’Anddoyouthinkthatistheendofaman？’
　　’There’sanendofhim，brother，more’sthepity。’
　　’Whydoyousayso？’
　　’Lifeissweet，brother。’
　　’Doyouthinkso？’
　　’Thinkso!-There’snightandday，brother，bothsweetthings；
　　sun，moon，andstars，brother，allsweetthings；there’slikewiseawindontheheath。Lifeisverysweet，brother；whowouldwishtodie？’
　　’Iwouldwishtodie-’
　　’Youtalklikeagorgio-whichisthesameastalkinglikeafool-wereyouaRommanyChalyouwouldtalkwiser。Wishtodie，indeed!-ARommanyChalwouldwishtoliveforever!’
　　’Insickness，Jasper？’
　　’There’sthesunandstars，brother。’
　　’Inblindness，Jasper？’
　　’There’sthewindontheheath，brother；ifIcouldonlyfeelthat，Iwouldgladlyliveforever。Dosta，we’llnowgotothetentsandputonthegloves；andI’lltrytomakeyoufeelwhatasweetthingitistobealive，brother!’
　　CHAPTERXXVI
　　Theflowerofthegrass-Daysofpugilism-Therendezvous-Jews-BruisersofEngland-Winter，spring-Well-earnedbays-Thefight-Hugeblackcloud-Frameofadamant-Thestorm-
　　Dukkeripens-Thebarouche-Therain-gushes。
　　HOWforeverythingthereisatimeandaseason，andthenhowdoesthegloryofathingpassfromit，evenliketheflowerofthegrass。Thisisatruism，butitisoneofthosewhicharecontinuallyforcingthemselvesuponthemind。Manyyearshavenotpassedovermyhead，yet，duringthosewhichIcanrecalltoremembrance，howmanythingshaveIseenflourish，passaway，andbecomeforgotten，exceptbymyself，who，inspiteofallmyendeavours，nevercanforgetanything。Ihaveknownthetimewhenapugilisticencounterbetweentwonotedchampionswasalmostconsideredinthelightofanationalaffair；whentensofthousandsofindividuals，highandlow，meditatedandbroodeduponit，thefirstthinginthemorningandthelastatnight，untilthegreateventwasdecided。Butthetimeispast，andmanypeoplewillsay，thankGodthatitis；allIhavetosayis，thattheFrenchstillliveontheothersideofthewater，andarestillcastingtheireyeshitherward-andthatinthedaysofpugilismitwasnovainblasttosaythatoneEnglishmanwasamatchfortwooft’otherrace；atpresentitwouldbeavainboasttosayso，forthesearenotthedaysofpugilism。
　　Butthosetowhichthecourseofmynarrativehascarriedmewerethedaysofpugilism；itwasthenatitsheight，andconsequentlynearitsdecline，forcorruptionhadcreptintothering；andhowmanythings，statesandsectsamongtherest，owetheirdeclinetothiscause!Butwhataboldandvigorousaspectpugilismworeatthattime!andthegreatbattlewasjustthencomingoff：thedayhadbeendecidedupon，andthespot-aconvenientdistancefromtheoldtown；andtotheoldtownwerenowflockingthebruisersofEngland，menoftremendousrenown。LetnoonesneeratthebruisersofEngland-whatwerethegladiatorsofRome，orthebull-fightersofSpain，initspalmiestdays，comparedtoEngland’sbruisers？Pitythatevercorruptionshouldhavecreptinamongstthem-butofthatIwishnottotalk；letusstillhopethatasparkoftheoldreligion，ofwhichtheywerethepriests，stilllingersinthebreastsofEnglishmen。Theretheycome，thebruisers，fromfarLondon，orfromwhereverelsetheymightchancetobeatthetime，tothegreatrendezvousintheoldcity；somecameoneway，someanother：someoftip-topreputationcamewithpeersintheirchariots，forgloryandfamearesuchfairthingsthatevenpeersareproudtohavethoseinvestedtherewithbytheirsides；otherscameintheirowngigs，drivingtheirownbitsofblood，andIheardonesay：’Ihavedriventhroughataheatthewholehundredandelevenmiles，andonlystoppedtobaittwice。’
