swing door, and tells us "he
only has wot he gits," as a modest hint for
largesse, before pulling it open for our exit. The
white-cravated boys and men from Aldershot
are pressing in as we leave. King Harold is
personally known to all his merry men, who
press round him, stand on tiptoe to breathe
obsequious whispers in his ear, prostrate                                                              themselves deferentially, escort him to his cab,
and all the while implore him to reveal where
the train for the fight is to start from, that he
may be spared the outlay of a two-guinea
ticket. " For blank's sake, sir, giv' me the
orfice; wy, Mr. Southall"—King Harold's
nom de guerre "yer knows me, surely, and
that I'm square; giv' us the orfice then, sir,
do! Vell, then, just tell us one thing, is it near
the Alderman's tea-shop? swelp me blank, I'll
keep it dark, only I shouldn't like to miss it,
and I can't afford the special, sir, as well you
know. Wy, wot 'arm could it do, sir? just say
'tea-shop,' yes or no, won't yer, Mr. Southall,
please?" Now, "the orfice," or "office," is
the slang for private information confidentially
given, and "near the Alderman's tea-shop"
referred to a mercantile establishment kept
by a dignitary of the city of London, near
the railway station at Ludgate-hill. But King
Harold kept "the oflice" to himself. The
three gradations of "the Fancy " were very
marked. Those we had left up-stairs were ex-
celebrities, their admirers and friends; those
standing at the bar were the venal hangers-
on and humble parasites of the others; and
those outside were the debased roughs who
regard holding your horse or knocking you
on the head, as equally in their way, and who
now wished to learn the whereabout of the
battle-field, that they might betray the secret to
all comers at sixpence or a shilling a head. So
resolute were they on acquiring this information,
and so positive that it rested with us to give it
them, that they clung to the cab, and
whenever King Harold's attention seemed diverted,
would throw themselves piteously upon the
mercy of Leofwine and the present writer, with
a plaintive "Yer wouldn't like to be kept out
o' seein' the mill, if you wos pore and out o'
luck, would yer, genelmen? then tell a pore feller
if the Tea-shop's right, and ye'll be none
the worse for it."

We cross Smithfield, which is lonely, dark,
and desolate. After traversing many an
unknown thoroughfare, we draw up at the tavern
kept by the renowned Larry Shuntem. "Tom
Sayers's favourite second" is inscribed on the
lamp over the door; and Shuntem is known as
one of the shining lights of the prize-ring. As
soon as Harold is seen we are warmly welcomed,
and pass into the snug private parlour behind
the bar, amid the respectful nudgings of Harry's
male and female customers. Our host is
a bull-necked corpulent figure of fun, who bobs
hospitably about his room, winks knowingly
when introduced to us, and then stands with his
back to his chimney-piece with one leg out and
arms folded like the portraits of the first
Napoleon at St. Helena. His stubbly black hair is
closely cropped; his broad expanse of white fat
lace is smoothly shaven, but with the stiff blue
bristles peeping through as on the back of a
scoured and scalded pig; his restless little eyes
are like a couple of black beads rolling on the
lard of the pig; his voice is a hoarse snuffle,
under each of his flapping ears is a narrow strip