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This was Tom’s “last bumper at parting” with the active practice of pugilism, though up to a very recent period, when succeeded by his son, Fred. Oliver, the veteran Tom was rarely, despite his periodical visitations of his old enemy the gout, absent from his post whenever the P.R. ropes and stakes were in requisition. The civility, respectful attention, and forbearing good humour (often under circumstances of the utmost provocation) of Oliver we can personally bear testimony to. He was emphatically “the right man in the right place;” even-tempered, firm, obliging, yet undismayed by the most demonstrative of “roughs,” Tom preserved his dignity, and commanded order by his quiet, inoffensive, yet determined mode of doing what he considered to be his “duty.” During his latter years, “Old Tom” vegetated as a fruiterer and greengrocer in Pimlico and Chelsea, where he brought up a family, as a fine specimen of lusty old age, and of the days when we may say of the ring, “there were giants in the land.” Tom finally “threw up the sponge,” June, 1864, at the ripe age of 75.