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“Light lie the earth on his grave.”

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Edward Painter was known to the past and to not a few of the present generation, as a worthy specimen of the English boxer—a race of men, we fear, well-nigh extinct. To the first, as one of the gamest of pugilists that ever pulled off a shirt; to the second, as a respectable and worthy tradesman resident in Norwich, but ever and anon visiting his old friends and patrons in the great metropolis, when some “event” occurred, in which those he knew in former days required a hand; or when some public or charitable object could be assisted by “Old Ned’s” showing with Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Jem Ward, one or other of the distinguished “big ’uns,” who were contemporary with his ring career.

NED PAINTER, of Norwich.

From a Drawing by George Sharples, 1824.

Ned Painter was born at Stratford, Lancashire, within four miles of Manchester, in March, 1797, and, as a young man, followed the calling of a brewer. His connexions were respectable, and young Ned bore the character of a well-behaved, civil fellow. A difference with a big fellow in the brewery, one Wilkins, led to a blow from that personage, and its return by the youthful Ned. A cartel from Wilkins was boldly answered by Painter, and they met in due form in the yard of the Swan Inn, Manchester, when Ned so quickly polished off the “big one” that he gave in after a very few minutes. Ned’s master, who was a spectator of the affair, complimented him for his courage and skill, and, as Ned himself said, gave him the idea of his own boxing qualities. Accordingly, when Jack Carter, “The Lancashire Champion,” as he vauntingly called himself, was exhibiting in Manchester, in 1811, Painter, at the solicitation of his friends, was induced to offer himself for a set-to. The specimen he gave with the gloves confirmed their good opinion that he was the “right stuff,” but required a little more polish to spar with a full-blown “professional.” Painter, at this time, was in his twenty-fourth year, his weight thirteen stone, his height five feet nine inches and three-quarters, and his bust, when stripped, an anatomical study for symmetry and strength. Few men, at this time, or in after years, could throw half a hundred-weight near to the distance to which Painter could sling it with comparative ease. Our hero, thus qualified, presented himself to his fellow countryman, Bob Gregson, at the Castle, as an aspirant for fistic fame. Bob, at this time, was a sort of Mæcenas of millers, as boxers were then termed, and his house the mart for match-making. He welcomed the arrival of this promising young Lancastrian, and soon found him an opponent in one Coyne,^[16] an Irish boxer from Kilkenny, six feet in height, and fourteen stone in weight, who also ambitioned a name. The articles fixed 40 guineas a-side as the stake, and the men met at St. Nicholas, near Margate (in the same ring as Harmer and Ford), August 23, 1813. Painter was attended by his friend Bob Gregson, and Joe Clark; Coyne was esquired by Joe Ward and Hall. The men lost little time in preliminary sparring, and, considering the size of the Hibernian, Painter’s confidence was more conspicuous than his science. He went up to the head of Paddy, and put in one two, but got it heavily in return, and as the rally went on the weight and length of Coyne bored him gradually back on to the ropes, where he escaped cleverly, and “upper-cut” his opponent amidst some applause. Another rally and both napped it heavily; the round ending in Painter down, but the larger share of punishment certainly to Coyne, whose appearance excited much amusement. His arms were unusually long and lathy, and his face long also, with sharp-cut features and a prominent “cut-water;” indeed, after a little of Painter’s painting, it is compared by the reporter to that of the Knight of La Mancha—he of “the woeful countenance;” the swinging of his arms, too, resembled that of the windmill sails so unsuccessfully attacked by Cervantes’ hero. The mill, however, went on merrily, Painter receiving far more than he need have received, but for his eagerness to “polish off” his man triumphantly. Paddy was game as a pebble; but Painter, by his skill, gradually obtained a decided lead, and ended each round by milling poor Coyne to grass. After forty minutes, during the latter part of which time Coyne acted as “receiver-general,” Painter was hailed the conqueror.