On the 7th of June (1785), we find that Harry Sellers contested a battle with William Harvey, an Irishman, in the Ass Field, near Holywell Mount, Grays Inn Road, “in which, notwithstanding he exerted himself to the utmost, he was conquered by dint of the Irishman’s strength in twenty minutes.” The reader will observe the date is the 7th of June. This may give him sufficient insight to value accordingly the story of “St. Patrick’s evening” (17th March), the “insult to Mr. Harvey’s shamrock in his hat,” the “leg of mutton and trimmings,” offered by Sellers to be let off a thrashing, and the wretched rubbish in “Boxiana,” pp. 88, 89, “for the greater glory of ould Ireland.” The red hot ire of Mr. Harvey remained to cool from March 17th to the 7th of the following June, if there be any truth in the periodical contemporary press.

The appearance of Humphries, Big Ben (Brain), and the rise of the great Tom Johnson, seem to have quite extinguished the minor pugilistic stars, and so occupied the whole attention of the patrons and historians of the ring, that Sellers disappears from the scene. In “Pancratia,” p. 63, we read, “It has been reported that Sellers actually died with grief, on account of his friends refusing to match him with the celebrated pugilist Tom Johnson when first he rose into fame.” This proves, at any rate, that Sellers was what the west countrymen call “a good woolled one:” there was no deficiency in breed, whatever there might be in his probity or judgment.

STEPHEN OLIVER (NICKNAMED DEATH).—1770–1788.

Of Stephen Oliver, whose singular sobriquet, “Death,” had a less terrible derivation than it might suggest, we have but scant contemporary notices, yet these have been neglected, and “Boxiana” dismisses him with an incidental mention in the notice under Darts (see p. 45, ante), and four lines in reference to his battle with Small. Oliver seems, by general consent of the best judges, to have been a remarkably skilful, steady, and formidable boxer. The deadly paleness of his visage during his pugilistic contests procured him the nickname of “Death.” Oliver, as one of Broughton’s pupils, stood high on the list of his favourites. The veteran often commended him as the best teacher and exponent of his system. “He was a well made man, and light (as they reckoned it then), never exceeding twelve stone; he did not possess great strength, but this he fully compensated by his astonishing agility. Oliver fought more battles than any man in England, and though frequently overmatched, often conquered against odds. But his sparring,” adds the author of “Historical Sketches,”[[33]] “notwithstanding it was thought excellent some years back, is now equalled by any pupil of Mendoza and Humphries. This indisputably shows we moderns have improved in science.”

We pass over a long interval of Stephen Oliver’s performances to come to his great fight with Bill Darts, March 25, 1770, wherein he was defeated by youth, length, weight, and strength.

Six years afterwards, July 3rd, 1776, Death fought a short battle at Barnet for £20 with a butcher of the name of William Small, a name by no means corresponding with his bulk. A diurnal print tried a small piece of wit in the form of what it called “an epigram.” Here it is—

“Ah! foolish wight, why strive to conquer Death?

When he, thou know’st, can stop thy vital breath;

That ruthless tyrant rules the lives of all,

And vanquishes the Great, as well as Small.”