legs; but in struggling for the throw, Spring, with the utmost agility, turned Neat over in his arms and sent him on the ground, falling upon him. Between nine and ten minutes had elapsed. (The chaff-cutters from the Long Town were now roaring with delight—“Spring for ever—for anything—he can fight for a day and a night into the bargain.”) Seven to four on Herefordshire. 2.—The superiority displayed by Spring in the preceding round rather alarmed the backers of Neat. They did not expect it. The “lady’s-maid fighter,” as he had been libelled—the “china-man,” as he had been designated—the “light tapper,” as he had been termed—thus to set at defiance the slaughtering hitter Neat; nay more, to turn the scales and take the lead of him, operated severely on their feelings. A long pause occurred. Spring stood as firm as a rock, Neat unable to get at him; he, however, endeavoured to plant a hit, but it fell short. Both men now made themselves up for mischief, and counter-hits followed. Spring’s right went in so severely over Neat’s eye that the claret followed instantly. Spring exclaimed, “First blood, Neat.” This touch confused the Bristol hero a little; but he tried to give his opponent a heavy blow, which fell short. Spring, in return, gave him so sharp a nobber, that Neat looked round, and was nearly going down.—(Disapprobation.) The latter collected himself, and showed fight, when Spring fought his way into a close, fibbed Neat with the utmost ease, and sent him down. (The applause was like the roar of artillery. Two to one, and “Neat has no chance—it’s all up with him.” Spring, while sitting on his second’s knee, observed to Painter, smiling, “It is as right as the day; I would not take £100 to £1, and stand it—he can’t hit me in a week.”) 3.—The only chance now left to save a transfer of the Bristolians’ coin to the Metropolitan pockets, it would seem, was one of those silencing hits by which Neat had acquired his milling fame, so as to spoil Spring’s science, reduce his confidence, and take the fight out of him. All the backers of Neat were on the gaze in anxious expectation to see the “slogger” put in, which was to relieve their fears, and produce a change in their favour. Shyness on both sides. Spring endeavoured to plant a heavy right-handed hit, which Neat stopped cleverly. (Great applause, and “Well done, Neat.”) The latter smiled at this success, and Spring observed, “Well stopped!” Rather a long pause. The toes of the combatants were close together, and Spring not to be gammoned off his guard. Some blows were at length exchanged, and Spring received so heavy a hit on his ribs, that his face for the instant bespoke great pain, and his arms dropped a little; but, in closing, Spring had decidedly the advantage; and, in going down, Neat was undermost. (The Springites were now as gay as larks, offering to back their man to any amount.)