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Here, for many years, he lived honoured, respected, and prosperous; but latterly his health failed, and he retired from the bustle of business to a house at Five Lanes End, Cheshire, where, on the 17th of March (St. Patrick’s Day), in the year 1846, he departed this life, aged forty-seven.

It was with deep regret that we heard of the demise of the brave, the good Jack Langan. Brave he was, as his conduct in conflict showed; good he was, as perpetual acts of benevolence proved. He was a boxer, a prize-fighter—no matter, a profession never yet disgraced a man, if he took care not to disgrace the profession. Langan, though poorly educated was a man of superior mind; he was, to speak of them generally, better educated than the class with whom his name was associated; and in power of observation, acuteness of reasoning, was, in fact, far above many who walk in higher places.

The sun never rose on a braver or a better man; and hundreds of poor Irishmen have cause to bless his memory. One of those domestic afflictions that are utterly beyond remedy increased the maladies to which he had been long subject, and we fear we may, to use a common but expressive phrase, say that he died of a broken heart.