1884-05-12 Charley Mitchell W-TKO3 Billy Edwards [Madison Square Garden, New York, NY, USA]

1884-05-13 New-York Tribune (New York, NY) (page 5)

EDWARDS BADLY BATTERED.
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FLOORED REPEATEDLY BY MITCHELL.
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CAPTAIN WILLIAMS STOPS THE FIGHT IN THE THIRD ROUND.

By half-past 7 o'clock last night a line of men stretched from the ticket office of the Madison Square Garden outside the building, and down Madison-ave to Twenty-sixth-st. Marshalled by a dozen policemen, they slowly struggled past the ticket-office, depositing their dollars and receiving in exchange a strip of pasteboard which entitled them to standing room on the floor or a place among the reserved seats, as the case might be, to view the sparring-match between Harry Edwards, the ex-champion light-weight of the world, and Charles Mitchell, the champion of England. By 8 o'clock there must have been between seven and eight thousand people sitting on the benches on both sides of the Garden, or crowded around the twenty-four-foot-square ring on the platform erected in the centre of the building. At half-past 8 the crowd had swelled to over 8,000, and chairs and empty boxes were being sold by far-sighted speculators for a dollar apiece. At twenty minutes to 9 o'clock a yell arose from the impatient crowd as "Bob" Smith stepped on to the stage and began his dutie as master of ceremonies by introducting two young sparrers named Crysler and Williams. They were followed after their three rounds of smart fighting, by "Joe" Denning and "Young" Shine, who were in turn displaced by Costigan and Nixey. At five minutes past 9 some excitement was created by the loud crashing sound caused by the breakdown of one of the improvised grand stands. "Mike" Mulrey and "Jack" Dempsey then sparred their allotted rounds, and a wave of laughter rolled around the Garden as in a momentary hush a shrill voice was heard to exclaim from the roof: "Dere's Billy sluggin' inter Charlie Mitchell." The voice proceeded from one of a group of urchins gathered around one of the open ventilators in the roof. About half-past 9 there was a rather savage bout at catch-as-catch-can wrestling between "Joe" Falkner and "Bill" Elliott, which resulted in Falkner securing two throws and winning.

At 9:35 "Bob" Smith tied up the boxing gloves, which had been used in the various rounds with much deliberation, and disappeared from view for a few minutes. He returned to shout hoarsely to the crowd, amid a storm of hisses and hootings, that they must have patience for ten minutes, when Mr. Edwards and Mr. Mitchell would appear on the stage. He also announced that one "Billy" O'Brien would be pleased to meet a certain Mr. Keenan at a neighboring liquor store. The laughter raised by this somewhat peculiar mode of making an appointment had hardly died away when a hoarse murmur gradually swelled into a roar of applause and cheers, and at ten minutes to 10 a lithe-looking man, about 5 feet 4 inches in height, with a keen, resolute face and a heavy, dark mustache, jumped lightly on the stage. This was Harry Edwards, and he was followed by his second, Arthur Chambers, who carried the sponges and towels of his craft. Immediately after came a heavily built young man some four inches taller than Edwards, with a clean shaven face and a rather sullen look. It was Charles Mitchell. He was followed by his second, "Billy" Madden. He walked across the stage to the chair at the southeastern corner, while his opponent sank into that diametrically opposite. The cheers and shoutings quickly subsided to be followed by a low muttering as each one to his neighbor criticized the appearance of the two men on the stage, who with their short white knee-breeches and fighting shoes, and bared to the waist, sat in their chairs and were fanned by their seconds, Mitchell with the regulation towel and Edwards with a palm-leaf fan. They were evidently unevenly matched, Edwards with his forty years and Mitchell with his twenty-three; Edwards's 133 against Mitchell's 154 pounds. And tongues freely wagged that Edwards seemed to have lost flesh since his last appearance in fighting trim, while Mitchell looked heavier than when he stood up before Sullivan in the same place last year.

"Bob" Smith then announced that the fight was to be four rounds, Marquis of Queensberry rules, that Mr. McCormick, of Cincinnati, was timekeeper, and after pointing to one man and yelling "Edwards," and to the other and yelling "Mitchell," he gracefully retired. The timekeeper called "time" at precisely five minutes before 10, and at four minutes and thirteen seconds past 10 the match was ended in Mitchell's favor.

First round.--Mitchell led with his left hand at Edwards's body, but Edwards failed to counter. After a little cautious, but quick sparring Edwards landed a stinging blow with his right on Mitchell's face. After a little more light sparring Edwards led out with his left, but Mitchell stopped the blow cleverly and Edwards staggered and turned half round towards his own corner. Mitchell followed him delivering some hard body blows in quick succession, finally knocking him down by a well-directed blow. Edwards was quickly on his feet, but was pursued by Mitchell and driven up against the ropes in a crouching position. Mitchell hit him twice with great force while he was against the ropes, and a shout of foul and a storm of hisses arose. Chambers jumped quickly on the stage and claimed a foul, which was not allowed as Edwards clearly had only one knee on the ground. This finished the first round in 1 minute 30 seconds.

Second round.--Edwards led off this time with his left for Mitchell's body, but fell short, and was immediately knocked down by a hard righthander in the face. He was on his feet in a second looking rather the worse for wear and the men closed on the north side of the ring, but broke at the word from Smith. Mitchell then led off, but Edwards countered with his right on Mitchell's face and some sharp in-fighting took place, which was ended by Edwards being felled twice. He rose staggering and after hitting some heavy body blows Mitchell again brought him down, and Captain Williams put up his club to prevent a further blow aimed by Mitchell at Edwards. When the captain's club fell, Mitchell knocked his man down in rapid succession in the northeast corner of the ring till a final sledge-hammer blow from Mitchell's left caught Edwards on the throat and sent him sprawling against the ropes. Captain Williams again interfered, and the round finished in 2 minutes 13 seconds.

Third round.--When time was called Edwards was slow in leaving his corner, but at Mitchell's "Billy, put up; time's called," he gamely came forward, though he showed the heavy punishment he had received. It was no longer a match, and after had had once more gone down under the blows he could hardly fend off, Captain Williams stepped between them and ordered the fight to stop, after a round of 27 seconds. The match was given to Mitchell.

