The sporting world in Ireland were so warmly interested in this event that numerous parties arrived in England to witness the efforts of their avowed champion. The English boxers viewed him as a powerful opponent, and, jealous for the reputation of their “prize ring,” clenched their fists in opposition whenever his growing fame was chanted. In Ireland, as might be expected, two to one was laid without hesitation, from a knowledge of his capabilities; and in England, where only hearsay evidence was the inducement to make him the favourite, six to four was confidently betted on his winning. The torrents of rain which fell the previous evening to the fight operated as no drawback to the warm-hearted friends of Donnelly, who desired to see a “whack for the honour of Ireland,” and they tramped off in hundreds on the overnight without sigh or murmur, hoping to arrive in time to see their countryman fight and win. Early on the morning of Wednesday the weather proved equally unpropitious, but the game of the fancy was not to be disposed of by rain. A string of carriages of every description, reaching nearly a mile in length, might be seen from the top of the hill above Godstone; and deep “murmurings” occurred when it was announced that the scene of action was to be removed from Blindlow Common to Crawley Hurst, merely owing, it was said, to the caprice of one or two influential persons. The lads were not prepared for this long journey of sixty-two miles out and in, and many of the Rosinantes were unable to perform it. In consequence of this removal, it was two o’clock before the contest commenced. Oliver first threw his hat in the ring, followed by Cribb and Shelton; and Donnelly, waited upon by Tom Belcher and Randall, entering soon afterwards, repeated the token of defiance. Donnelly appeared the heavier man. Betting, seven to four. The green colour for Ireland was tied to the stakes over the blue for England, and the battle commenced.
Round 1.—Donnelly, on stripping, exhibited as fine a picture of the human frame as can well be imagined; indeed, if a sculptor had wished a living model to display the action of the muscles, a finer subject than Donnelly could not have been found. His legs wore firm and well rounded, his arms slingy and powerful, and his _ensemble_ indicated prodigious strength. The idle stories of his bad training were silenced on his putting himself into attitude; and his condition was acknowledged by his friends from Ireland to be far superior than when he fought with either Hall or Cooper on the Curragh of Kildare. Smiling confidence appeared to sit on his brow, his eye was sharp and penetrating, his face clear and animated, and he commenced the combat quite satisfactorily. Oliver was equally fine; and, under the training of Clark, who had waited upon him with the greatest care and attention, displayed flesh as firm as a rock; in fact, Oliver had never been in so good condition before. Such was the state of the combatants. Upon the shaking hands, the current betting was seven to four on Donnelly. The Irish champion was cool and collected, with nothing hurried in his manner. Upwards of a minute elapsed in sparring, or rather the pugilists were dodging each other to get a favourable opportunity. Donnelly made two hits with his left, which fell short, in consequence of Oliver’s getting away. Long sparring. Oliver made an offer to hit, but Donnelly, on the alert, retreated. More sparring, and dodging over the ground, till they got to the ropes in a corner of the ring, when Donnelly hit severely with his left. Several sharp exchanges occurred, and reciprocal fibbing took place, till they both went down in a desperate struggle for the throw, Oliver undermost. Five minutes had elapsed. (Loud shouting from the “boys of the sod,” and “Bravo, Donnelly!”)