[A Monument to BENDIGO, the famous prize-fighter, has been
lately erected at Nottingham.]
_Old Prize-fighter soliloquises_:--
If ever to the "Pelican" alone or with a friend I go,
I sigh for men of muscle who could fight a fight like BENDIGO.
He didn't fight in feather-beds, or spend his days in chattering,
But faced his man, and battered him, or took his foeman's battering.
He didn't deal in gas, or waste his time in mere retort at all;
But now the "pugs" are interviewed, and journalists report it all.
A man may call it what he will, brutality or bravery,
I'd rather have the prize-ring back than give a purse to knavery.
Knaves fight for points, the audience shouts and wrangles in allotting 'em;
I hate their fancy-work, I'm off to take the train to Nottingham.
I like a Man; though modern men and modern manners mend, I go
To drop a last regretful tear o'er poor departed BENDIGO.
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[Illustration: GENTLE SARCASM.
"YESSIR; I GITS 'OME FROM MY LAST JOURNEY AT MIDNIGHT,--AN' THEN I 'AS
THE _REST_ OF THE HEVENIN' TO _MYSELF_!"]
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