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Updated: June 5, 2025
One was Cribb himself all run to flesh since the time seven years before, when, training for his last fight, he had done his forty miles a day with Captain Barclay over the Highland roads.
"I saw that the very first word you spoke," said Cribb. "Then don't forget it. I will not warn you again. If I have occasion to find fault I shall choose another man." "And you won't tell me who I am to fight?" "Not a word. But you can take it from me that at your very best it will take you, or any man in England, all your time to master him.
It was with some suspicion therefore, and considerable inward trepidation, that he faced round as a tall veiled figure swept into the room. He was much consoled, however, to observe the bulky form of Tom Cribb immediately behind her as a proof that the interview was not to be a private one. When the door was closed, the lady very deliberately removed her gloves.
There, too, on the whitewashed walls, were admitted the portraits of ruder rivals in the arena of fame, yet they, too, had known an applause warmer than his age gave to Shakspeare; the Champions of the Ring, Cribb and Molyneux and Dutch Sam. Interspersed with these was an old print of Newmarket in the early part of the last century, and sundry engravings from Hogarth.
"Like a bear with a sore head, that's what I say," said Peter Cribb to the under-gardener. "Nothing never suits him." "Yes, it do," said Dan'l, showing a very red face over a clump of rhododendron. "Master said you was to come into the garden three days a week, and last week I only set eyes on you twice, and here's half the week gone and you've only been once."
Now, my dear friend, as this fortunate affair has taken place, I should wish it added to the print of Katherine's Trial: you will perhaps have the kindness to call on Mr. Cribb, the publisher, in Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, and have it worded thus: Member of the Academy of St. I expect to be in England by Christmas-Day or near it. I shall have an immensity to talk over.
There was our friend Mr Nathaniel Burkett, and his friend Mr Jonathan Kilby, both keen sportsmen, and up to all sorts of fun; and Gerard and I, and the master of the vessel, Tom Cribb by name, who, though not a good shot, seeing that he had but one eye, and that had a terrific squint, knew every inch of the coast, and exactly where we were likely to find sport; and then there was Cousin Silas, who was a first-rate shot, though he did not throw away his words by talking about the matter.
For there, in a state of the greatest excitement, were the doctor and Helen, with Peter Cribb, with a clothes-prop to be used for a different purpose now. Further behind was Dan'l Copestake, who came panting up with the longest handled rake just as Dexter was nearing the bank. "Will he be drowned?" whispered Helen, as she held tightly by her father's arm.
I think I now see them upon the bowling-green, the men of renown, amidst hundreds of people with no renown at all, who gaze upon them with timid wonder. Fame, after all, is a glorious thing, though it lasts only for a day. There's Cribb, the champion of England, and perhaps the best man in England; there he is, with his huge, massive figure, and face wonderfully like that of a lion.
Ay, and who could have told me fifty things else that have befallen me? February 16. R. Still snow; and, alas! no time for work, so hard am I fagged by the Court and the good company of Edinburgh. I almost wish my rheumatics were bad enough to give me an apology for staying a week at home. But we have Sunday and Monday clear. If not better, I will cribb off Tuesday; and Wednesday is Teind day.
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