Among the more prominent people were Judge Gildersleeve, ex-Justice Gardern, ex-Judge Russell, Herman Oelrichs, Isaac Townsend, Cornelius Fellows, A. V. De Golcouria, T. H. Keator, Sheriff Davidson, Commissioners Hess and Brennan, Julian Nathan, Wright Sanford, Philip Schuyler, Edward S. Stokes, President Galloway, George Polk, T. C. E. Ecclesine, John Fox, Joel B. Erhardt and R. W. Schack. The sporting world was fully represented in all its branches.


1884-05-13 The New York Herald (New York, NY) (page 10)

EDWARDS WORSTED.
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Charley Mitchell Floors His Opponent.
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EXCITED THOUSANDS
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Madison Square Garden Filled With a Notable Gathering.
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In a storm of cheers and hisses was brought to a close in Madison Square Garden last night the most notable glove fight of the year, when Billy Edwards, palpably overmatched by Charley Mitchell, was helped from the platform. A nominal "draw" leaves the honors even, as Captain Williams interposed a merciful restraint before the conclusion of the rounds agreed upon. But this equality is only technical, and from his appearance on the platform till the time he was taken from it, a thoroughly dazed and beaten man, Billy Edwards' encounter with the young Englishman was a series of reverses. Sympathy was with him throughout, and a savage attack of his opponent, which the onlookers in spite of the referee's decision insisted on taking for a "foul," emphasized it. But the first blows had hardly been exchanged before his inferiority was manifest.

No contest of the kind was ever fought in New York under more encouraging circumstances. From the days when Mr. Moody used to communicate salvation orally and Mr. Sankey's trumpet tones awakened the faithful to a high pitch of vocal elation, though all the tournaments, fighting and walking matches that its broad roof has covered, Madison Square Garden has rarely witnessed a greater multitude. There were probably nine thousand people in it. From six o'clock they began to enter. At seven there was a constant stream of incomers which swelled to an actual torrent in a half hour and continued without abatement for as much longer. Outside Madison avenue was crowded from walk to walk, and the crowd stretched far along both of the adjoining streets.

A MIXED MULTITUDE.

To the rag tag and bobtail element that swarms to the ordinary fistic contests the high price of admission was a bar, and the human flood that rolled through the doors of the garden for a couple of hours last night was mainly the kid gloved and swallow-tailed section of the community. Of course, there was a large popular representation. But the hard fisted son of toil did not lay down the shekels at the box office to the extent he ordinarily does in such cases, and the attendance was essentially genteel in its character. Eight o'clock finds a multitude within. At the entrance, under the flare of the lights, there is a constant pressure, and the throng comes in clattering over the planking and breaking out in confused murmurs the moment the open space is reached.

Inspector Thorne is on hand and has well disposed his men. Everywhere order prevails. Only once there is a hubbub in a corner, and some gentlemen, profanely qualified by the police, are ejected in consequence of having utilized the saloon advantages of the neighborhood too freely. But it is all over in a minute, and the multitude swarms in until the building is crowded. And now there is within the walls as heterogeneous a gathering as New York ever witnessed. Close to the fighting platform sits Police Commissioner Matthews chatting with some club men. Police Commissioner French is beyond him with his white moustache trailing down and his gray eyes all aglitter. The blonde beard of Judge Horace Russell almost touched the check of Inspector Murray, while he is talking with United States Marshal Joel B. Erhardt, and the iron gray one of Police Justice Gardiner floats down beside them, needing only another white strand or two to make it patriarchal. Behind the group appears the clean shaven face of Harry Hill, and the light that multiplies the magnificence of his diamond pin does a similar service for the studs of ex-Senator John Fox, who has come in with ex-Senator Peter Mitchell and bowed to ex-Senator Tom Ecclesine.

NOTABLES GREAT AND SMALL.

Like a colossus soars the figure of Charity Commissioner Tom Brennan in the press around the enclosure looking over at Judge Gildersleeve, and behind him is a cluster composed of Jack Stack; Sheriff, the Prussian; Jack Kilrain and Patsy Shepherd. In a box in front of the platform sits Abe Hummel, bareheaded and Lord Mandeville in a derby and cutaway coat, while beyond them Phil Milligan in converse with Ex-Sheriff Bowe and Ex-Alderman Hanghton leans against a pillar, beyond which glances the pale, smooth face of Thomas A. Edison. Inspector Byrnes comes in late with General Faulkner, of the Democratic State Central Committee, and Mr. John De Mott, the broker, and is at once congratulated on his success with the Metropolitan Hotel inquisitors. Near him is Ned Mallahan and ex-Assemblyman Hogan, while Dick Egan, the Troy Terror, and Muldoon, the wrestler, make a background for the glare of the formidable cluster pin of Jim Keane, of Boston, and Coroner Martin looks calmly down upon the group from the box above.

Now it is nine o'clock by the watches of the few bold characters who dare to produce them and the opening entertainment is about to begin.

The Garden is like a dream of the Colosseum of old, or of any place in fact where immense proportions dwindle by reason of the multitudes they encompass. From Fourth to Madison avenue, along Twenty-sixth street, rises packed to the uttermost row one black mass which one would hardly take for men but for the motion that pervades it and for its ceaseless palpitations. On the other side the divisions of the boxes and the threatre chairs break the compactness of the throng; but even here the crow sits cheek by jowl without ever a break from end to end of the building. The floor is a dark sea of heads. Upon it individuality is lost entirely, and distinction is only maintained by the hats. There is nothing visible but a wilderness of stovepipes, Derbys, gumdrops, operas and slouches, with every now and then one of those mangy bits of fur headgear that have a rare old flavor of dog fighting about them. There is only one woman in the house, and her pearl dress and gray hat are almost lost in the sombre expanse of masculine humanity.

THE FIGHTING PLATFORM.

And in the very midst of it all, in a cleared rectangular space, a goodly portion of which is given to the press and the favored, rises the fighting platform. It is of the regulation size, twenty-four feet square, and is elevated a little over five feet from the ground. About it is drawn a fringe of painted canvas hiding the scaffolding underneath. At one end four steps descend from it to the only opening there is in the boarded enclosure and which is carefully guarded by police. Eight bare upright posts surround the platform and about them the ropes is stretched. It is fixed at an altitude of nearly five feet from the planking, much higher than usual to prevent any of the men going over and is much stouter than usual. The circular holes in the wall are open to give ventilation, and the great coronals of gas in the roof are ablaze.

There is an impatient flutter of applause, and then Bob Smith mounts the platform as master of ceremonies and announces the preliminary bouts.

Chrysler and Williams opened the ball. This was a very rapid and exciting set-to.

Joe Denning and Harry Shine followed. Joe had the better of the bout by flooring his man.

