Caunt in his _modus operandi_ evinced a sad ignorance of the art. Like the yokels of old before the principles of mechanism were discovered, he has to learn the proper application of his strength, of which, did he possess the requisite knowledge, he might bid defiance not only to such a man as Brassey, but even to the caperings of an avalanche. He is not, like most men of his size, slow――on the contrary, he is too quick; and for the want of judicious deliberation, like a runaway steam-engine without a controlling engineer, he over-shoots his mark. This, if it be possible, he ought to correct, and while he husbands his strength, where he does apply it, he should measure not only his distance but the tactics of his opponent. Had he waited for his man, instead of leading off with a rush, he must have brought Brassey down every round, for nothing could resist the force of his heavy metal if properly applied. Strange as it may appear, on examining both men on Wednesday morning, the punishment on the part of Caunt was greater than that of Brassey, and viewing both frontispieces and saying, “Look on this picture, and on this,” our opinion would have been, “Caunt has received the greater and more effective punishment.” Added to this, his hands, and especially the right, were essentially _hors de combat_, while Brassey’s were uninjured. Upon the whole, therefore, although Caunt is the victor, and entitled to praise, Brassey, as the vanquished, deserves almost an equal degree of credit, if not of profit. That this is the feeling of others was demonstrated at Newmarket after the battle, for there was not only £30 collected for him by voluntary contributions, but a promise of still more liberal consideration was held out, and in the end fulfilled. On the Monday following, at Peter Crawley’s, “Duke’s Head,” Smithfield, the battle money was paid over to Caunt, in the presence of an overflowing muster of the patrons of British boxing. Brassey was present, and confessed himself fairly conquered. A subscription was made to console him for his honourable defeat, and £40 presented to him as a reward for his valiant conduct, some merriment being excited by one of the donations being announced as from “the parson of Cheveley.” Caunt, in a short speech, stated that he once again claimed the “Championship of England,” and was ready to make, then and there, a match for £100 a side with any man, to fight within fifty miles of London. Nick Ward, he added, had challenged him, and “he hoped he had pluck enough to prove that his challenge was not mere bounce.” Jem Ward lost no time in responding to Caunt’s remarks on his brother Nick, as follows:――