“In Bristol city, while a house in flames Fills the beholders with amazement dire, A damsel at an upper window claims Their utmost pity, for th’ approaching fire— Which every moment seems to gather near, Nor hope of rescue does there aught appear. “At length upon the neighb’ring house-top seen, A gallant youth now hastens to her aid, And o’er the fearful parapet does lean, With spirit dauntless, to assist the maid; Endowed by heaven with more than common might, He grasps her arms, and draws her to the height. “Oh, glorious act! Oh, courage well applied! Oh, strength exerted in its proper cause! Thy name, O Pearce! be sounded far and wide, Live, ever honour’d, midst the world’s applause; Be this thy triumph! know one creature saved, Is greater glory than a world enslav’d.” A short time after the noble deed we have narrated the Game Chicken again distinguished himself in rescuing one of the fair sex from insult and danger. In his way over Clifton Downs, near Bristol, Pearce perceived a young woman suffering much from the rude attacks of three men. Regardless of the consequences Pearce instantly interposed, when they fell upon him with fury; but the courage and science of Pearce soon made them repent of their temerity. The Chicken received their onset with such coolness and intrepidity, and so successfully planted his levelling hits, that one of them of the name of Hood, was so satisfied, in seven minutes, that he bolted, and left his companions to the care of Pearce. In a quarter of an hour, the Chicken so served out Morris and Francis, the other two, that they declined the strife, and apologised for their rudeness, while the terrified female could only thank her gallant defender for his seasonable protection. It would seem that, however Pearce might have been crowned with honour, gratified by the enviable title of champion, and admired by his friends in general—he was not happy. That source of true felicity and real consolation, to which a man flies to alleviate his troubles or participate in his honours, was unhappily polluted, and his wife’s incontinence had rendered home so miserable, that he left his native place never more to return. Pearce now went to different country towns exhibiting sparring, and teaching the art of self-defence, and we need hardly say was much patronised. The Chicken was in the neighbourhood of Oxford when Jem Belcher and Cribb fought their last battle, and felt so anxious as to the issue of the combat, that he set off in a post-chaise overnight lest he should fail to witness the fight. On Cribb’s proving victorious, he exclaimed with great earnestness, “he hoped he should get well, that he might teach Cribb how to fight!”