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Slantlea began well: he took the lead, gave Langan several clumsy thumps, and had decidedly the best of the Irish Champion for the first four rounds. He sent Langan down three times by nobbing hits; and the friends of the former laughed heartily at the idea of his paying off Slantlea for waiting for him. “You have got your master now, Jack, before you.” “Be aisy,” replied Langan; “I have trained by the advice of Dan Donnelly; I’m sure I’ll bate any opponent; only look, I’m just going to begin!” and letting fly his left hand in full force upon Slantlea’s head, the latter fell as if he had been shot. Poor Slantlea never recovered from the effects of this blow; but he proved himself a game man for thirteen rounds, when he received a finisher. It was over in thirty-five minutes.

A porter of the name of Dalton, employed at the Irish Custom-house—a Josh. Hudson in nature, but so fond of milling that hardly a fellow round the Custom-house dared look at him—challenged Langan. “By the powers of Moll Kelly,” said Dalton, “he shall find he will have something more to do in bating me than he had with Slantlea.” The battle took place in Gloucester-fields. Dalton pelted away like a bull-dog for four rounds, but Langan put an end to his ferocity in the course of three more. At the expiration of twenty-five minutes Dalton was rendered as harmless as a mouse.