haracterized those of Randall. They
walked up to the _scratch_, and shook hands in perfect good fellowship.
Every man now took his station, and the heroes threw themselves into
their guard.

It was rumoured that Martin intended to lose no time in manoeuvring, but
to go to work instanter. This however he found was not so easily to
be effected as suggested, for Randall had no favour to grant, and was
therefore perfectly on his guard. He was all wary caution, and had
clearly no intention of throwing away a chance, but was evidently
waiting for Martin to commence. Martin once or twice made play, but
Randall was not skittishly inclined, all was "war hawk." Randall made a
left-handed hit to draw his adversary, but found it would not do.
Martin then hit right and left, but was stopped. Randall was feeling for
Martin's wind, but hit above his mark, though not without leaving one of
a red colour, which told "a flattering tale." Randall returned with his
left, and the men got to a smart rally, when Randall got a konker, which
tapped the claret. An almost instantaneous close followed, in which
Randall, grasping Martin round the neck with his right arm, and bringing
his head to a convenient posture, sarved out punishment with his left.
This was indeed a terrific position. Randall was always famous for the
dreadful force of his short left-handed hits, and on this occasion they
lost none of their former character. Martin's nob was completely in a
vice; and while in that hopeless condition, Randall fibbed away with the
solid weight of the hammer of a tuck-mill. His aim was principally at
the neck, where every blow told with horrible violence. Eight or ten
times did he repeat the dose, and then, with a violent swing, threw
Martin to the ground, falling on him as he; went with all his weight.
The Ring resounded with applause, and Jack coolly took ~401~~ his seat
on the knee of his Second. Martin's friends began to look blue, but
still expected, the fight being young, there was yet much to be done.

All eyes were now turned to Martin, who being lifted on Spring's knee,
in a second discovered that he was done. His head fell back lifeless,
and all the efforts of Spring to keep it straight were in vain. Water
was thrown on him in abundance, but without effect: he was, in fact,
completely senseless; and the half-minute having transpired, the
Nonpareil was hailed the victor.

Randall appeared almost without a scratch, while poor Martin lay