sat, he doffed a white castor from his head, and made rather a genteel bow; looking at me, who sat somewhat on one side, he gave a kind of nod of recognition.
“May I request to know who you are, gentlemen?” said the magistrate.
“Sir,” said the man in a deep, but not unpleasant voice, “allow me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. ---, the celebrated pugilist;” and he motioned with his hand towards the massive man with the flattened nose.
“And your own name, sir?” said the magistrate.
“My name is no matter,” said the man; “were I to mention it to you, it would awaken within you no feeling of interest. It is neither Kean nor Belcher, and I have as yet done nothing to distinguish myself like either of those individuals, or even like my friend here. However, a time may come—we are not yet buried; and whensoever my hour arrives, I hope I shall prove myself equal to my destiny, however high—
‘Like a bird that’s bred amongst the Helicons.’”
And here a smile half theatrical passed over his features.
“In what can I oblige you, sir?” said the magistrate.
“Well, sir; the soul of wit is brevity; we want a place for an approaching combat between my friend here and a brave from town. Passing by your broad acres this fine morning we saw a pightle, which we deemed would suit. Lend us that pightle, and receive our thanks; ’twould be a favour, though not much to grant: we neither ask for Stonehenge nor for Tempe.”
My friend looked somewhat perplexed; after a moment, however, he said, with a firm but gentlemanly air, “Sir, I am sorry that I cannot comply with your request.”