Harmer died in 1834, well respected by numerous friends.

HENRY JOSIAH HOLT, THE CICERO OF THE RING—1816–1820

Harry Holt was born at Islington on the 17th of May, 1792. In early life he was articled to a surveyor, but his master having failed, he was turned over for the remainder of his apprenticeship to a builder, in St. Martin’s Lane. Here he seems to have imbibed a love of “arms,” and, disdaining the jog-trot operations of the plane and saw, he appears to have determined to chisel his way through life in a more exciting path. That this resolution was prudent we are by no means disposed to believe, but “every one to his taste,” as the old woman said when she kissed her cow; and if he was unable to build for himself a fame equal to Sir Christopher Wren, he at least obtained a fame in other respects which, to the day of his death, made him acceptable in the eyes of the fancy circles.

Upon all occasions in the prize ring he evinced a tact and gallantry which obtained for him well-earned commendations; and his literary ability for some time made him the support of the milling department of the second sporting paper of the kingdom, the Era.

The first recorded conflict in which Harry Holt engaged was with a hero of the trowel, in the Five Fields, Chelsea, in the year 1810. His opponent was well known in the neighbourhood as a determined miller, and flattered himself he could dispose of the pretensions of the slight and fair-haired youth without giving him half a chance. But the science and quickness of Harry turned the scale, and he not only astonished the bricklayer, but carried off the laurel of victory in triumphant style. His next trial was with a life-guardsman (as recorded in “Boxiana”), and here again, despite the disparity of height and weight, Harry milled the swordsman till he laid down his arms.

The skirmishes of Holt ere he was out of his teens will be found related in “Boxiana,” vol. iii., pp. 372–5, in the usual loose, skimble-skamble, ungrammatical style of the uneducated editor of that undigested hotch-potch.

At the age of twenty-five Harry first shied his castor within the twenty-four feet ring (so called, upon the lucus a non lucendo principle, from its shape being a parallelogram), on the 20th of August, 1816, with Joe Parish, the waterman. This was indeed a manly, as well as a scientific, contest; and, although defeated, Holt earned “golden opinions” from all those whose good opinion was worth having. The victory was gamely disputed for ninety minutes, during which seventy rounds were fought. At the commencement Holt was thought to have the advantage, but the tide of fortune soon changed, and he “got into trouble,” out of which he never again was able to struggle. On one occasion during the fight Parish had Holt upon the ropes, in a position where he might in all probability have “finished” him, but he manfully threw up his hands and walked away, amidst loud and well-merited approbation from all parts of the ring. Holt felt so impressed with this generous behaviour of his adversary, that while his adversary sat upon his second’s knee, he shook him by the hand, saying, “I thank you, Joe, for your conduct.” After an hour and ten minutes, the termination seemed extremely doubtful, when Parish, like a true aquatic, watching the turn of the “tide which leads to fortune,” went in so strongly and determinedly that poor Harry, despite the most heroic efforts, was forced to succumb, and was led from the ring completely beaten. The result of this contest raised both men in the esteem of the milling circles, and Parish (this was his first appearance in the prize ring) was shortly after matched against the Nonpareil, Jack Randall, who, we need hardly say, in turn defeated the victor.

Holt now devoted some nine months to sparring, and acquiring a still further knowledge of his art. His manners were pleasing, his address engaging, and, as he sung a song somewhat above mediocrity, his company was sought, a dangerous thing for a young man in the great metropolis. Harry, too, from having received an education somewhat above the average of the society with which he mixed, and being moreover gifted with a command of words and a power of expression rather beyond the ordinary range, was generally elected to address the public on the occasion of benefits, etc., by such of his brother pugs who were “slow and halt of speech,” a deficiency to which those readiest with hands and feet are often doomed. From these oratorical displays, he soon acquired the sobriquet of “Cicero,” and, as the Cicero of the ring, Harry Holt for some quarter of a century figured in the public prints.

Holt’s next appearance in the prize ring was with Jack O’Donnell (said to be a relative of the once celebrated Irish pugilist of that name), at Arlington Corner, near Hounslow Heath, after a harassing journey of some miles across the country, in consequence of the interruption which took place on the day the first fight between Scroggins and Turner occurred, at Hayes, Middlesex. This was on Wednesday, March 26, 1817. The combatants stripped in a heavy shower of rain, and commenced fighting at a quarter before six o’clock in the evening. Tom Owen and Dolly Smith seconded O’Donnell; and Painter and Harmer attended upon Holt. Five to four on the latter.

THE FIGHT.