Figs's left made terrific play during all the rest of the combat. Cuff

went down every time. At the sixth round, there were almost as many

fellows shouting out, "Go it, Figs," as there were youths exclaiming,

"Go it, Cuff." At the twelfth round the latter champion was all abroad,

as the saying is, and had lost all presence of mind and power of attack

or defence. Figs, on the contrary, was as calm as a quaker. His face

being quite pale, his eyes shining open, and a great cut on his

underlip bleeding profusely, gave this young fellow a fierce and

ghastly air, which perhaps struck terror into many spectators.

Nevertheless, his intrepid adversary prepared to close for the

thirteenth time.

If I had the pen of a Napier, or a Bell's Life, I should like to

describe this combat properly. It was the last charge of the

Guard--(that is, it would have been, only Waterloo had not yet taken

place)--it was Ney's column breasting the hill of La Haye Sainte,

bristling with ten thousand bayonets, and crowned with twenty

eagles--it was the shout of the beef-eating British, as leaping down

the hill they rushed to hug the enemy in the savage arms of battle--in

other words, Cuff coming up full of pluck, but quite reeling and

groggy, the Fig-merchant put in his left as usual on his adversary's

nose, and sent him down for the last time.

"I think that will do for him," Figs said, as his opponent dropped as

neatly on the green as I have seen Jack Spot's ball plump into the

pocket at billiards; and the fact is, when time was called, Mr.

Reginald Cuff was not able, or did not choose, to stand up again.

And now all the boys set up such a shout for Figs as would have made

you think he had been their darling champion through the whole battle;

and as absolutely brought Dr. Swishtail out of his study, curious to

know the cause of the uproar. He threatened to flog Figs violently, of

course; but Cuff, who had come to himself by this time, and was washing

his wounds, stood up and said, "It's my fault, sir--not Figs'--not

Dobbin's. I was bullying a little boy; and he served me right." By

which magnanimous speech he not only saved his conqueror a whipping,

but got back all his ascendancy over the boys which his defeat had

nearly cost him.

Young Osborne wrote home to his parents an account of the transaction.

Sugarcane House, Richmond, March, 18-DEAR MAMA,--I hope you are quite well. I should be much obliged to you

to send me a cake and five shillings. There has been a fight here

between Cuff & Dobbin. Cuff, you know, was the Cock of the School.

They fought thirteen rounds, and Dobbin Licked. So Cuff is now Only

Second Cock. The fight was about me. Cuff was licking me for breaking

a bottle of milk, and Figs wouldn't stand it. We call him Figs because

his father is a Grocer--Figs & Rudge, Thames St., City--I think as he

fought for me you ought to buy your Tea & Sugar at his father's. Cuff

goes home every Saturday, but can't this, because he has 2 Black Eyes.

He has a white Pony to come and fetch him, and a groom in livery on a

bay mare. I wish my Papa would let me have a Pony, and I am Your dutiful Son, GEORGE SEDLEY OSBORNE P.S.--Give my love to little Emmy. I am cutting her out a Coach in

cardboard. Please not a seed-cake, but a plum-cake.




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