　　Oh，theblood-horsesofoldEngland!butthey，too，havehadtheirday-foreverythingbeneaththesunthereisaseasonandatime。
　　Butthegreaternumbercomejustastheycancontrive；onthetopsofcoaches，forexample；andamongstthesetherearefellowswithdarksallowfacesandsharpshiningeyes；anditisthesethathaveplantedrottennessinthecoreofpugilism，fortheyareJews，and，truetotheirkind，haveonlybaselucreinview。
　　ItwasfierceoldCobbett，Ithink，whofirstsaidthattheJewsfirstintroducedbadfaithamongstpugilists。Hedidnotalwaysspeakthetruth，butatanyratehespokeitwhenhemadethatobservation。StrangepeopletheJews-endowedwitheverygiftbutone，andthatthehighest，geniusdivine-geniuswhichcanalonemakeofmendemigods，andelevatethemaboveearthandwhatisearthyandgrovelling；withoutwhichaclevernation-and，whomorecleverthantheJews？-mayhaveRambamsinplenty，butneveraFieldingnoraShakespeare。ARothschildandaMendoza，yes-
　　butneveraKeannoraBelcher。
　　SothebruisersofEnglandarecometobepresentatthegrandfightspeedilycomingoff；theretheyaremetintheprecinctsoftheoldtown，nearthefieldofthechapel，plantedwithtendersaplingsattherestorationofsportingCharles，whicharenowbecomevenerableelms，ashighasmanyasteeple；theretheyaremetatafittingrendezvous，wherearetiredcoachman，withoneleg，keepsanhotelandabowling-green。IthinkInowseethemuponthebowling-green，themenofrenown，amidsthundredsofpeoplewithnorenownatall，whogazeuponthemwithtimidwonder。
　　Fame，afterall，isagloriousthing，thoughitlastsonlyforaday。There’sCribb，thechampionofEngland，andperhapsthebestmaninEngland；thereheis，withhishugemassivefigure，andfacewonderfullylikethatofalion。ThereisBelcher，theyounger，notthemightyone，whoisgonetohisplace，buttheTeucerBelcher，themostscientificpugilistthateverenteredaring，onlywantingstrengthtobe，Iwon’tsaywhat。Heappearstowalkbeforemenow，ashedidthatevening，withhiswhitehat，whitegreatcoat，thingenteelfigure，springystep，andkeen，determinedeye。Crosseshim，whatacontrast!grim，savageShelton，whohasacivilwordfornobody，andahardblowforanybody-hard!oneblow，givenwiththeproperplayofhisathleticarm，willunsenseagiant。Yonderindividual，whostrollsaboutwithhishandsbehindhim，supportinghisbrowncoatlappets，under-sized，andwholooksanythingbutwhatheis，isthekingofthelightweights，socalled-Randall!theterribleRandall，whohasIrishbloodinhisveins；notthebetterforthat，northeworse；andnotfarfromhimishislastantagonist，NedTurner，who，thoughbeatenbyhim，stillthinkshimselfasgoodaman，inwhichheis，perhaps，right，foritwasanearthing；and’abettershentleman，’inwhichheisquiteright，forheisaWelshman。ButhowshallInamethemall？
　　theyweretherebydozens，andalltremendousintheirway。TherewasBulldogHudson，andfearlessScroggins，whobeattheconquerorofSamtheJew。TherewasBlackRichmond-no，hewasnotthere，butIknewhimwell；hewasthemostdangerousofblacks，evenwithabrokenthigh。TherewasPurcell，whocouldneverconquertillallseemedoverwithhim。Therewas-what!shallInametheelast？ay，whynot？Ibelievethatthouartthelastofallthatstrongfamilystillabovethesod，wheremaystthoulongcontinue-
　　truepieceofEnglishstuff，TomofBedford-sharpasWinter，kindasSpring。
