The ring cleared, Josh announced to his patron that he had, foreseeing that the big ’uns might, one or the other, “come short,” provided an after-piece, by then and there getting off a “little go;” said “little go” being the match between Izzy Lazarus[15] and Jem Brown (the go-cart man). This was indeed a rattling and active fight, until, after an hour’s sharp milling, in which capital “points” were made by both men, the Thames police landed from their galleys and compelled a move, at the same time informing them that “it was no use crossing the river, as they should follow them up or down, either to the City-stone at Staines, or to Yantlet Creek.” In this hopeless state of affairs it was proposed to divide the original £10 stakes and the added purse, which was assented to by the Napoleon, of Go-cart men, and his Israelitish opponent, who had had, no doubt, quite enough of each other “at the prishe.” The “swell” division bowled back to the great metrop., well pleased with their day’s outing, though the drop fell rather suddenly on the second pugilistic performance. The Deaf’un for some months confined himself to the business of an exhibitor and teacher of the art, superintending the sparring rooms at the “Coach and Horses,” and demonstrating at Reuben Marten’s on certain nights in the week. He might also always be depended on (which many men not so good as he were not) to lend a hand in aid of any poor pug in distress or difficulty. Towards the close of 1832 the Deaf’un formed part of a professional party (organised by his late opponent Jack Carter), who visited Manchester, Liverpool, Bradford, and other towns, to enlighten the Lancashire and Yorkshire tykes upon the true principles and manly practices of the art of self-defence, as taught in the best schools of boxing. These milling missionaries――we have seen less laudable missions since that day――of course awakened more or less a “revival” of “fair play,” the study of the gloves, and the legitimate use of the fist among both the “upper” and “lower” orders. While at Hull an immense specimen of a gigantic North countryman, of the name of Macone, having had “a try with the gloves,” thought “he could lick any of these Lunnoners except Jock (Carter) and he was too old to talk aboot.” The Deaf’un thought quite differently; so £20 a side was put down, and, with only a few days’ training, Macone and the Deaf’un faced each other at Lackington Bottom, near Beverley, on the 8th January, 1833. “Macone,” says the meagre report of the battle, “stood 6 feet 2 inches, and weighed 15 stone, and had polished off several big yokels in first-rate style. The Yorkshireman was in first-rate condition, while the Deaf’un was generally thought not quite up to the mark. He weighed 13 stone (a little too heavy) and stood 5 foot 8.” Of the battle we have scanty particulars, yet the reporter adds, “it was such a fight as would not have disgraced the days of Cribb and Belcher.