and that therefore the idea that he, who imbibes from a black jack, acquires a superior fierceness or martiality of aspect, must be classed among such innocent delusions as induced the barber to recommend whitehandled razors as the best fitted for abrading of beards.

Lastly and finally, we cannot help being pleased by the vein of genuine and unaffected piety which runs through both these dignified compositions. The prayers which in both conclude each verse, though more varied and poetical in the latter, are not more solemn and impressive than the solitary ejaculations of blessing bestowed upon the earlier production. There is something striking, which sinks in to the soul, in the constant chorallike repetition of the one formulary which amply compensates for the picturesque diversity, which excites our admiration, but fills us not with awe. The one goes to the head-the other to the heart. To conclude, if the brows of the inventors of the Bottle and Jack deserve to be bound with snow-white fillets, as being men who civilized life by new productions of art and genius, the bards who hymned their exploits may justly claim the same honour, as being pious poets, who spoke things worthy of Apollo. M. OD.

FISTS AND THE MAN I sing, who, in the valleys of Hampshire,
Close to the borough of Andover, one fine day of the spring-time,
Being the twentieth of May, (the day, moreover, was Tuesday,)
Eighteen hundred and twenty-three, in a fistical combat,

Beat, in a handful of rounds, Bill Neat, the butcher of Bristol.
What is the hero's name? Indeed, 'tis bootless to mention.
Every one knows 'tis Spring-Tom Spring, now Champion of England.t
Full of honours and gout, Tom Cribb surrendered his kingdom,
And in the Champion's cup no more he quaffs as the Champion.
Who is to fill his place? the anxious nation, inquiring,
Looks round the ring with a glance of hope and eagerness blended.
Everywhere would you see deep-drawn and puckered-up faces,
Worn by the people in thought on this high and ponderous matter.
Spain and Greece are forgot-they may box it about at their pleasure;
Newport‡ may brandish his brogue unheard at the Sheriff of Dublin ;

*This imitation (so far as the metre goes,) of Southey's ment," appeared in Blackwood for July, 1823.— M.

“Vision of Judg

Tom Spring's real name was Thomas Winter. He was a native of Herefordshire. In stature he was tall, in strength great, in science superb, in pluck unrivalled, in honesty above all doubt, in aspect pleasing, in manners mild. For many years after he left the Ring he kept the well-known public-house yclept "The Castle," in Holborn, London, not far from the principal entrance to Gray's Inn. He was particularly placid in temper and unassuming in demeanor. Always attired in black, with an irreproachable white cravat, he gently moved among the pewter-pots, in his bar, reminding one more of a cler gyman than of the Champion of England. At night he presided in a free-andeasy, celebrated for its vocalization, in his own hostelrie, and many went thither to see him in the chair. But his proper place was in the little parlor behind the bar, every inch of its walls covered with portraits of pugilists save one little corner, which contained a few shelves on which were ranged sundry volumes of the Racing Calendar, (for Tom Spring latterly affected to patronize the Turf,) and the whole of Pierce Egan's "Boxiana." In that little snuggery, where a substantial joint ever ornamented the table, punctually at half-past one, I have met with members of parliament, authors, barristers, doctors, and country gentlemen who were on friendliest terms with Tom. Perhaps, also, they might come to see the bright eyes of Tom's niece—the rosiest and plumpest of feminines! Tom Spring was a fair fighter and an honest man. He realized a considerable sum by his business of innkeeper.— M.

