battle. Accordingly the scene of contest uniformly selected by the Dead
Boxer was the church-yard of the town, beside a new made grave, dug at
his expense. The epithet of the Dead Boxer had been given to him, in
consequence of a certain fatal stroke by which he had been able to kill
every antagonist who dared to meet him; precisely on the same principle
that we call a fatal marksman a dead shot; and the church-yard was
selected, and the grave prepared, in order to denote the fatality
incurred by those who went into a contest with him. He was famous, too,
at athletic sports, but was never known to communicate the secret of
the fatal blow; he also taught the sword exercises, at which he was
considered to be a proficient.

On the morning after his arrival, the town in which we have laid the
scene of this legend felt the usual impulse of an intense curiosity to
see so celebrated a character. The Dead Boxer, however, appeared to be
exceedingly anxious to gratify this natural propensity. He walked
out from the head inn, where he had stopped, attended by his servant,
merely, it would appear, to satisfy them as to the very slight chance
which the stoutest of them had in standing before a man whose blow was
so fatal, and whose frame so prodigiously Herculean.

Twelve o'clock was the hour at which he deemed proper to make his
appearance, and as it happened also to be the market-day of the town,
the crowd which followed him was unprecedented. The old and young, the
hale and feeble of both sexes, all rushed out to see, with feelings of
fear and wonder, the terrible and far-famed Dead Boxer. The report
of his arrival had already spread far and wide into the country,
and persons belonging to every class and rank of life might be seen
hastening on horseback, and more at full speed on foot, that they might,
if possible, catch an early glimpse of him. The most sporting