Denny Costigan and young Nixey were very good.

Mike Mullery and Jack Dempsey were very scientific and made some sharp hitting.

Jim Faulkner and Bill Oliver wrestled at catch-as-catch-can. Faulkner won first fall--30 seconds. The second bout was won by Faulkner and concluded the match. This bout lasted about 60 seconds. It was very rough work and did not please the crowd.

And now the platform is clear for the event of the night and Bob Smith stands with his eyes straining over the human waste to the door away down at the entrance whence the combatants are to issue. There is a murmur of anticipation all over the house. Figures are bobbing up in boxing and climbing up alongside the wooden columns. Some new hands, unfamiliar with these irenic waits which invariably occur, and can only be due to a trick to quicken enthusiasm, seem to fear they are to be cheated out of the spectacle, and actually look distressed.

But, no. There is a great clapping of hands. Then a sudden murmur. A couple of thousand people rise in their seats and stare over one another's heads, and a movement like a tide sweeps the throng on either side in the direction the men are coming. So compact is the mass of people that Captain Williams' cap moving through it away off in advance of the contestants seems hardly to move, and at times really has to stop while its redoubtable owner clears the way. But some it comes on steadily, while a great roar, deepening as he advances, swells along the way. Now there is a closer pressing of the multitude about the stand, batons have to be waved authoritatively and a passage made by a police sortie.

And then suddenly arisen from that sea and in the full blaze of the light is seen smiling, graceful and confident Billy Edwards bowing around him.

Such a roar as went up! The whole of the ten thousand lungs seemed to be concentrated in it, and as he stepped to his corner under his second's equvoy, again and again went up that thunderous ovation. A moment more and another figure is over the ropes; then, all unsoftened and unweakened by the first effort, outrolls again a tempest of hurrahs, prolonged and repeated, while Mitchell crosses the platform.

Now that the two men are before the onlookers the disparity appears. Mitchell, stretched in his corner, is five feet eight and a half inches in height, weighs 154 pounds, and is twenty-two years old. Edwards, sitting his his, is five feet six inches in height, weighs 135 pounds and is forty-years old.

Mr. McCormick is chosen referee, a minute passes and then "Time" is called.

THE FIGHT.

FIRST ROUND.--When time was called the men quickly responded and walked to the centre of the stage. There was no time wasted, as Mitchell quickly led off and planted his left on Edwards' stomach. Edwards returned with his left, but was short, and then Mitchell again landed his left on Edwards' stomach. This aroused Billy, and he rushed at Mitchell, who retreated, and planted his left on the front of Mitchell's face and followed it up with his right on the left side of Mitchell's head, but missed his right the second time, and then they closed and fought rapidly with right and left at the head until ordered to break away. Then Mitchell rushed viciously at Edwards, planting a left hander in the front of his face, and with a right hander on the left side of his head he brought Billy down on his left knee. Mitchell then struck him in the front of the face, and Billy took hold of the rope with his right hand, whereupon Mitchell again struck him on the left side of the head, when Arthur Chambers called "foul" and Captain Williams jumped on the stage and ordered Mitchell to desist. "Foul!" was called by a number of Edwards' friends, and McCormick, the referee, was appealed to. He, as a matter of course, decided "fair," and added an unnecessary caution to Mitchell to be careful of what he was doing. This ended the round, which only lasted one minute and fifteen seconds, instead of three minutes, as the rules called for.

SECOND ROUND.--Mitchell, as he rushed to the scratch, looked desperate, while Edwards appeared somewhat unsteady. The latter led off, but was short with his left, and Mitchell rushing in delivered left and right, the first blow on the right and the latter on the left side of Billy's head. For this Edwards delivered his left lightly and followed up with a hard one with his right on Mitchell's left ear. This seemed to bring out all the mischief of Mitchell, who rushed in and delivered his right on the left side of Edwards' head, which knocked him down. He got up quickly, but fell again from a slight blow--a mere push--Mitchell being so close to him. When the men met again Edwards delivered a very hard right hander in Mitchell's stomach, and quickly afterward planted his left on the right side of Mitchell's head. Then the men came to close quarters, and fought with right and left, Mitchell's blows having the greater force, and were very damaging to Billy's head, and he was floored by a left-hander on the chin. As soon as he was on his feet Mitchell was at him, being determined to force the fight, and he got in a hard left-hander in the stomach; Billy returned with his left in the face, and then there was a desperate rally, Billy planting a left-hander in Mitchell's face and two right-handers in his left ribs. This aroused Mitchell to seeming desperation, and after an exchange of right and left blows at short range, Mitchell knocked Billy down by a right-hander on the left side of the head. When Edwards was lifted to his feet he seemed somewhat dazed, yet he faced his opponent gamely, and was receiver general. Mitchell rushed at him, delivering a right-hander on the left side of his head, and Edwards was knocked down. As soon as he was up a few light blows were exchanged, when Mitchell got in another right-hander on the left side of Billy's head, and down he went again. A third time he came up, but before he had fairly got himself in fighting attitude he was knocked down again. Getting to his feet once more he rushed at Mitchell and planted his right hand heavily on Mitchell's left ear, but the blow did not stagger Mitchell, who rushed in, and, after an exchange of blows at short range, he threw in his right hand with great force, which tumbled Billy again to the floor. Edwards now seemed completely used up, and Captain Williams wanted the affair stopped, but some of Edwards' pretended friends urged him on and he gamely responded to the call of time.

THIRD ROUND.--When Edwards arose from Arthur Chambers' knee he staggered like a drunken man; and as Mitchell advanced toward him he led with his left hand, which landed on Mitchell's nose, but had no power in it, and then exchanged two blows without either taking effect. Then Mitchell delivered a heavy left-hander in Edwards' stomach, and following this up knocked Billy down with a right-hander on the left side of his head. Mitchell waited for Edwards to get up, when he again knocked him down with another right-hander. Edwards was now completely dazed, and his friends seeing that he had no further chance with Mitchell, wisely gave in for him. The men then shook hands and the fight was over.

After the fight the throng dispersed, many expressing dissatisfaction with the fierce onslaught of the Englishman, which some were inclined to believe a "foul." Charley Mitchell himself said to a HERALD reporter that he was satisfied such was not the case. Edwards was fairly against the ropes and not down when he struck him.

"I 'eld 'im up against them and 'it 'im then," said he.


