of a dream: he appeared in a state of confusion, and did not know where he had been hit. A gentleman came forward and offered to back Cooper for £50 to fight the Gas Man immediately, and Cooper, with the utmost game, appeared in the ring; but Hickman had left the ground. The Gas Man was most punished. REMARKS.—Instead of making any remarks upon the above fight, it might be more proper to say, that the Phenomenon (Dutch Sam), the Nonpareil (Jack Randall), the Champion of England, Tom Johnson, Big Ben, Jem Belcher, the Chicken, Gully, Tom Cribb, etc.—without offering the least disparagement to their courage and abilities—never accomplished anything like the following:—Hickman won three prize battles in thirty-one minutes. He defeated Crawley in 13½ minutes. 〃 Cooper 〃 14½ 〃 〃 Ditto 〃 3 〃 —— 31 The preliminaries of Hickman’s match with Tom Oliver are given in that boxer’s life, we shall therefore merely detail the doings of the day of battle. On Tuesday, June 12, 1821, at an early hour, the road was covered with vehicles of every description, and numerous barouches and four were filled with swells of the first quality to witness the Gas again exhibit his extraordinary pugilistic powers. The Greyhound, at Croydon, was the rallying point for the swells. The fight was a good turn for the road; the lively groups in rapid motion, the blunt dropping like waste paper, and no questions asked, made all parties pleasant and happy. The fun on the road to a mill is one of the merry things of the days that are gone; more character was to be seen there than ever assembled at a masquerade. View the swell handle his ribands and push his tits along with as much ease as he would trifle with a lady’s necklace, the “bit of blood” thinking it no sin to hurl the dirt in people’s eyes; the drags full of merry coves; the puffers and blowers; the dennets; the tandems; the out-riggers; the wooden coachmen, complete dummies as to “getting out of the way;” the Corinthian fours; the Bermondsey tumblers; the high and low life—the genteel, middling, respectable, and tidy sort of chaps, all eager in one pursuit; with here and there a fancy man’s pretty little toy giving the “go-by” in rare style, form altogether a rich scene—the blues are left behind, and laughter is the order of the day. Such is a print sketch of what going to a mill was in days of yore.