In the whole appearance of the man there was a blending of the bluff and the sharp.

You might have supposed him a bruiser; his dress was that of one in all its minutiae; something was wanting, however, in his manner--the quietness of the professional man; he rather looked like one performing the part--well--very well--but still performing a part.

His companion!--there, indeed, was the bruiser--no mistake about him: a tall massive man, with a broad countenance and a flattened nose; dressed like a bruiser, but not like a bruiser going into the ring; he wore white topped boots, and a loose brown jockey coat.

As the first advanced towards the table, behind which the magistrate sat, he doffed a white castor from his head, and made rather a genteel bow; looking at me, who sat somewhat on one side, he gave a kind of nod of recognition.
"May I request to know who you are, gentlemen ?" said the magistrate.
"Sir," said the man in a deep, but not unpleasant voice, "allow me to introduce to you my friend, Mr.---, the celebrated pugilist;" and he motioned with his hand towards the massive man with the flattened nose.
"And your own name, sir ?" said the magistrate.
"My name is no matter," said the man; "were I to mention it to you, it would awaken within you no feeling of interest.

It is neither Kean nor Belcher, and I have as yet done nothing to distinguish myself like either of those individuals, or even like my friend here.