THE "BLOWER" BURST UP!
The "Blower" came down, like the braggart he was,
And of winning the fight was peculiarly "poz;"
And the voice of his backers was loud in their glee;—
"We shall lick him in two rounds—or certainly three!"
Like the "Champion Slugger," in trunks of bright green,
The "Big Fellow" at Eight fifty-two might be seen:
Like a truculent Titan, blind, baffled, and blown,
At Ten thirty-seven the brute was o'erthrown.
For CORBETT smote fiercely, and CORBETT fought fast,
And the bullying bounder was beaten at last;
And the cheeks of the coarse woman-puncher were chill,
He rolled over, and struggled to rise, and lay still.
And there stood his foe with his nostrils all wide,
And the shouts of his backers rolled on in their pride.
The swells of the Ring and the stars of the Turf
Surged round like the waves of the storm-beaten surf.
And there lay the "Blower," distorted and pale,
With the blood on his brow where the blows fell like hail.
His backers were silent, he lay there alone,
His mawleys unlifted, his trumpet unblown.
And the "Sports" of the South are all loud in their wail.
But Punch, who hates bullying brutes, can but hail
That smart Californian's pluck, skill, and strength,
Who has pricked the big SULLIVAN bladder—at length!
"FONS ET ORIGO."—As to London Water "seek Wells," that is if you wish to avoid unpleasant seq-uels. "Don't leave Wells alone" is our motto, meaning "Sir SPENCER" of that ilk, who has a deal worth hearing to say on this subject.