1884-05-13 The Sun (New York, NY) (page 1)

A GREAT SPARRING MATCH.
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BILLY EDWARDS VIRTUALLY KNOCKED OUT BY CHARLES MITCHELL.
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A Light Weight's Desperate Fight Against Big Odds--Repeatedly Knocked Down Amid Great Excitement--Capt. Williams Puts an End to the Fight in Time to Save Edwards from Being Knocked Out.

Ten thousand men, two women, and a small boy in knickerbockers saw the great sparring match between Billy Edwards and Charles Mitchell at Madison Square Garden last night. The men had been in training about five weeks. Both are natives of Birmingham, England. Edwards is 5 feet 4 inches in height, 40 years old, and weighed last night 130 pounds. Mitchell stands 5 feet 8½ inches in his shoes, is 23 years old, and weighed 154 pounds. They were to fight four rounds, and divide the receipts of the house. Edwards has fought five times in the prize ring, and has been defeated only once, on a foul. Mitchell has beaten the best men in England in sparring matches, but failed to beat Sullivan, and would undoubtedly have been knocked out in the third round but for the interference of Police Captain Williams.

The Garden was opened last night at 7 o'clock. Forty gas chandeliers flooded it with light. Bannerets used in different entertainments swung from the roof. The largest prize ring ever raised in the Garden stood on a platform in the centre of the floor. It was thirty feet square. Reserved seats sold at $2, and tickets of admission were half that price. By 8 o'clock every seat was filled, and the hall itself was packed with sweltering spectators. The glossy beaver was predominant. Nearly every man had a cigar in his mouth, and the atmosphere was surcharged with the fumes of tobacco. The crush at the doors was terrific. At times the doors were closed because the entrances were choked. Long lines were then formed, reaching nearly to Broadway, the men taking their turns at the box office. The boxes were filled with sporting men, politicians, brokers, and others. A few dudes were there, sucking the heads of their canes. Men on the floor paid a dollar each for the use of chairs, tables, benches, and lager beer kegs, which they placed around the platform and mounted, eager to see the fight. Inspector Thorne, Capt. Williams, and a strong force of police preserved order. The benches back of the boxes were black with humanity. It swarmed clear to the eaves, like bees. The following is a partial list of the distinguished citizens present, arranged alphabetically for the convenience of the reader:

Adams, Thatcher.
Aaron, Barney.
Acton, Joe.
Allen, Tom.
Barry, John.
Bennett, Billy.
Bingham, W. H.
Birdsall, Dan.
Bowe, Peter.
Buck, Col. E. A.
Byrnes, Thomas.
Birch, Billy.
Brown, Robt. C.
Buckley, James.
Brennan, Big Tom.
Bliss, Archie M.
Battersley, A. H.
Curtis, W. E.
Clinchy, Wm. H.
Cunningham, Major, U.S.A.
Case, Gabe.
Chambers, Arthur.
Clark, John H.
Cleary, Mike.
Coburn, Joe.
Coster, J. H.
Costigan, Denny.
Crocheron, Joe.
Croker, Richard.
Clinchy, Wm. H.
Dawson, Jack.
De Cordova, A.
De Forest, Wm.
De Goicouria, A. V.
De Mott, J. H.
Dempsey, Jack.
Dilks, Geo. W.
Draper, Shang.
Driscoll, John.
Dunlap, Neil.
Dwyer, Johnny.
Duff, M. J.
Day, Sammy.
Engemann, Geo. A.
Elliott, Joe.
Erhardt, Joel.
Ecclesine, Tom C. E.
English, Young.
Everhard, Jim.
Files, Jack.
Flood, John.
Fox, John.
Fox, Richard K.
Fulljames, Geo.
Faulkner, Lester B.
Fellows, Cornelius.
Ferrigan, Big Lew.
Gardner, Hugh.
Gildersleeve, Henry A.
Galloway, Bob.
Gaffney, Joe.
Galvin, Mike.
Gilmore, Ed.
Gleason, Mike.
Hamilton, Jack.
Harbeck, J. H.
Harding, W. E.
Harper, Billy.
Harris, Dooney.
Henry, Jack.
Hill, Harry.
Huntington, Nat.
Hess, Jake.
Haughton, Nich.
Hummel, Abey.
Hamilton, Tody.
Hazael, Geo.
Harr, John.
Jerome, Larry.
Jacobus, John W.
Johnston, Charley.
Kearney, Ed.
Kearns, Tom.
Keenan, Jim.
Kerrigan, Col. Jim.
Kilrain, Jake.
Knapp, Shep.
Kelly, John.
Killilen, Thomas F.
Law, Geo.
Laffan, Fitz.
Leary, James M.
Leary, Red.
Lord, Charles.
Lansing, C. K.
Laimbeer, Wm.
Mallahan, Ned.
Malone, Mat.
Maloney, Billy.
Mason, Aleck.
May, Col. Fred.
McCaffery, Dom.
McCullough, J. H.
McMullen, Bill.
McSwyny, Bryan.
Milligan, Phil.
Moore, Mat.
Moore, Pony.
Mulry, Mike.
Murphy, John.
Murphy, M. J.
Murray, Wm.
Mitchell, Peter.
Murphy, Mayor Ed.
Martin, Barney.
Matthews, James.
Myers, L. E.
Mandeville, Viscount.
Mace, Dan.
Murray, Big Mike.
Nay, Gen. J. O.
Neary, Fiddler.
Olliffe, Wm. M.
O'Brien, John J.
O'Brien, Billy.
Patterson, Jim.
Parker, Lew.
Pinkerton, Bob.
Porter, Henry H.
Quinn, John J.
Reilly, Johnny.
Rice, H. J.
Riley, Mat.
Reilly, Bryan.
Russell, Horace.
Sanford, Wright.
Sheppard, Patsy.
Stetson, John.
Sweeny, Old Dan.
Shook, Shed.
Spinola, Gen. F. B.
Stage, Bobby Jr.
Stalk, John.
Stokes, Ed. S.
Straus, Nathan.
Scrymser, W. L.
Townsend, Isaac.
Thorne, Tom W.
Tracy, Billy.
Travers, Wm. R.
Van Cleef, A. W.
Wakeley, Jim.
Whepley, Jerome.
Williams, A. S.
Wood, John.
Walsh, Fatty.
Wheatly, Jimmy.

