66.—In this round the English Champion put in a tremendous nobber, and also fibbed Langan down. (“That’s a settler,” said a bystander. “Indeed it is not,” replied a Paddy, “Spring will not settle his account this time.” (Laughing.) “Where’s Jack Randall?” says Josh.; “here’s a countryman for you! Spring’s tired of it. He can’t hit a dent in a pound of butter.” “Well done, Josh.,” said Spring, smiling, “chaff away. I’ll give you all you can do, except winning.” “We can’t lose it,” replied the John Bull fighter.) 67.—Spring was still cautious: he would not give a chance away. Both down. 68.—Langan’s left hand told on Spring’s body; but the Irish Champion received a nobber for it. Langan seemed determined to have Spring down, at all events. The struggle for the throw was severely contested; Langan got Spring undermost. 69.—Short; a hit or two passed, when both were down. 70.—Langan’s face looked the worse for the battle, but his eye retained all its fire and animation; the other peeper had been nearly darkened for an hour and a half. “I am sure,” said Josh., “that Langan has made a contract with Spring for seven years; this is a fine specimen of one of his fighting days.” Both men were getting weak, but Langan always got up when time was called, saying, “I am ready!” In the throw, Langan was undermost. 71.—The ring was now in confusion; yet some of the sharpest rounds were fought. Spring received another fall, and was undermost. 72.—The general opinion in the twenty-four foot ring (which was nothing else but a crowd), appeared to be, that Spring would win; nevertheless the countenances of Spring’s backers indicated it was not quite safe. Spring had no room to get away. Colonel Berkeley, the referee, said, “I am so disgusted with the treatment I have experienced, that I will give up the watch. Here is no ring. It is impossible to stand still a second, without being assailed with a cut from a whip, or a blow from a stick, and no good done either.” In no fight whatever was there such a scene of confusion in the space allotted for the men to fight. In closing, both down. During the time Spring was on Painter’s knee, Sampson, Oliver and Israel Belasco, were giving advice. “Hallo!” said Josh., “do you call this fair play? How many seconds is Spring to have?” and, snatching a whip out of a bystander’s hand, endeavoured to whip out the ring, followed by Oliver. “Only give us a chance,” cried Josh., “and we can’t lose it.” Nothing foul appeared to be attempted on the part of Spring or on the side of Langan. The constables were mixed in the mob, struggling for breath; the fighting men hoarse with calling out, “Clear the ring,” and dead beat from the exertions they had made. Nothing less than a company of Horse Guards could have made out a ring at this period, so closely jammed were the spectators.