Two hours and more the fight had sped, Near unto ten it drew, But still opposed--one-armed to blind-- They stood, the dauntless two. Ah me! that I have lived to hear Such men as ruffians scorned, Such deeds of valour brutal called, Canted, preached down and mourned! Ah, that these old eyes ne'er again A gallant mill shall see! No more behold the ropes and stakes, With colours flying free! But I forget the combat-- How shall I tell its close, That left the Champion's belt in doubt Between those well-matched foes? Fain would I shroud the tale in night,-- The meddling Blues[37] that thrust in sight,-- The ring-keepers o'erthrown;-- The broken ring,--the cumbered fight,-- Heenanus' sudden, blinded flight,-- Sayerius pausing, as he might, Just when ten minutes used aright Had made the fight his own! [Sidenote: _Bull Fight at Islington_] This curious document, valuable as contemporary evidence, worthless as prophecy, serves to show how strangely _Punch's_ humanitarianism was leavened and influenced by primitive instincts in the domain of sport. [Footnote 37: Policemen.] [Illustration: UPPER CLASS: "Winged him, my lord!"] [Illustration: LOWER CLASS: "There's another, 'Arry!"] Pigeon-shooting and bull-fighting were another matter altogether. In 1870 an abortive attempt was made to introduce the latter at the Agricultural Hall, Islington, and the Islington-Spanish bull-fight is treated with a happy mixture of ridicule and contempt in a contribution to _Punch's_ "Evenings from Home." The proceedings appear to have been tame enough, and the bulls were probably "doped," yet enough of the real thing remained to warrant the hostile reception which the entertainment received. At its close the "Islington Spaniards" dispersed to the Islington public-houses. _Punch_ returned to the subject a month later. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals had interfered to good purpose. The Islington bull-fighters had been summoned before a magistrate and fined, and their "entertainment" had been stopped. _Punch_ seized the occasion to add a comment which, on the very day on which, in 1921, I write these lines, is as timely as it was more than fifty years ago:-- From Islington to Wormwood Scrubbs is not far, and it is much to be feared by the tame-pigeon-shooting nobility and gentry that the officers of an impartial Association, vigilant to protect poor animals from cruelty, will as soon as possible be down upon the Gun Club. [Illustration: "TO MEMORY DEAR" ENTHUSIASTIC CRICKETER: "Ah, last season was a good one! I'd both eyes blacked in one match, and two fingers smashed in the return match the same week! But give me 1870 over again. I got the ball on my forehead at 'short leg,' and was senseless for three-quarters of an hour!"] [Sidenote: _Cricket and Football_]