Was instituted for the combined purpose of encouraging drinking, and what
its admirers term the noble art of self-defence. There was a time when
boxing was in fashion; when but few of our noblemen and gentlemen did not
take lessons in the pugilistic art. "I can assert, without fear of
contradiction," writes Pierce Egan, "that I furnished the present Duke of
Buccleuch with a pair of boxing-gloves and all the volumes of 'Boxiana'
during his studies at Eton College." Prince George of Cambridge learnt
the rudiments of the art from young Richmond; the late Duke of Portland
was a pupil of that Jackson whose name is familiar to all readers of
Byron. At the first public dinner of the Pugilistic Society, held at the
Thatched House Tavern, 1814, a baronet, Sir Henry Smith, was in the
chair; and it is a fact, when the war with France was terminated, and the
Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia, accompanied by Blucher and
Platoff, visited this country, that not anything they had witnessed
appeared to interest them more than the sparring matches between Jackson,
Tom Crib, Belcher, Old Dutch Sam, at a _dejeuner_ given by Lord Lowther
at his mansion. Indeed, so delighted were those great masters of the art
of war with the combats between those first-rate boxers, that Messrs
Blucher and Platoff had a second exhibition by their own express desire
at the Earl of Elgin's house. Actually even in the House of Commons Mr
Wyndham favoured the House with a description, warm and glowing, of a
recent contest between Richmond and Maddox, of which he had been a
spectator; and it is not long since Mr Gully, a prize-fighter,
represented Pontefract. The late George IV., when Prince of Wales, was
also a spectator at the fight upon a stage on Brighton Downs between Tom
Tyne, a distinguished boxer, with a publican of milling notoriety. The
latter was killed by a blow on his temple, and died almost upon the
instant. The royal debauchee never attended another, but his brother,
the late William the Fourth, was often a spectator of the matches on
Moulsey Hurst. In this respect the age has made progress. Our noblemen
no longer patronize the prize-ring. Our young princes have a purer
taste. Yet the institution, with all its brutality and blackguardism,
still exists, and in the _Advertiser_, side by side with an article
bewailing the spread of German neology in our dissenting colleges, or
speaking evil of such earnest workers in the wide field of philanthropy
as Maurice or Kingsley, you will read of one of the beastly prize-fights
which still disgrace the land. But the _Advertiser_ is the publicans'
paper, and it is a fact easily understood, that the prize-fighter, when
his day is over, generally keeps a public-house, which is generally
called a sporting-house. A warm admirer of them writes, "Fun, civility,
mirth, good-humour, and sporting events are the general theme of
conversation to be met with over a cheerful glass at the above houses."
Ben Caunt's, in St Martin's-lane, is perhaps the principal one, but there
are some five or six besides in various parts of the metropolis. Let us
enter one. In spite of the assurance of civility and good humour, I
don't think you will stay long, but will feel on a small scale what
Daniel must have felt in the lions' den.
We enter, we will say, Bang Up's hostelry, about ten on a Thursday
evening; there is Bang Up at the bar, with his ton of flesh and broken
nose. Many people think it worth while to go and spend one or two
shillings at Bang Up's bar, merely that they may have the pleasure of
seeing him, and consider him cheap at the money. I don't admire their
taste. I once spent an evening with the Norfolk Giant, and I did not
find him very witty or well informed. But let us walk up-stairs, having
first paid sixpence to a doorkeeper, by appearance a negro, for which we
are to receive a certain amount of refreshment, if beer and grog come
rightly under that denomination; at length we find ourselves in a very
ordinary room, with very extraordinary people in it. First, there are
the portraits--_imprimis_ Bang Up, looking grosser and more animal than
ever. Secondly, Mrs Bang Up, the exact counterpart of her bosom's lord;
then a tribe of Bang Ups junior, of all sizes and sexes, attract our
astonished eyes. Then--for the room is a complete Walhalla--we have
portraits of sporting heroes innumerable, with villanous foreheads, all
"vacant of our glorious gains," heavy eyes, thick bull necks, and very
short croppy hair. Here Gully vanquishes Bob Gregson, "the Lancashire
champion," one of the finest and most formidable men of the day. There
Jack Randall and Ned Turner display "a fine science and capital
fighting," almost unparalleled, and so on; for the list is long, and it
is one we do not care to repeat. We seat ourselves at the further end of
the room, with a few gentlemen drinking gin and smoking cigars. Twenty
or thirty mean-looking men are seated along the side; they are mostly
dirty, and have broken noses; they are not very conversational, but seem
chiefly to be deeply engaged in smoking. At length the waiter brings out
some boxing gloves; one man takes off his coat and waistcoat, possibly
his shirt, and puts them on; another does the same--they stand up to each
other, the gents at the table encourage them, and the seedy men with
broken noses look on very knowingly; they spar for some time, till the
one feels that he cannot touch the other, and throws down the gloves; a
small collection is then made for the noble art of self-defence, which, I
presume, is divided amongst the performers; other actors come upon the
stage, and the friendly contests are maintained till Bang Up closes his
public-house for the night. As I came out, it was a great consolation to
me to think that there are not many such places in London. The style of
men thus created are, I fear, neither useful nor ornamental. They have a
nasty ticket-of-leave look, and I would fain dispense with their company
in quiet back streets during the small hours. One other thought may
console you; the sporting public-house, once popular, now attracts but a
few, and that few a weak and vicious class. Is not this matter of
encouragement?