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7.—This was a bustling round. Langan stopped well. Counter-hits, and good ones. The stopping on both sides was excellent, and obtained loud applause, “Be ready, my boy,” said Belcher, “fight first; he can’t hurt you!”—“Walker,” replied Tom Cribb; “gammon him to that if you can.” Langan followed the advice of his able second, put a tremendous hit under Spring’s left ogle, and tried to repeat it, but it was “no go.” A pause. Spring planted a facer; Langan got away from another intended for him. The left hand of Spring told well on his opponent’s body: he also planted three facers without any return. Counter-hits, of no consequence to any but the receivers; the hero of the black fogle touched Spring’s body with his left hand. A stand still. “Keep up your head, Langan.” Spring followed his opponent, administering pepper, and Langan’s face clareted. Langan endeavoured to put in a heavy blow, but the harlequin step of Spring prevented it. Langan napped two or three hits in succession; in fact, he was quite groggy; nevertheless he fought like a man, was mischievous, and gave Spring a nobber. In closing, Spring could not throw him, when they separated; in closing again, after another struggle, Langan received a topper as he was staggering and going down.—(Great applause. It won’t last long—five to two, and three to one, Spring will win it in a few rounds the backers of the Champion were smiling, and said, “It is all right.”)