Ir is far from being our intention to attempt a philosophical history of pugilism. Indeed, the time is not come for such a work. The spirit of the age, though beyond all question a creative one, is not, in our opinion, likely to produce a genius equal to such a mighty task. In good truth, it may be doubted, if, throughout the whole history of man, one and the same age ever gave birth to great artists and great historians of art. It is therefore much more probable, that in future times-how remote we shall not say there will be written the "History of the decline and fall of British Pugilism," than that any great work should appear, illustrative of its growth and perfection, by any one of the contemporaries of Mr Jackson or Tom Crib. Ages, in general, intervene between the performances of the powerful and their imperishable records. It is glory enough for one age to have given birth to such men as the Big Bens, the old and young Ruffians, the Game Chickens, the Dutch Sams, the Caleb Baldwins, and the Nonpareils. Let us not grudge to some future age the renown of a record worthy of their deeds. It is more than probable, that the hand destined to commit to paper a philosophical history of the ring, shall never wear a muffler. Such are the strange fluctuations of human affairs, and such the often accounted for, but still unaccountable variations in the course of human genius.

In indulging ourselves and our readers with these reflections, we mean them to be general, not by any means personal reflections. We are far from wishing to deny, that several of our living writers could compile a respectable history of pugilism-nay, we have, on many occasions, borne testimony to the merits, in particular, of one distinguished author, who has devoted talents of the first order to that pursuit. We confidently appeal to all Europe, if we have not uniformly spoken with enthusiasm of Mr Pierce Egan. Still we are compelled to believe, that within the next 1000 years, an historian may arise, more agreeable

to our thought of ideal perfection than even that most meritorious member of the Pugilistic Club. That first of requisites, that sine qua non, that one thing needfullest, of a historian, perfect impartiality, is not likely to exist within the bosom of any one man born within the next half score centuries. Prejudices, predilections, against this, and in favour of that peculiar mode of fighting, will be transmitted from father to son, from son to grandson, from grandson to great-grandson, from great-grandson to great-great-grandson, and so on-absolutely corrupting the conscience of all judges of pugilism, till the stream of oral tradition be quite dried up on the lips of some extremely remote descendant of us now alive; and then, and not till then, can human nature be, in common fairness, held responsible for the production of an unexceptionable historian of pugilism. Let us not be mistaken. Mr Egan is as impartial on Pugilism as any man can be, born during the eighteenth century; but he has too warm a heart not to have his own little peculiar biasses. It is obvious too, that we cannot expect from one man that which we shall afterwards see would be labour for fifty. Boxiana, then, is not a history of Pugilism; it was not intended to be so. It is a work in two volumes, pregnant with fancy, and overflowing with the most manly sensibilities-everywhere animated with a true British spirit. But we repeat, it is not cannot be-was not intended for-a history of Pugilism. It is a noble sketch of the rise and progress of the science, at least equal, if we may say it without offence, to any of the preliminary dissertations by Playfair, Stewart, or Brande, in the Supplement. The philosophy is little, if at all, inferior-the learning is extensive, and certainly more accurateand some parts of the subject, as, for example, the character of Crib, are, we think, more satisfactorily elucidated than any thing we remember in the Supplement. We think that character may be advantageously compared with the character drawn of Montaigne in one of the above dissertations.

There have, in this country, been Five Great Schools of Pugilism, the history of any one of which would be sufficient to occupy any given or supposeable man during a long life; and if written as it should be, would do honour to the highest possible era of our future civilization. The First Great School of Pugilism, of whose principles and practice there are but few published records, is a wide and comprehensive school, including all the efforts of the Fancy from the first invasion of Britain by the Romans under Julius Cæsar, till the rise of Broughton. There were many sects of this school, each of which, indeed, might probably demand a separate historian. First of all, the Aboriginal School, on which all the succeeding schools were founded. Second, The Roman School, in its first pure union with the Aboriginal. Third, The School of Caractacus, which was the Lake School of Pugilism, founded on the basis of the boxing in ordinary life. Fourth, The Eclectic School, which flourished during the heptarchy. Fifth, The Saxon School, as originally founded by Hengist and Horsa. Sixth, The School of Samor (of which many interesting particulars are collected by a popular poet of our day, with a very appropriate name, Mr Millman), which revived the principles of the first great old Aboriginal British School, and is, in some measure, the basis of the whole of our present pugilism. Seventh, The Danish School, which turned out some excellent plants. Eighth, The Norman School, distinguished for its ruffians. Ninth, The School of Palestine, founded by King Baldwin, and that flourish ed during the time of the Crusades. Tenth, The Civil War School, during which came into fashion the Yorkshire hug and the Lancashire Purring, or Up-and-down system. Eleventh, The Elizabethan School, for which, we believe, there exist ample materials in the British Museum. Twelfth, The School of Queen Anne, or the Duke of Marlborough, ending in Fig. It is plain enough, that to write these histories as they should be written, would require twelve men of various radition. We have already declared our belief, that the era is not yet come for such a work. At the same time, there are men now living, who, by devoting themselves to it wholly,

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might do their portions respectablyas for example: Aboriginal School, Francis Maximus Macnab, author of a new Theory of the Universe. Roman School, the late Dr Mavor. School of Caractacus, Mr Wordsworth. Eclectic School, Rev. Mr Lingard. Saxon School, Mr Sharon Turner. School of Samor, Rev. Mr Millman. Danish School, Ehlenschlæger. The Norman School, Mr John Allen. School of Palestine, Baron Bergami. Civil War School, Joseph Lancaster and Orator Hunt. Elizabethan School, Mr Reynolds. School of Queen Anne, Mr Jeffrey.