The multitude was beginning to grow impatient, when white-headed Bob Smith mounted the steps of the platform and entered the ring. There was a chair in both the southeast and northwest corner. A wooden water pail and several sponges stood near each chair, and boxing gloves as white as the driven snow were under them. A roar of applause greeted the master of ceremonies. "Order, gentlemen, order!" he shouted in the tone of a muffled locomotive whistle. "The first setto will be between Jack Williams and Harry Crysler."

Two trim-built young fellows bounded up the steps, and, after drawing on the gloves with Bob's aid, sat down upon the chairs. A moment afterward they were in the ring pegging away at each other like two gamecocks, while the vast amphitheatre resounded with applause. It was a very pretty fight, much better than the set-tos usually preceding a great pugilistic performance. William is only 18 years old, and a pupil of Crysler. He fought like an Irish red, and fairly earned the encomiums showered on him.

The second passage-at-arms was between Joe Denning, champion of Williamsburgh, and Harry Shine. The latter is Billy Edwards's brother-in-law, and has been playing the mastiff at Stokes's while Billy was in training. He is tall and good looking, and Denning is fat and soggy. Joe strikes heavy blows, however, and capsized Shine repeatedly, getting in return occasionally a good smash in the nose, for Shine was a wonderful reach. He ducked and danced around so much that he lost the favor of the crowd. While Bob Smith was fanning him with a towel some one excited a flurry of laughter by shouting, "Say, young fellow, you'll get foundered." Meantime the benches in the vicinity began to break down with their weight of standing spectators. They cracked right and left, causing considerable confusion.

The third bout was between Denny Costigan and Young Nixy. The latter has a swarthy gypsy face, and the former an Irish one as broad as a full moon. Nixy was left a fortune by his parents, and drifted into boxing through pure love of the sport. He had comparatively an easy thing with his opponent, as Denny had injured his right hand in an argument with a gentleman in Mike Madden's saloon, and was compelled to rely solely on his left duke. The benches gave way repeatedly in all parts of the hall, while Denny's left flew into the gypsy's face, distracting the attention of the audience.

The fourth contest was between Mike Mulry and Jack Dempsey. Like all who preceded them they were stripped to the waist. Dempsey elicited much applause by his science. As the benches and boxes continued caving, the men in the boxes began to roar "Sit down!" in unison. Those using the chairs and boxes were shutting off their view of the stage. Capt. Williams then proved the magnetism of his reputation. Pointing with his club to the elevated beavers, he shouted, "Get down off from those benches!" In twenty seconds every man stood on the floor, surging around the tables and benches like tidal water around a nest of rocks.

James Faulkner, champion of England, and Billy Oliver, the Harlem boatbuilder, then had a wrestling match, catch as catch can. By a very pretty display of skill Faulkner won the first fall in 30 seconds, and the second in 1:10.

Bob Smith then informed the crowd that Billy O'Brien wanted to match Johnny Caffrey to fight Kilrain, and that he wanted Kilrain's backer to show up at a Sixth avenue saloon after the performance.

A roaring like a storm at sea announced the approach of Edwards and Mitchell. Hundreds of eager ones sprang to their seats, but were melted down by a thousand cries of "Get down there!" Edwards was the first to enter the ring, and scores of voices greeted him with, "Hey, Billy!" His blue eyes were bright, and the stereotyped smile played over his features. He looked thin, but clean cut. He had evidently been trained down too fine. His skin was as white as marble. Mitchell contrasted strongly with him. His shoulders were built like the shoulders of a wedge, and huge bunches of muscles played under his white skin. He seemed to be in perfect condition. Neither man showed a pimple. Edwards was as graceful as a fawn, and Mitchell looked like a bulldog. Both men wore white bands around their wrists. Edwards was shirtless. His trim legs were encased in white trunks, buttoned at the knee. He wore white stockings and black gaiters. Mitchell appeared in a sleeveless merino shirt, white trunks, and black stockings and shoes. Both men had white and blue girdles. The gloves weighed four ounces each. Arthur Chambers seconded Edwards, and Billy Madden officiated for Mitchell. Warwick Edwards's face loomed over the edge of the platform near his brother's chair. John McCormick of the Cincinnati Enquirer was the timekeeper. "Gentlemen," shouted Bob Smith as the roar of greeting died away, "Edwards and Mitchell will spar four rounds, Marquis of Queensberry's rules, three minutes to each round. I hope there will be no disturbance. If you make one Williams will stop the fight, and you won't see any fun."

Chambers had sponged Edwards's face with brandy and water, and was fanning him with a palm-leaf fan. Madden was soothing Mitchell with a towel. Mitchell gazed hungrily at Edwards, very much as Sullivan gazed at him a year ago. When time was called Edwards sprang to the centre of the ring with the grace of an antelope, Mitchell met him, and they clasped hands. In a second the gloves began to dance between them like flying snowballs. The multitude were eager-eyed and breathless. After a little cautious sparring Edwards led off by a long downward lunge with his right, touching Mitchell's stomach. A little fibbing followed. Thrice Billy struck out for Charley's face, and thrice was he neatly stopped. Mitchell pressed him and tried to force the fighting. In jumping away to avoid the blows Billy tripped himself and fell on his side. When he arose Mitchell pressed him stronger than ever. There were two seconds of sharp countering, and the men clinched. Mitchell threw Edwards from him and crowded him into his corner, striking him and driving him to the ropes. Edwards fell on his left knee, putting his right hand on the ropes to save himself from going through. Quick as a flash Mitchell's right made a curve and took him under the chin. The multitude yelled in execration, and there were loud cries of "Foul!" The excitement was tremendous, Arthur Chambers assisted Edwards to his feet, and Warwick made a motion to get on the stage. Both men resumed their chairs, although the round had lasted only a minute and thirty-nine seconds. Capt. Williams was at the head of the gangway, club in hand, watching the proceedings, and the men's seconds were busily fanning them with towels. The uproar continued deafening. McCormick consulted with Chambers and Madden. Edwards said "All right," and it was agreed that time should be called for the second round. Old boxers said that the blow was not foul, because Edwards had only one knee on the floor. If he had had both knees on the floor, or if he had had a knee and a hand down, the blow would have been a foul one.