‡ The late Sir John Newport, a patriot in the Irish and a placeman in the English Parliament. He was Comptroller of the Exchequer, with £2000 a year salary, for many years, but lent himself to a scandalous job, connected

Canning may give the lie to Brougham,* and Brougham be a Christian;
Hume may be puffing Carlile,† or waging a war upon Cocker;
Byron may write a poem, and Hazlitt a Liber Amoris ;‡
Nobody cares a fig for the Balaam of Baron or Cockney.
All were absorbed at once in the one profound speculation,
Who was the man to be the new pugilistical Dymoke.§

Neat and the Gasman put up, and the light of Gas was extinguished.
Woe is my heart for Gas! accursed be the wheel of the waggon
Which made a pancake|| of blood of the head of that elegant fellow.
He had no chance with Neat; the fist of that brawny Bristolian
Laid him in full defeat on the downs of Hungerford prostrate.
Great was the fame of Bill; the ancient city of Bristol
[Bristol, the birth-place dear of the Laureate LL.D. Southey—
Bristol, the birth-place too of Thomas Cribb the ex-Champion]

with it, in 1839. At that date, the Melbourne Ministry was so nearly "done up" that some of its members, whose private fortune was small, looked out for the loss of place and pay. Among these was Mr. Spring Rice, Chancellor of the Exchequer, with £5000 a year salary. He prevailed on Old Newport to resign his £2000 per annum as Comptroller of the Exchequer, obtained a retiring pension of £1000 out of the public revenue, made up another £1000 a year out of his own pocket, and had himself appointed to the then vacated Comptrollership, which he has held ever since. Newport lived for a few years —at a cost to the country of £1000 a year and of as much more to Mr. Spring Rice, who was created Lord Monteagle on quitting the Ministry.— M.

* Alluding to Canning's celebrated response “I rise to say that that is false" to Brougham, who charged him, in Parliament, with being guilty of most monstrous political tergiversation.”—M.

† Richard Carlile who, for many years, kept a shop in Fleet street, London, for the sale of irreligious publications, was repeatedly convicted and imprisoned, and finally became an itinerant preacher of the Gospel.- M.

‡ "Liber Amoris, or the Modern Pygmalion," was an unfortunate book, by William Hazlitt, in which is detailed how he loved a tailor's daughter and was jilted by her.- M.

§ Dymoke of Scrivelsbaye is hereditary Champion of England, and one of the family appeared, as such, at the gorgeous Coronation of George IV.-M. || "My troth, gin yon chield had shaved twa inches nearer you, your head, my man, would have lookit very like a bluidy pancake."— Reginald Dalton. You see I agree with Southey, a man for whom I have a particular esteem, that people ought to indicate the most minute sources of information. Yet the Doctor is not always so fair-the most splendid passage in his Roderick is merely a transcript of a conversation I had with him on the top of one of the Bristol coaches in the year 1814; and yet I do not recollect that he anywhere alludes to the circumstance. Indeed, he seldom mentions my name in any of his writings. Yet I respect him highly, and frequently mention him in my works.-M. OD.

Hailed him with greetings loud; and, boldly declaring him matchless,
Challenged the boxing world to try his valour in contest.

London replied to the call the land of the Cockneys, indignant
At this *yokel attempt to set up a Champion provincial,

Looked with its great big eyes at Spring, and Spring understood it,
Everything soon was arranged; the time was fixed for the battle;
Cash on each side was posted, a cool two hundred of sovereigns;
And the affair was put beneath the guidance of Jackson.t
I sha'n't delay my song to say, how some Justices tasteless
Twice by the felon hand of power prevented the combat.‡
Vain the attempt as base as well the clashing of comets
Would be prevented by them, as the onslaught of pugilist rivals.
When the great day arrived, big with the glory of Britain,
Bustle be sure there was, and riding, and running, and racing;
Nay, for three days before, the roads were wofully crowded;
All the inns were beset, each bed had a previous engagement;
if you came in late, you were left in a bit of a hobble

So,

Either to camp in the street, or sleep on three chairs in the bar-room.
Chaises, coaches, barouches, taxed carts, tilburies, whiskeys,

Curricles, shandry-dans, gigs, tall phaetons, jaunting cars, waggons,

Cabriolets, landaus, all sorts of vehicles rolling,

Four-wheeled, or two-wheeled, drawn by one, two, three, or four horses ;
Steeds of various degrees, high-mettled racer, or hunter,

Bit of blood, skin-and-boner, pad, hack, mule, jackass, or donkey ;§
Sniffers on foot in droves, by choice or economy prompted;
Grumbling Radical, pickpocket Whig, and gentleman Tory,
Down from ducal rank to the rascally fisher of fogles,|]
Poured from London town to see the wonderful action.
Thirty thousand at least were there; and ladies in numbers
Rained from their beautiful eyes sweet influence over the buffers.
Well the ground was chosen, and quite with the eye of a poet;
Close to the field of fight, the land all rises around it,

Amphitheatrical wise, in a most judgmatical fashion.

