The old-fashioned encounters in “Sixpenny Corner,” which seem to have been conducted in a more or less formal style, were, of course, most frequent in the days when the Prize Ring occupied a prominent place amongst sports patronised by men of fashion. Young Corinthians who had only just left school no doubt indoctrinated friends still at Eton with enthusiasm for the knights of the fist, and caused them to regard pugilism as a science worthy of attention. A curious piece of etiquette in connection with fighting was, that if a Lower boy wanted to fight one in the Upper School, he could do so only after having obtained leave from the Captain of the school. At one time Eton battles were fought with hats on, which caused the Westminster boys to declare that, owing to the damage inflicted upon knuckles by the hat brims, most Etonian encounters were not of a serious kind. The Sixth Form and Upper boys were expected to see that fair-play was enforced, and that when one combatant was clearly overmatched and plainly worsted, a reconciliation took place. Both were made to shake hands, and having vented their ill-feeling in a manly and honourable way, they were afterwards often found to be the best of friends. A great battle at the beginning of the nineteenth century was the fight between Calthorp and Forster. “Sixpenny Corner,” at the angle where the wall game now takes place, was the traditional scene of battle, and here the great Duke of Wellington, as little Arthur Wellesley, fought Bobus Smith, brother of Sydney Smith, the fight, according to all accounts, ending in a draw. A redoubtable pugilist was Stratford de Redcliffe, who emerged victor from many a tough contest. Less successful was Shelley, who is said to have received a severe thrashing from little Sir Thomas Styles. During another fight the youthful poet attracted a good deal of attention by refusing to rest on the knee of his second, preferring to stride round the ring quoting Homer! No wonder the boys used to call him “mad Shelley”! It must be remembered, however, that he was a constant butt for a large portion of the school. “My belief,” said Dr. Hawtrey, “is that what Shelley had to endure at Eton made him a perfect devil.” [SN: THRASHING A LIFEGUARDSMAN] In the early days of the nineteenth century a gigantic boy named Wyvill became celebrated for his fistic powers. He once gave a Lifeguardsman a severe thrashing in Windsor, and the soldier was so much upset that he went to the Headmaster, Dr. Goodall, to complain of his mauling. The latter, who hated to have to take notice of any Eton escapade, said, “My good fellow, how can you expect me to know what boy it was?” “Boy!” he answered with a country accent; “he is the biggest mun in the tuttens,” or two towns. And so Wyvill ever after went by the name of “the biggest mun in the tuttens.”