It was clear that Edwards was overmatched. His opponent looked like a man who knew that he had a sure thing. His eyes blazed as Sullivan's had blazed when Mitchell had been placed in similar circumstances. It was evident that he meant to knock the presumptuous light weight out. When time was called, he rushed for Edwards as Sullivan had rushed for himself a year before. Edwards sprang around like a cat, sparring very cautiously, but Mitchell fairly ran over him, and Billy fell to save himself. He was hardly on his feet before Mitchell was on him like a loaded freight car running down hill. Failing to get away, Edwards was fought down. He was losing his agility under the heavy fighting, for Mitchell gave him not a second's rest. In sheer desperation he again touched Mitchell's stomach, and got slogged for his pains. An interval of close fighting was followed by terrific slogging. They clinched. Edwards twisted his head from under Mitchell's arm, and was again sent to grass by Charley's terrible left. As he arose there was more close fighting, and they again clinched. Edwards got partly away, but Mitchell stuck to him like a spider to a fly, following him closely, and finally knocking him down in his corner. The slogging was resumed before he was fairly on his feet. Edwards was getting groggy. He clinched Mitchell as though he wanted to hold himself up. Both times Charley threw him from him as though he was made of putty. The second time he staggered and fell to the floor. He got to his feet, but was knocked down with apparently a slight blow. He was clearly fought out, and was reeling as Mitchell reeled when in a similar position with Sullivan. Mitchell was making a final effort to knock him out, when Capt. Williams strode across the stage and put his club between them protecting Edwards from Mitchell as he had protected Mitchell from Sullivan. Mitchell made a lunge at Edwards over the club. He was not disposed stop. The Captain elevated his club and warned him of the consequences. Madden then pulled Mitchell back to his corner, and Edwards found his way over to Chambers. Time, 2:13½.

The men were again sponged and fanned. Williams consulted with McCormick, Chambers and Edwards, and the third round was fought. Edwards arose, with his hands down. "Put up your hands, Billy," said Mitchell, "time's called." He did so.

Many said that it was a shame to allow them to continue the fight, as Edwards was so clearly overmatched. They clinched, and broke away at call. Edwards was very weak. Mitchell knocked him down. He got to his feet, and made a feeble rush. He was knocked into the ropes, but saved from falling to the floor. Capt. Williams then peremptorily stopped the fight. Edwards was virtually knocked out. Time, 34½ seconds.

Mitchell quickly jumped into his clothes, and was all dressed before half of the crowd had left the Garden and was unconcernedly rolling an unlit cigar in his mouth. He showed no marks, and remarked that he felt all right. In explanation of the foul which had been claimed, he said that he partly held Edwards up, and he was not down. Edwards was pretty well done up, and kept drawing long breaths at frequent intervals.

The receipts were $12,000; expenses, $1,400.

1884-03-26 Charley Mitchell D-PTS4 Jake Kilrain [Institute Fair Building, Boston, MA, USA]

1884-03-27 Boston Daily Advertiser (Boston, MA) (page 8)

SPARRING EXHIBITION.

A crowd of about 5000, including representatives from all classes of society, gathered in the Institute Building last evening to witness the sparring match between Charles Mitchell, the champion heavy weight of England, and John Kilrain of this city, the champion middle weight of New England. Previous to this match the gloves were put on first between Johnny Murphy and Joe Clark, both of this city, in which the latter came off best, also between Tom Bates of London and John Connolly of Boston, in which the latter had the advantage. In the rounds between young McManus of Lowell and Mike Dyer of this city some lively work was done, the latter apparently showing the most skill. In the contests between Billy Frazer of Boston and Denny Costigan of Providence, and between Charley Norton of Newark, N. J., and young Nixey of London, the former in both instances were entitled to the honors. The rounds between Mitchell and Kilrain were fought with gloves which were but an apology for soft gloves, and some very lively work was done on both sides, Kilrain having the advantage. Among those present were Aldermen McDonald, Nugent, Whitten, Leighton and Pray, and Councilmen Lee, Fraser, Blume and Killduff, and many members of the Crib and Somerset clubs.


1884-03-27 Boston Morning Journal (Boston, MA) (page 3)

Boxing Witnessed by 5000 Men.

About 5000 men, representing the extremes of Boston's social life, assembled last evening in the upper hall of the Institute Fair Building to witness a series of boxing contests. The wind-up, and that which was the principal attraction, was a battle between Charles Mitchell, the heavy-weight champion of England, and John Kilrain, the middle-weight champion of New England. The sympathies of the audience were evidently with the American. The first round they both were cautious, feeling each other out; the second round the Englishman got rather the worst of it, the friends of Kilrain shouting themselves hoarse; the third round was tame, and the fourth was not much better; Kilrain fell once, and it was decidedly a drawn battle, and a tame affair to what had been expected.


1884-03-27 The Boston Daily Globe (Boston, MA) (page 1)

GIVING AND TAKING.
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Kilrain and Mitchell Spar to a Draw.
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All of Boston's Sporting Men on Hand, with Many from Out of Town.
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Battles of the Gloves by Many Scientific Boxers.
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"Show your tickets, gentlemen, and tear off your coupons!" piped the boy in uniform who was perched over the narrow entrance to the hall of the Institute building last night to the pushing, jostling crowd that thronged in to witness the debut of Boston's second heavy weight, Jake Kilrain. The burly policemen in the meantime bellowed in their melodious bass, "Now, easy, gentlemen, don't crowd; you'll get in quicker if you'll just go light." The crowd, however, was unreasonable, like most crowds, and refused to listen to the admonitions of the guardians of the peace, but elbowed and crowded each other to their hearts' content. Once in the hall, all confusion ceased as the crowd melted away, and some made their way to the reserved seats, while others took up their positions in those portions of the vast hall that afforded the best view of the stage. It is safe to estimate the size of the audience at 5000. All classes were represented in the throng, and as the stream of humanity poured in one could see a venerable alderman or a respected member of the Common Council, or maybe one of Boston's most solid and eminent business or professional men jostling and joking with an impecunious man of the town, whose ticket cost him half his worldly wealth.

The stage was placed against one side of the hall, and was raised about four feet from the floor, and measured about twenty-four feet square. Around three sides the reserved seats, numbering in the neighborhood of 2000, and costing the fortunate possessors $2 each, were ranged, while the space behind was used by those who had simple admission tickets.

The interest of the evening was of course centred in the contest between John Kilrain and Charles Mitchell. Mitchell is known to everybody as the man who gave Sullivan the hardest fight that he has yet had, and as the knocker out of every other man with whom he has fought. Kilrain, although possessing considerable of a local reputation, has never been pitted before against a man of acknowledged strength and skill as a heavy-weight. He has sparred quite a number of times in private exhibitions, and he always acquitted himself with credit.