　　Hailtothee，TomofBedford，orbywhatevernameitmaypleasetheetobecalled，SpringorWinter。Hailtothee，six-footEnglishmanofthebrowneye，worthytohavecarriedasix-footbowatFlodden，whereEngland’syeomentriumphedoverScotland’sking，hisclansandchivalry。Hailtothee，lastofEngland’sbruisers，afterallthemanyvictorieswhichthouhastachieved-trueEnglishvictories，unboughtbyyellowgold；needIrecountthem？
　　nay，nay!theyarealreadywellknowntofame-sufficienttosaythatBristol’sBullandIreland’sChampionwerevanquishedbythee，andonemightierstill，golditself，thoudidstovercome；forgolditselfstroveinvaintodeadenthepowerofthyarm；andthusthoudidstproceedtillmenleftoffchallengingthee，theunvanquishable，theincorruptible。’Tisatreattoseethee，TomofBedford，inthy’public’inHolbornway，whitherthouhastretiredwiththywell-earnedbays。’TisFridaynight，andninebyHolbornclock。Theresitstheyeomanattheendofhislongroom，surroundedbyhisfriends；glassesarefilled，andasongisthecry，andasongissungwellsuitedtotheplace；itfindsanechoineveryheart-fistsareclenched，armsarewaved，andtheportraitsofthemightyfightingmenofyore，Broughton，andSlack，andBen，whichadornthewalls，appeartosmilegrimapprobation，whilstmanyamanlyvoicejoinsintheboldchorus：
　　Here’sahealthtooldhonestJohnBull，Whenhe’sgoneweshan’tfindsuchanother，Andwithheartsandwithglassesbrimfull，WewilldrinktooldEngland，hismother。
　　Butthefight!withrespecttothefight，whatshallIsay？Littlecanbesaidaboutit-itwassoonover；somesaidthatthebravefromtown，whowasreputedthebestmanofthetwo，andwhoseformwasaperfectmodelofathleticbeauty，allowedhimself，forlucrevile，tobevanquishedbythemassivechampionwiththeflattenednose。Onethingiscertain，thattheformerwassuddenlyseentosinktotheearthbeforeablowofbynomeansextraordinarypower。
　　Time，time!wascalled；buttherehelayuponthegroundapparentlysenseless，andfromthencehedidnotlifthisheadtillseveralsecondsaftertheumpireshaddeclaredhisadversaryvictor。
　　Therewereshouts；indeedthere’sneveralackofshoutstocelebrateavictory，howeveracquired；buttherewasalsomuchgrindingofteeth，especiallyamongstthefightingmenfromtown。
　　’Tomhassoldus，’saidthey，’soldustotheyokels；whowouldhavethoughtit？’Thentherewasfreshgrindingofteeth，andscowlingbrowswereturnedtotheheaven；butwhatisthis？isitpossible，doestheheavenscowltoo？why，onlyaquarterofanhourago……butwhatmaynothappeninaquarterofanhour？Formanyweekstheweatherhadbeenofthemostgloriousdescription，theeventfulday，too，haddawnedgloriously，andsoithadcontinuedtillsometwohoursafternoon；thefightwasthenover；
　　andaboutthattimeIlookedup-whatagloriousskyofdeepblue，andwhatabigfiercesunswimminghighaboveinthemidstofthatblue；notacloud-therehadnotbeenoneforweeks-notacloudtobeseen，onlyinthefarwest，justonthehorizon，somethingliketheextremityofablackwing；thatwasonlyaquarterofanhourago，andnowthewholenorthernsideoftheheavenisoccupiedbyahugeblackcloud，andthesunisonlyoccasionallyseenamidstmassesofdrivingvapour；whatachange!butanotherfightisathand，andthepugilistsareclearingtheouterring；-howtheirhugewhipscomecrashingupontheheadsoftheyokels；bloodflows，morebloodthaninthefight；thoseblowsaregivenwithrightgood-will，thosearenotshamblows，whetherofwhiporfist；itiswithfistthatgrimSheltonstrikesdownthebigyokel；heisalwaysdangerous，grimShelton，butnowparticularlyso，forhehaslosttenpoundsbettedonthebravewhosoldhimselftotheyokels；