After a round of “appearances,” “benefits,” “soirées,” “entertainments,” &c., to which the well-advertised fact of being “matched” lent additional attractions, both men went into training, Freeman at Frank Key’s, the “Duke of York,” Gannick Corner, near Barnet, and the Slasher in the first place at our friend Jemmy Parsons’s, at Hampton, and subsequently at Ould Tom Owen’s, at Northfleet, Kent. A contemporary paper thus announces the coming event on the previous Saturday:―― “Freeman has been assiduously attended by his friend Ben Caunt, and has been ranging up hill and down dale like the celebrated giant Gog, in his ‘seven-league boots,’ with staff in hand and followed by ‘a tail,’ which, from the length of his fork, generally keeps a respectful distance in his rear. Although his nob has been roofed with a shallow tile, to diminish the appearance of his steeple-like proportions, he still has the appearance of a walking monument, to the no small alarm of the squirrels in Squire Byng’s park, into whose dormitories he occasionally casts a squint of recognition. By his good humour and playfulness of disposition he has won all hearts, and has been a welcome guest on whatever premises he has cast anchor in his walks, which have seldom been less than twenty or thirty miles a day. He has been extremely attentive to his training, and has been much reduced in flesh, while his muscular developments stand forth with additional symmetry. On his arrival in this country he carried some twenty-three stone ‘good meat,’ but we doubt whether on Tuesday he will much exceed eighteen stone. His drawers and fighting shoes have been built with a due regard to ease and elegance, and the latter have been seasonably aired by being lent to a cat and kittens as temporary nurseries. He already sports his blue bird’s-eye fogle, and, without vaunt or unseemly bounce, seems to think his chances of success are planted on a good foundation.