As to the result of the trial there can be but ne verdict. If Mitchell sparred to win, and to down his man, Kilrain is a phenomenal sparrer and fighter. The honors, to say the least, were easy, and if Kilrain didn't get the best of the fight neither did Mitchell. No blood was spilled on either side, and, although Kilrain went down once, it certainly didn't appear like a knock-down, since Kilrain came up smiling and not the least bit groggy. Indeed, both men at the end of the so-called assault-at-arms were perfectly fresh and uninjured. It was a very pretty exhibition of sparring, and both men showed themselves to be clever fighters, although Mitchell displayed none of that dash and hard hitting that was to be expected from his previous record. Mitchell and Madden, it is said, receive one-third of the gross receipts, which probably amounted to at least $6000, making their share $2000. The remaining two-third was divided among James Keenan, Kilrain and the other gentlemen under whose auspices the exhibition was given.

The Introductory Bouts.

At 8.20 o'clock Patsey Sheppard and Billy Mahoney, who were jointly masters of ceremonies, stepped upon the stage. Johnny Murphy, a doughty little red-headed chap, and Joe Clark followed them, and, after being introduced, opened the entertainment with three really clever rounds. Tom Bates, the Englishman, and John Connelly were next introduced, and then young McManus and Mikey Dyer indulged in light sparring. Billy Frazer of the Hub made an elegant showing with Denny Costigan of Providence, and Charley Norton of Newark, N. J., and young Nixey of London followed, Norton especially giving a fine exhibition of scientific boxing.

Patsey Sheppard and Billy Madden, who were down on the bill, did not, to the disappointment of many of the auditors, put on the mittens; but as they were to act as seconds for Kilrain and Mitchell respectively, in the four rounds that followed, and could not possibly do so without inflicting a very tedious waiting spell upon the audience, it was deemed for the best that they should not do so.

A long wait, however, did follow, which was broken by Arthur Chambers stepping upon the stage, accompanied by William Sheriff, the Prussian. Billy Mahoney introduced both men to the audience and announced that Mr. Chambers would back the Prussian to fight Mitchell to a finish with gloves for $1000. The audience received the gentlemen and the statement with great applause. Then another aspirant clambered over the ropes and was introduced as Bendor of London, anxious to fight Charles Godfrey, the colored boxer, or Florrie Barnett.

The Coming of the Giants.

Another brief interval and Madden, with bottles, sponges, towels and other necessary adjuncts to a battle, was noticed making his way through the crowd. Following him was Mitchell, and at the sight of the latter applause rout the air. Charley Norton brought up the rear. When Mitchell stepped upon the stage it was 9.25 o'clock. A few minutes elapsed, when an uproar started, announcing the coming of Kilrain. He was preceded by Patsey Sheppard and followed by little Tom McCarty. W. E. Hardy, who was to act as time-keeper, then mounted the stage.

After tossing for choice of gloves, Kilrain selected a two-ounce pair, which Mitchell's friends had brought on. The mittens being donned, and, the men introduced, time was called, and, as both men stepped to the centre of the ring, a breathless silence prevailed. Mitchell's physical form was on the whole superior to that of Kilrain, although the latter showed plainly that nothing had been left undone to bring him to the scratch in the finest shape.

The men eyed each other for five seconds, when Kilrain led with his left, landing lightly upon Mitchell's right cheek. A few more seconds of eyeing one another ensued, when Mitchell feinted with his left and sent a terrific right-hander for Jake's stomach, but that part of the Bostonian's body was two feet away fortunately. The men were wary, and the audience gazed with the expectation that at the next lead one or the other must go to the floor. A little more preliminary work and with a rush they came together. The clinch lasted but a few seconds, but while it did last it demonstrated either that neither man wanted to punish the other or that they were both afraid. While Mitchell was thinking what tactics to resort to that harmless left of Jake again caught on, and time was called.

Neither man showed exhaustion or any effects of punishment upon the opening of the second round. Thus far Mitchell, excepting the one straight right-hander aimed at Kilrain's stomach, and the bit of sparring indulged in by him during the clinch in the first round, had done no work that would entitle him to be considered an extraordinary man. The many who were awaiting an exhibition of his skill were losing faith in him when he let go his right hand. It went over Jake's left shoulder, as did another a few seconds later. The men closed, Mitchell forcing Kilrain to the ropes. They remained clinched four or five seconds, neither showing a disposition to break, and both apparently pounding each other with all their strength, but when they separated a smile o'erspread both of their faces. A lively little tilt ensued, and it was getting pretty warm, with honors easy, when time was called.

The third round was most interesting, that is, the men worked harder, for as soon as time was called Mitchell made a rush at Kilrain and sent a right-hander flying over the latter's head. He got in a very good left-hander, and grazed Jack's bread-basket with his right. Jake opened with the left and Mitchell struck him a body blow, or at least it so appeared, that sent Jake to the floor. Mitchell smiled as Jake came to the front again. The round was a rattling give and take from this rally to its close. The audience cheered wildly meanwhile.

The fourth round was a rattling go-as-you-please, come-again-tomorrow sort of an affair. Every time the men closed, and they closed scarcely less than a dozen times, the audience fairly howled, and as Kilrain, who naturally had the largest number of friends, landed either his right or left, the audience shrieked at him to follow Mitchell up. This enthusiasm reached its climax when, after a clinch, Kilrain struck the right jaw of the Englishman with his left forcibly enough to stagger him. The audience, to a man, stood up, many of them in their chairs, and urged Jake on. He did not, however, and it seemed difficult for Mitchell to suppress his laughter. The round finished a moment or two later with the men clinched, and Jake Kilrain's name and fame as a boxer made.

At the close of the fight both men were as fresh as when they commenced, and the only evidence of a blow being struck was a slight bruise upon Mitchell's right cheek.

