little suspected any of them at that time; and as I look back over
that long stretch of years, I have the satisfaction of feeling that I
did not enter upon my precarious career without doing my utmost to fit
myself for it.

In those early days of the century prize-fights were very common in
England. The noble art of self-defence was patronized by the greatest
in the land. Society loved a prize-fight, and always went to see it,
as Society went to any other fashionable function. Magistrates went,
and even clerical members of that august body. As magistrates it may
have been their duty to discountenance, but as county gentlemen it was
their privilege to support, the noble champions of the art, especially
when they had their money on the event.

The magistrates, if their presence was ever discovered, said they went
to prevent a breach of the peace, but if they were unable to effect
this laudable object, they looked on quietly so as to prevent any one
committing a breach of the peace on themselves. Their individual heads
were worth something.

It was to one of these exhibitions of valour, between _Owen Swift_
and _Brighton Bill_, that a reverend and sporting magistrate took my
brother John, a nice good schoolboy, in a tall hat. He thought it was
the right thing that the boy should _see the world_. I thought also
that what was good for John, as prescribed by his clerical adviser,
would not be bad for me, so I went as well.

There was a great crowd, of course, but I kept my eye on John's tall
chimney-pot hat, knowing that while I saw that I should not lose John.