Upon the deposit being made, the odds were decidedly in favour of Oliver; but previous to the day of battle, they changed to five to four on Neat; the good judges observing that if freshness, length, strength, and height were points towards victory, Neat, who possessed them all, ought to win the fight. The latter, however, sustained some drawback from being an entire stranger to the London fancy. In opposition to these pretensions, Oliver, the darling of Westminster, who had bravely conquered, in succession, Kimber, Hopping Ned, Harry Lancaster, Ford, Cooper, and the determined Painter—but who was rather cast in the shade from his defeat at Carlisle by Carter, if not considered to have received a check to the championship of England—again presented himself to the attention of the amateurs. Many of the old fanciers were partial to Oliver; and if some of them thought him slow, others viewed him as sure, and the odds against him were taken with much confidence. Previous to the fight the betting varied repeatedly, and on Thursday evening both Oliver and Neat were favourites in turn; it might almost be termed even betting. Not a bed could be had at any of the villages at an early hour on the preceding evening; and Uxbridge was crowded beyond all precedent. At four o’clock in the morning vehicles of every description were in motion; and the road from Hyde Park Corner to Gerrard’s Cross was one cloud of dust. The ring was formed upon one of the most delightful spots the eye of a landscape painter could imagine. The scenery was truly picturesque. Bulstrode House, the seat of the late Duke of Portland, was on the left of it; the foliage of the trees, the verdure of the ground, the swelling eminences, and the grandeur of the prospect, rendered the _tout ensemble_ captivating, and the company congratulated each other on the excellent choice which had been made for the display of gymnastic sports. Yet before an entrance could be gained to this elysium of the fancy a handsome tip was demanded at the gate, guarded by more heads than were in the possession of Cerberus of old. But such is the uncertainty of human affairs, in an instant this enchanting scene was changed; all was anxiety and suspense—the stakes were pulled up, the carriages rolled off with the utmost celerity, and the bustling scene became as it were a desert. A magistrate had fixed his paw upon Neat, and no milling could be permitted in Buckinghamshire on that day. Cerberus had now taken flight from the gate, and lots of Johnny Haws stood laughing at the flats who had been drawn of their tin. Rickmansworth, nine miles off, was the scent, and the string of carriages on the road exceeded all calculation. In a field, within a mile of the above place, the ring was again formed; and a few minutes before three Neat appeared and threw up his hat. Oliver immediately followed, bowing to the spectators, and was received with great applause. The latter, on stripping, showed good condition, and was