an indignant Mentor's "Ah, wy didn't yer
go in, yer fortin' wos at yer feet, it wos, and
yer hadn't the pluck to pick it up!" with
"'Ow wos it last week, and 'ow would it ha'
been if I'd got licked? Didn't I 'ave to run
arf over London to get my larst deposit-money
before one o' yer would advance it for me; and
didn't yer all say it's no use a' doin' it, for
Spice is certain to lick yer? It's fine to
talk," adds Mr. Cuss, with increased
bitterness; " but if I'd gone in and let Spice
lick me, it would a' been 'Cuss is a werry good
man—a werry good man indeed; he hits werry
straight, is a werry good hand at takin' his
gruel, and is werry plucky in the ring, but'"—
and Cuss's scorn intensifies here—"' he ain't
clever!—that's where it is, he ain't clever
enough for Spice!'" The shrewd hard
humorous face of old Bill Augustus, the great dog-
fancier, looks on sardonically, as its owner,
hitching his pepper-and-salt brigand's hat on
one side, turns from Young Scotch Tam to give
the pugilistic giant Boldwin encouragement
and advice, and to hear that the latter's late
opponent, Oils, is in training for another
"mill." The eccentric, the light-hearted, the
"unbought and undefeated" Cherry Moon,
another of the seconds of the day, absently twists
and polishes his massive signet-rings until the
pink and white masonic emblems are as bright
and clean as when they left the engraver; and is
only aroused from his unwonted reverie by the
gallant Raven inviting him to drink.

Tom Byng now announces that the sum of sixteen
pounds ten shillings has been collected, and
this money is offered to the injured policeman,
who is refusing it indignantly, when a superintendent
drives up, and the "squaring" is
abandoned as hopeless. Mr. Ross Filer and
Mr. Rat Bangem have been so suddenly
impressed by the appearance of the superior officer
—an old friend of theirs—that they have struck
across country, and, as I learnt subsequently,
making for the nearest village, return by-and-by
to town as peaceful agriculturists, who listen
with artless interest to their fellow-passengers'
stories of the prize-fight.

A week afterwards, I had the honour of meeting
Mr. Zeb Spice at the Sleepless office, when
he came, accompanied by his secretary, Mr.
Harry Capulet, to draw his half of the battle-
money staked. Cowed, humbled, and abashed,
his appearance and demeanour made a forcible
contrast to his sanguine joyousness when I had
met him here before.* Looking shiftily from face
to face, and meeting no one's eye, he seemed to
have grown plain, coarse, and craven-looking.
Having obtained an order on the Sleepless
cashier for the sum deposited, less " a fiver,"                                                            which that well-known "pug," Fred Rowland,
had been paid for services rendered in ring-keeping
on the uneventful day, Spice pulled a voluminous
document from his coat, and, with the sulky
meekness of a whipped hound, asked for its
insertion in next Saturday's paper. Capulet,
the private secretary—a very necessary officer,
by the way, as Spice cannot write, and had to
put his cross against Joe Cuss's spiky signature
upon "the articles"—now left the room, and
some mumbling personal exculpations
commenced. "Yer've been rather 'ard upon me in
the paper, sir, yer 'ave indeed. Considering too,
I've licked some o' the best men o' my day, yer
'ave been very 'ard. I ain't the man I wos, sir,
but I can't 'elp that. Wy, even a hoss gets old,
don't he, sir, in time, let alone a fightin'-man; an'
I do hope you'll bear me in mind, and say wot
you can. I did my best for my backers, sir;
I did, indeed, and as yer may see by this, I
wasn't fit at the time, which I hope yer'll
remember, sir, if yer'll be so kind." "This" is a
very dirty foot, which is slipped out of its shoe,
and planted on the editor's desk as coolly as if
it were an inkstand. It is stockingless, as if
kept ready for exhibition, and round the ankle
is a silk elastic bandage. Spice is gently
reminded that he showed "this" last week, and
has to be satisfied with the promise that
his own statement shall be published. Cuss
did not appear during my stay, and if report
spoke truly, had been drunk ever since his
contemptible appearance on the battle-field.
* See GENII OF THE RING, page 230 of the
present volume.

Many years ago, the "English Fancy" agreed
that the once-noble art of prize-fighting had
been reduced to so low an ebb by the misconduct
of its professors, that it should be given up as
dead. Accordingly, the leading pugilists and
their patrons assembled together, and on ground
hallowed to them by the memory of many a
tough conflict, formally buried the stakes and
ropes. Why were these ever dug up again or
replaced?

With the Sixteenth Volume will be commenced, in No.377,
                                      for July 14,
                                    THE TALE OF
                       AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE
                               BY A NEW WRITER

                            THE FIFTEENTH VOLUME
will be published on Monday the sixteenth of July, price 5s 6d,
                                       bound in cloth.

*  * The back numbers of All the Year Round, in single
copies, monthly parts, and half-yearly volumes, can
always be had of every bookseller, and at every book-
stall.

                  Shortly will be published, in Three Volumes,
                          THE SECOND MRS. TILLOTSON,
                  BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEVER FORGOTTEN."
                    Tinsley Brothers, 18, Catherine street, London.