The

The SECOND GREAT SCHOOL OF PUGILISM is that of Broughton, of which, to use the phraseology of Mr Egan, the "prime features" were strength and ferocity. Broughton himself, it is true, was a most scientific fighter; but it does not appear that his genius, though powerful, could control the spirit of the age, which was towards ruffianism. As we remarked on a former occasion, he deserves and enjoys the eternal gratitude of his country, for that "Code de Legislation," which, with few improvements by succeeding lawgivers, has, for the greatest part of a century, mildly regulated the British ring. But Broughton was born a century too soon. His fine, manly, and creative genius was altogether worthy of the present age. It is not possible for the philosophic pugilist to reflect, without the deepest melancholy, on that hard lot which gave him for patron the Duke of Cumberland, instead of Captain Barclay; or to think how many noble blows were thrown away upon an ungrateful people. It has been well said by Mr Coleridge, that a great poet must create the taste capable of enjoying his works. This is one of those fine remarks of a man of genius, that may, by a slight alteration of terms, be made applicable to a vast variety of different subjects. Perhaps its truth is most apparent in poetry, pugilism, and cookery. Thus, Milton was not at all relished during his own time. Paradise Lost was voted a bore on its first publication, and brought into notice at last by that profoundest of critics, Mr Addison. It then created a taste for itself, and has, we believe, gone through several editions. Mr Wordsworth's Excursion, in like manner, is slowly, very

slowly indeed, creating a taste for itself, and is, we perceive-which, we confess, surprises and alarms us-a prodigious favourite with the Cockneys. We should not be surprised to see it, in a few centuries, pretty much read. So was it with Ensign Ödoherty's poetry. The Standard-bearer is now not far off forty; yet it is only within these very few years that he has taken his place among the classical poets of his country. In cookery, it is well known that the fame of Mrs Glasse and Mrs M'Iver did not spring up like a mushroom. We have heard it said, that the latter died of a broken heart, at her contemporaries' base neglect of her great haggis-receipt; nor was Mrs Glasse permitted to see much more than the first symptoms of that incipient taste which afterwards devoured her works with such greedy gusto. The fate of Mrs Rundle has been the sole exception we ever heard to Mr Coleridge's general rule. She at once made an irresistible appeal to the palates of her own generation, and all lips smacked her praise. She not only created new tastes, but improved existing, and revived obsolete ones. In roast, boil, and stew, she is equally great-fish, flesh, and fowl, under her magical hands, acquire a diviner nature-the past, present, and future, are equally within the circle of her power. She is like the universal Pan-As in poetry and cookery, so is it in pugilism. Milton, Wordsworth, Odoherty-Glasse, M'Iver, Rundle-Jem Belcher, Scroggins, and the Gas-man, all equally (with the exception, as we have said, of Mrs Rundle) create the taste on which they feed and are fed. The chopper of Mendoza, the Game Chicken's left-handed lounge on the jugular, Belcher's cross-buttock, and Randal's one-two-all created a taste in the public mind which was not there before. Considerable opposition, too, continued, to the very last, to be made to them; but they were not to be stopped: nobody, at last, could shew their face against them; they bunged up the eyes of criticism, and drove him like paste out of the ring. There is comfort in all this, to those who believe in the perfectability of man.

The THIRD GREAT SCHOOL OF PUGILISM is that of Mendoza, or the Jewish School.-It had, at one time,

nearly overthrown Christianity in the ring of this country, and pious people began to tremble, when Gentleman Humphries, and the Bath Butcher, fell beneath the fist of the circumcised, and

Victorious Judah's Lion banner rose.

Bill Ward in vain strove to raise the hopes of Christendom. The Israelite felled the flower of the British youth, and proved successful in thirty pitched battles. At last John Jackson stripped, and Dan was overthrown. It was like the battle of Maida, an affair of about ten minutes. It was thought by some, that if the Jew, like his great countryman before him, Absalom, had worn a wig on the day of battle, the issue might have been different. Jackson took him by the hair-held him fast smashed him for three minutesand then dropped him dead-beat. At that time, no man in England could have stood before John Jackson-he had youth, length, strength, bottom, courage, and science, almost superhuman Not even a wig-nor a bald-head— though both were afterwards suggested, could on that day have saved Mendoza. The Jewish School was no more. It will be for the historian, after he has told the tale of Mendoza's glory, and of its eclipse, to speak of the revival of the Jewish School, under Dutch Sam-its second overthrow by Knowlsworthy the baker-and, again, of its restoration by Belasco. A nobler centre-piece for a grand historical picture cannot be well conceived than Dutch Sam. He never was beat. For when he fought the Master of the Rolls, were not his legs worn down to mere spindles, and as full of holes as two old moth-eaten copies of the Edinburgh Review? He absolutely fought in gaiters, that his backers might not see the wretched state of his pins. His face was as blue as an ill-washed dishclout; his eyes as dull and watery as ill-fed oysters; and his whiskers, that used to bristle in fight like the beard of a Mussulman, hung on his chops like loose moss on a clammy wall. "His skin, like a lady's loose gown, hung about him"-and there cannot be a doubt that many third raters about the ring that day could have finished off Him who was once the best Israelite that ever floored a Christian,