sculptor as are rarely seen elsewhere. They
shake hands before commencing, in token of
amity, nor, indeed, in the thick of the strain
and the struggle, while the face of each is
over the shoulder of the other, and every
muscle is exerted to the utmost, do these fine
fellows exhibit any trace of savageness or
personal animosity.

Two umpires, Nestors of the wrestling-ring,
walk slowly round the combatants, and
observe them narrowly, nor is their decision
ever impugned by the losing man. While the
pair are taking hold, gratuitous advice is
offered to them freely by their friends who
sit or stand around the Pit; but when
they grapple, a perfect torrent of bonnie
Carels or bonnie Kendals, as the case may
be, cleaves all the air. Then they strive,
then they strain, shoulder to shoulder, neck
to neck, and at last touch ground perhaps so
nearly at the same instant, as to require the
most practised eye to award the fall, or
whirling circularly as in Fakir dance, are
cast violently to earth apart, or one across
the victor's thigh comes heels over head, and
measures all his inches upon the greensward
with a thud. This last fall is the only
dangerous one, and that only in case of very
heavy weights and of indifferent performers.
Good wrestlers very rarely hurt one another.
This quiet-looking giant by our side, who
has been champion often and often—and will
be so again this day, although he is nearly
forty, and more than twelve years past the
wrestler's prime—has never, in his twenty
years' experience, once been hurt. He won
his first man's belt when a lad of sixteen
years old, and in his house across the lake
yonder—a clean, neat little inn set in a
wilderness of flowers—has no less than one
hundred and seventy-four of these wrestling
zones; of all colours they are, and of all
descriptions, from the broad plain Manchester
looking belt won at that matter-of-fact and
unornamental town, to the splendid award of
Newcastle, embossed with the silver towers.
Besides the mere leather (although there is
nothing like it) there is, of course, a very
considerable prize in money, averaging,
perhaps, twenty pounds; lesser pecuniary
rewards are proportionally distributed among
the less successful combatants, and besides
these a subscription prize is commonly made
up by the stewards or spectators, for which
the sixteen last standers wrestle over again.
Between the light and heavy weight matches
(which are generally upon following days)
there are all sorts of other amusements;
running matches, for a mile or so; dog trails;
jumping matches, for which not only the
aborigines enter, but usually several visitors,
university men and the like, who, reckoning
upon the iron-shod boots and rough appearance
of the natives, are surprised to find them,
when stripped, as lithe and active as
themselves, and indeed a trifle more so; they are,
of course, a lighter set of men for the most
part than even the light-weight wrestlers.
There is jingling also, a sport which consists
in blindfolding a number of men and turning
them out in the arena, which has been
previously strewed with sacks full of sawdust, to
pursue some fleet-footed athlete, who carries
a bell. It is great fun to watch these
unfortunates taking accurate bearings of these
sacks before they are blinded, and then to
see the pitiless officials set these impediments
totally afresh, besides turning each performer
three times round at the commencement of
the game. But the most graceful of all the
treats at the ferry is the pole-leaping. Two
lofty uprights are set up with a light shifting
bail that is raised an inch at a time by pegs,
the first height being about seven feet.
Each candidate has three several trials, if it
be necessary, at each new position of the bar,
and as it gets loftier, the competitors of
course get fewer and fewer. It is pleasant
to see the care which each man takes to fix
upon the precise spot where his hand must
clasp the pole in order to clear the desired
height; how, girding himself up for the run,
he rises perhaps to the requisite height, but,
unlike vaulting ambition, comes down on the
same side; or gets over the bail, but somehow
brings it down along with him; or
actually clears it, falling no matter on what
portion of his body, whence he leaps up
instantly to join in the universal cheer.
When it is a candidate's last chance of three,
his trial becomes of course proportionally
exciting; shouts of encouragement greet him
upon all sides, and the women, if he be a
bonnie laddie, often shed tears in their
enthusiasm. We once saw a youth fail twice at
nine feet five inches, and so on to nine feet
eight, always managing, however, to clear the
bar when it came to his final chance. He
was an inferior leaper to more than one of
his conquered opponents, and only gained his
place by pluck.

The heavy weight wrestlers generally close
these amusements; if the others were
Apollos, each of these is surely a Hercules;
their grip is like the hug of a bear. The
champion here, who was so good as to show
us how to "take hold," the other day, in his
garden, has left his mark indelibly on our
back, besides having compressed our ribs so
that we cannot breathe right yet. It has
come to the last round by this time, and our
giant friend has got but one foe to deal with
—a true son of Anak, as tall if not so big as
himself—he has got his work cut out for
him, say the old hands; but success has made
him somewhat over-bold; how quietly he
suffers those mighty arms to be placed around
him, and those strong fingers to feel like one
in the dark for a certain hold. Now they
have gripped at an advantage, and the foe is
only waiting for him to have hold likewise.
"He has holt! he has holt!" see how they
grapple and strain. "Bonnie Robson!"
"Bonnie Longmire!" so interested this time