Crisparkle well
remembered in the circles of the Fancy. Preparations were in
progress for a moral little Mill somewhere on the rural circuit,
and other Professors were backing this or that Heavy-Weight as good
for such or such speech-making hits, so very much after the manner
of the sporting publicans, that the intended Resolutions might have
been Rounds. In an official manager of these displays much
celebrated for his platform tactics, Mr. Crisparkle recognised (in
a suit of black) the counterpart of a deceased benefactor of his
species, an eminent public character, once known to fame as Frosty-
faced Fogo, who in days of yore superintended the formation of the
magic circle with the ropes and stakes. There were only three
conditions of resemblance wanting between these Professors and
those. Firstly, the Philanthropists were in very bad training:
much too fleshy, and presenting, both in face and figure, a
superabundance of what is known to Pugilistic Experts as Suet
Pudding. Secondly, the Philanthropists had not the good temper of
the Pugilists, and used worse language. Thirdly, their fighting
code stood in great need of revision, as empowering them not only
to bore their man to the ropes, but to bore him to the confines of
distraction; also to hit him when he was down, hit him anywhere and
anyhow, kick him, stamp upon him, gouge him, and maul him behind
his back without mercy.
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