provided. Both the bores, I may observe, shot execrably during the
day. In the evening, after a short preliminary skirmish, from which
SHABRACK the hussar extricated us with but little loss, that which we
desired came to pass. It was a terrible spectacle. In a moment both
these magnificent animals, their bristles erect, and all their tusks
flashing fiercely in the lamp-light, were locked in the death-grapple.
Every detail of the memorable struggle is indelibly burnt into my
brain. Even at this distance of time, I can remember how we all looked
on, silent, awestruck, fascinated, as the dreadful fight proceeded
to its inevitable close. For the benefit of others, let me attempt to
describe it in the appropriate language of the Ring.

GREAT FIGHT BETWEEN THE KENTISH PROSER AND THE HAMPSHIRE DULLARD.

_Round I._--Both men advanced, confident, but cautious. After sparring
for an opening, the Proser landed lightly on the jaw with,--"When
the Duke of DASHBURY did me the honour to ask me to his Grace's
noble deer-forest." He ducked to avoid the return, but the Hampshire
Champion would not be denied, and placed two heavy fish-stories fair
in the bread-basket. The Proser swung round a vicious right-hander
anecdote about a stag shot at 250 yards, but the blow fell short,
and he was fairly staggered by two in succession ("the tree-climbing
rabbit," and "the Marquis of DULLFIELD'S gaiters"), delivered straight
on the mouth. First blood for the Dullard. After some hard exchanges
they closed, and fell, the Dullard underneath.

_Round II._--Both blowing a good deal. The Proser put up his Dukes,
and let fly with both of them, one after another, at the Dullard's
conk, drawing claret profusely. Nothing daunted, the Dullard watched
his opportunity, and delivered a first-class Royal Prince on the