1883-10-02 Charley Mitchell D-PTS7 William Sheriff (Queens, NY, USA)

1883-10-03 The New York Herald (New York, NY) (page 4)

A FISTIC FIZZLE.
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Mitchell and Sheriff Spar Seven Rounds at Flushing.
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DECIDED A DRAW.
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Three Hundred Disgusted Ten Dollar Spectators.
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"Pier No. 39 East River, at three o'clock this afternoon," was the information vouchsafed to all who cared to ask yesterday morning for the "tip" to see the glove fight between Charles Mitchell and his fellow countryman, William Sheriff. These English pugilists have been in the country for some months; they came here with the reputation of being the best obtainable specimens from that hotbed of the prize ring, the "Brummagem" district. Mitchell had conquered everybody, and was imported for the purpose of pulverizing John L. Sullivan. He made a beginning by stopping Mike Cleary, who was a "coming man" because he defeated a pugilist who had been beaten by nearly every one he met. Mitchell was then accommodated by Sullivan, and his English and Cleary reputation vanished into thin air. Next he was matched against the Maori to fight with the bare knuckles, but that affair fizzled out, and the match with Sheriff was made. The latter has been bidding for American notoriety since his arrival last July, aiming his challenges at Sullivan, but failing to get recognition took up with smaller game. The agreement was to have a select party of fifty spectators, twenty-five a side, and fight in private. This was a bluff to catch the gentlemen who would not patronize an out and out prize fight, with all its brutal accompaniments, but would attend anything very select. The bait took capitally, and yesterday afternoon, instead of the modest half hundred assembled at pier 39, there were five times as many. The tariff was $10 a ticket. That was of course an additional indication that it must be a good fight. Having seen to it, by the aid of five scrutinizers on the gangplank, that no one got on board minus his ten dollar passport, and having waited the arrival of any late comer, the hawsers were taken in and the boat steamed up the East River bound for Flushing Bay. The crowd on board as an eminently respectable one, a sprinkling of bankers, a goodly representation from the Stock Exchange, men known in arts, sciences and literature, and here and there a little of the leaven of the prize ring. The only incident of the trip was the hailing of the steamer by a steam yacht after passing through Hell Gate and the taking on board half a dozen holders of ten dollar tickets.

The fight was not the sole topic of conversation, but when touched upon it was evident that the speakers had made up their minds that something memorable was about to be witnessed. It cost only a matter of $2 to see Sullivan pulverize his opponent at Madison Square Garden, and five times that amount of fun was to be witnessed on this occasion to make up for the additional outlay. More scrutiny of tickets took place on disembarking at the scene of the fight, and then there was a rush for eligible positions by the ring side. The orthodox stakes and ropes were already set up on the turf, and around these the augmented crowd of three hundred took up their positions. They were not kept long in suspense, for soon Mitchell forced his way to the ropes and stepped inside, attended by Billy Madden and Joe Coburn, and hardly were they inside before Sheriff, with Arthur Chambers and Billy Edwards, followed. Harry Hill was referee, and as timekeepers there were Barney Aaron and Mike Coburn--altogether an array of pugilistic talent within the squared circle which presaged business. Sponges and buckets of water to wash off the blood which was about to flow, bottles of brandy and other mysterious compounds to revive the exhausted gladiators were also provided, and among the spectators were a sufficient number of disciples of Esculapius to attend to the about-to-be-fractured limbs.

Amid a silence almost painful in its intensity the men stripped, revealing their muscular development, brought to a state of perfection by a course of abstinence and severe work. Time was called at twenty minutes past five o'clock, and, with the alacrity which bespeaks the buoyancy of a well trained man, they stepped to the "scratch" and shook hands with their glove-guarded fists, while the seconds went through the same symbol of fraternal regard. Everything pertaining to the traditions of the ring were scrupulously carried out, and then the seconds withdrew and the men stood alone in the centre of the ring while the spectators nerved themselves to witness the first knockdown blow. They waited ten seconds while the men squared away and made weaving motions with their arms. They waited twenty seconds, thirty seconds, and still the two men kept weaving their arms about. Then the champion of all England gathered himself together to deal the paralyzing blow. He thought better of it; he would allow Mr. Sheriff yet a few seconds longer before he sent him to sleep, so he drew back a few steps and smiled. Mr. Sheriff seemed grateful for Mr. Mitchell's kindness, and he in turn consumed several seconds in making threatening demonstrations toward the champion of all England. Then Mr. Mitchell playfully tapped Mr. Sheriff on the nose and jumped back and smiled again. Now they sparred until they recovered their wind, suffering from the effects of the introductory movements, and having done so Mr. Mitchell approached closer to his antagonist. The nervous motion of his arms and the rising muscles on his thighs as he grasped the turf with his spiked shoes to get a good purchase for the delivery of a double distilled thunderbolt bespoke no good to his bullnecked adversary. Like an arrow he shot his clenched fist toward and landed it on Mr. Sheriff's face, but it did not seem to inconvenience the latter very much. The spectators looked on, watching in silence this profound display of sparring. Where was the blood-stained cestus, where the knock-down blows and the knocking out for which they had paid their $10? Neither one nor the other did they see in the first round, at the completion of which the men walked to their corners as fresh as daisies and were sponged and rubbed down as if they had just emerged from the most trying ordeal. The second round was a repetition of the first, and the third was likewise. Twelve minutes in the ring and still the gloves preserved their spotless purity, and neither of the men had visited mother earth. Another round of three minutes and people began to inquire what kind of a game this was. Ten dollars for a Sunday school picnic is an expensive frivolity the gentlemen gathered on the Flushing greensward are averse to indulging in. In the fifth round excitement rose to fever heat, because Messrs. Mitchell and Sheriff, the creme de la creme of English pugilists, delivered two blows each in rapid succession. Now the men were warming to their work and they were actually going to fight. But the trying ordeal necessitated sparring for wind and with now and again a tap, the round ended, and after a minute's interval the do-or-die gladiators stood up for the sixth round. They worried through that in the same way as the others, and at the end of it had performed all the articles of agreement called for.

"FIGHT IT OUT."

Harry Hill, who, like everybody else, expected to see a fight, was nonplussed. This was a new revelation to him, and he was at a loss what to do. The lookers-on relieved him of his trouble by displaying their first sign of boisterousness and demanding that the men should fight it out. Another round was ordered and sparred through and still the cry arose, "Fight it out." The defalcation was now in Mitchell's corner, Madden, his second, declining on account of a weak wrist to allow Mitchell to go on. This was Sheriff's opportunity, and his advisers and seconds loudly demanded the continuance of the encounter, while Madden called for a decision from the referee. That official, with a rare sense of humor, put the climax to affairs by announcing that "Mitchell had the best of the fight, but my decision is that it is a draw."

It was now rapidly getting dark, and as the men put on their coats to leave the ring the befooled three hundred freely expressed themselves on the subject of prize fighting in general and Messrs. Mitchell and Sheriff in particular. "Call that a fight? Why, you will see better in New York every night for ten cents. It is a dead swindle to take $10 for such a show," exclaimed an athletic stock broker. Nothing could be done after that but make for the Flushing Railway station, the only ones left behind being the pugilists and those interested in the division of the spoils.