And the shouts of his backers rolled on in their pride.
The swells of the Ring and the stars of the Turf
Surged round like the waves of the storm-beaten surf.

And there lay the "Blower," distorted and pale,
With the blood on his brow where the blows fell like hail.
_His_ backers were silent, he lay there alone,
His mawleys unlifted, his trumpet unblown.

And the "Sports" of the South are all loud in their wail.
But _Punch_, who hates bullying brutes, can but hail
That smart Californian's pluck, skill, and strength,
Who has pricked the big SULLIVAN bladder--at length!

* * * * *

"FONS ET ORIGO."--As to London Water "seek Wells," that is if you
wish to avoid unpleasant seq-uels. "_Don't_ leave Wells alone" is our
motto, meaning "Sir SPENCER" of that ilk, who has a deal worth hearing
to say on this subject.

* * * * *

[Illustration: TWO SIDES TO A QUESTION.

_Major Podmore_. "CONGRATULATE YOU, DEAR BOY!"

_Disappointed Cricketer_. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN? BOWLED FIRST BALL--NEVER
GOT A RUN!"