Tom Oliver, originally a member of the most ancient of callings—a gardener—lives in the memory of hundreds of modern ring-goers as the civil, active, diligent, and respectable _custos_ of the P.R. ropes and stakes; enjoying in a green old age, despite occasional twinges of the gout, the post of “Commissary,” assisted latterly in his duties by his son Fred, also known as a pedestrian. Tom, who was a fine specimen of manhood, entered the ring somewhat late in life. An anecdote is preserved that his first appearance in the ring was owing to his accidentally witnessing the battle between Silverthorne and Dogherty, at Coombe Warren, in January, 1811, where Tom was engaged in digging and planting. He is said to have remarked on their display—“Well, if you call this prize-fighting, I’ll be hanged if I don’t think I could fight a little,” and he determined to put his abilities to the test of experiment. At his début Tom received the appellation of “The Battersea Gardener,” from his general place of employment; he was, however, born at Breadlow, in Buckinghamshire, in June, 1789. He left his native place a mere boy, and lived in the service of Mr. Baker, a gardener at Millbank. Here he made his first attempt at milling, with one Kimber, a stonemason from Walham Green. The battle took place in the dominions of old Caleb Baldwin, Tothill Fields, Westminster, for a couple of guineas a-side. Oliver was seconded by Silverthorne and Byrne. It was a heavy fight for an hour and forty minutes, when Oliver’s strength and game prevailed, and he was hailed the conqueror. Oliver’s second engagement also took place in Tothill Fields, with a fighting man denominated “Hopping Ned.” The sum fought for was four guineas a-side. Oliver, rather diffident of his own abilities, when pitted against a scientific pretender, proposed that the loser should receive two guineas by way of consolation for defeat; but Ned, confident in his own prowess, scouted the idea, and declared the entire sum should go to the conqueror, which was ultimately agreed to. But such is the uncertain fate of war, that “Hopping Ned,” who had congratulated himself with what ease and dexterity he would serve out the Gardener, was, in the short space of a quarter of an hour, so completely milled out of all conceit of his fighting, that he was reluctantly compelled to cry, enough! He was convinced of his error by retiring severely punished, without the benefit of the two “quid.” Oliver was so much in obscurity at this period that the fighting men present seemed rather shy in seconding him, and a novice must have performed that office, if Silverthorne and old Dick Hall had not appeared, and stepped forward to bring their friend through the piece.