There had the Johnny-raws of Hants ta'en places at leisure,

* Yokel. - Provincial, I opine; but am not sure. If wrong, shall correct in second edition; or, at all events, in time for the third.-M. OD.

† Jackson, once a prize-fighter; afterward a teacher of pugilism. Lord Byron, who was one of his pupils, has repeatedly mentioned him—always with praise. In his more advanced years, when I saw him, the gravity of his aspect and gentleness of his manners were particularly observable.-M.

‡ A magistrate in England always possesses, and sometimes has exercised, the power of preventing prize-fights — as leading to breaches of the peace.— M. $ Jackass, or donkey. I mean the four-footed animals. No allusion whatever to any he or she Whig-they being biped.-M. OD.

|| Fisher of fogles, i. e. pickpocket. A fogle is a handkerchief. M. OD.

Many an hour before the combatants came to the turn-up.

We were not idle, be sure, although we waited in patience;
Drink of all sorts and shapes was kindly provided to cheer us;
Ales from the famous towns of Burton, Marlboro', Taunton ;
Porter from lordly Thames, and beer of various descriptions;
Brandy of Gallic growth, and rum from the isle of Jamaica ;
Deady, and heavy wet, blue ruin, max, and Geneva;

Hollands that ne'er saw Holland, mum, brown stout, perry, and cyder;
Spirits in all ways prepared, stark-naked, hot or cold watered;

Negus, or godlike grog, flip, lambswool, syllabub, rumbo ;
Toddy, or punch, or shrub, or the much sung stingo of gin-twist;
Wines, in proportions less, their radiance intermingling.*
Flowed like a stream round the ring, refreshing the dry population.
Glad was I in my soul, though I missed my national liquor,
And with a tear in my eye my heart fled back into Ireland.
†Whiskey, my jewel dear, what though I have chosen a dwelling
Far away, and my throat is now-a-days moistened by Hodges,―
Drink of my early days, I swear I shall never forget thee!
Round the ring we sat, the stiff stuff tipsily quaffing. ‡

[Thanks be to thee, Jack Keats; our thanks for the dactyl and spondee Pestleman Jack, whom, according to Shelley, the Quarterly murdered With a critique as fell as one of his own patent medicines.]

Gibbons appeared at last; and, with adjutants versed in the business, Drove in the stakes and roped them. The hawbuck|| Hottentot Hantsmen Felt an objection to be whipped out of the ring by the Gibbons. Fight was accordingly shewn, and Bill, afraid of the numbers, Kept his whip in peace, awaiting the coming of Jackson.

Soon did his eloquent tongue tip off the blarney among them;

* Their ra-di-ance inter-mingling.-There is a fine spondaic fall. What do you think of that, Doctor Carey? Read the line over three times before you answer. It must put you in mind of

Ag-mi-na circum-spexit.”—Virg.— M. OD.

† Whiskey, my jewel dear, &c.—These fine lines are imitated from the Vision of Judgment. See the passage beginning, "Bristol, my birth-place dear, what though I have chosen a dwelling," &c. &c.-M. OD.

‡ Tipsily quaffing.—From a poem about Bacchus, written by poor Jack Keats, a man for whom I had a particular esteem. I never can read the Quarterly of late, on account of the barbarous murder it committed on that promising young man. Murray can never come to luck. Indeed, since Keat's death, he has been publishing Sardanapalus, and Cain, and Fleury's Memoirs, &c. &c. which must give some satisfaction to the injured shade of the deceased.M. OD.

"Strange that the soul, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be muffled out by an article."- M.

|| Hawbuck.- Johnny Raw to the last degree. — M. OD.