NOBLE ART OF SELF-DEFENCE 245 



set-to, not suspecting at the time that " old Nat" deducted 

 fifteen shillings in the pound before rewarding the per- 

 formers. 



But in the early years of the nineteenth century things 

 were better ordered. In the days of the Regency sparring 

 exhibitions between members of the Upper Ten were 

 almost as common as they are now between gentlemen of 

 the gutter. Lord Mexborough and the Hon. Fletcher 

 Norton were at one time Gentleman Jackson's favourite 

 pupils, and so evenly matched that a challenge was given 

 and accepted between the two to try which was the better 

 man. Such a sensation was created by this event, that on 

 the afternoon on which it came off Rotten Row was 

 deserted by the male sex, and Jackson's rooms in Bond 

 Street were crammed like Dury Lane gallery on Boxing- 

 night. It was regarded as a match between the House of 

 Lords and the House of Commons. Both the combatants 

 were light-weights and splendid boxers, and for a long time 

 victory hung in the balance ; for, while Mexborough was 

 the quicker at out-fighting, Norton was stronger in the 

 rally; but strength prevailed at last, and Lord Mexborough 

 was knocked clean over the benches, amidst tremendous 

 cheering. Grantly Berkeley tells us in his memoirs that 

 after dinner at Crockford's the tables would be frequently 

 put aside and the room converted into an arena, and Tom 

 Spring and Owen Swift and other boxers would amuse the 

 company with a display of their science. At other times 

 the room would be turned into a cockpit, and a main 

 fought by candle-light. 



In those hot days when George III. was King every 

 gentleman could use his fists. The Prince of Wales was 

 particularly proud of his skill, and firmly believed that had 

 he not been Prince of Wales he would have run Jackson 

 and Cribb close for the Championship of England. When 

 discussing boxing with a lady one day, he said : " I was out 

 with my harriers last year, when we found a hare, but the 

 scent was catching, so that we could get no continuous 

 pace at all. There was a butcher — damme, madam, a big 

 fellow, 15 stone, standing 6 feet 2 — the bully of all 

 Brighton. He over-rode my hounds several times, and I 



