Cannon of Subberthwaite, Robert Casson and Brian Christopherson of Oxenpark, and Marshall, the forgeman, also deserve a passing word of praise, although none of them ever went out of their own neighbourhood to wrestle. Christopherson put forth promising powers at the Ferry and other places, and was highly complimented by Richard Chapman. At the Ferry, he was backed by a local sporting man, in a match with George Donaldson--a single fall--for two pounds; and, to the surprise of a crowd of anxious onlookers, won gallantly. There was little difference in the weight or height of the winner and the loser. Casson threw Harrison, Cannon, and all comers at Bouth Fair; and Marshall did precisely the same thing at Sparkbridge. On the last occasion, the excitement amongst the spectators became so intense, that the forgeman's progress was urged on after the following primitive fashion: "If thou'll nobbut thrā' Cannon," shouted one, "I'll gi'e the' a pint!" "Thrā' Harrison," roared another, "an' I'll stand the' a quart!" "I think," responded Marshall, with a fine stroke of humour--"I think, I'd better hev summat to be gāen on wi'. It'll mebbe help me to thrā' them _beàth togidder_!" William Wilson was born and brought up at High Wray, a village pleasantly situated on the western banks of Windermere lake. Near to his birthplace there has been erected a lordly baronial residence--Wray Castle--on a beautiful commanding site, overlooking all the higher reaches of Windermere, and forming one of the many attractive objects for sight-seers on the lake. Wilson was a nephew of the Dixons of Grasmere, and was commonly spoken of as "girt Will Wilson," in order to distinguish him from "lile Will Wilson" of Grasmere, or "wicked Will," as the latter was sometimes called, from the bottom and endurance he displayed in frequent pugnacious encounters. It was "lile Will," we believe, who once wrestled up at Bowness, with William Thwaites of Staveley, an eleven-stone man. They each got a fall. The next one--called by the umpires a dog-fall--was claimed by Thwaites, who, in consequence, refused to wrestle over again. The ring was soon broken up in disorder, and in the _melée_ which ensued, Professor Wilson struck Thwaites over the head with his stick, and bulged his hat in. "Did I do that, my lad?" asked Wilson. "Yes," replied Thwaites, "yee did it: I's suèr an' sarten o' that." "Then," said Wilson, "here's a sovereign for wrestling so well. It'll mebbe help to get thee a new hat."