In the days of bare knuckles there was only one champion, and though there were one or two exceptions--Tom Sayers is the most notable--little men, or men little by comparison, were quite out of the running. Champion, therefore, meant Champion--the best man that could be found. There was no qualification of the title--no middle, welter, feather, bantam, fly, or paper-weight. If a first-rate boxer of eight stone liked to fight another of sixteen stone--I suppose he could, but, rather naturally, he didn’t. In the old annals, though there is some record of the lesser men--lesser very often only in size and not in skill or courage--they are overshadowed by the big fellows far more than they are to-day. Even now, of course, from the spectacular point of view, big men--heavy-weights--cause far more excitement. And, as a rule, a good fight between two good big men is better worth seeing than a good fight between two good little men. The dramatic atmosphere is more intense, blows are harder, there is (though it is overrated) a certain splendour in sheer size. But championship battles both now and in the past have been by no means necessarily the best battles: rather the contrary. Many a pot-house quarrel has provided better sport than a stupendously advertised World’s Championship with heaven only knows how ridiculously many thousands of pounds “hanging” upon the issue. At the beginning of the nineteenth century there were, then, plenty of good little men, though we hear less about them than we do of the champions. Jack Scroggins was one, Ned Turner another. Scroggins may, by present standards, be called a light middle-weight: he was just under 11 stone. Turner was 10 stone 4 lb.--just over the present light-weight limit. The first time they fought the ring was broken by rowdy spectators, and the result was a draw. The second battle took place at Sawbridgeworth on June 10th, 1817, and Jack Scroggins, who had never yet been beaten, staked £120 to £80 on the event.