At the Ambleside wrestling, in 1811, John Long was second to William Mackereth, the winner, a young man from Cockermouth, a friend and companion of Tom Nicholson. Nicholson had grassed the well known John Lowden of Keswick, but suffered a grievous defeat in the fourth round when he met John Long. This of itself must be considered sufficient to stamp the victor a wrestler of considerable ability, as Tom was then at his best, and was looked upon by his admirers as a match for any man in the kingdom. In early life, John followed wood-cutting through the spring and winter months; and in autumn, he generally went off to the "shearings" in Low Furness and West Cumberland. For a lengthened period he was chief boatman at the Ferry inn, Windermere, in which capacity he is well remembered. When up in years, he displayed a good deal of ready wit and droll humour. He has been spoken of--by the most successful wrestler that Windermere has produced--as "a queer sly āld dog, 'at nin o' t' young 'ans cud reetly mak' oot, whedder he was in fun or earnest." In the _Folk-Speech_ volume of dialect stories and rhymes, Alexander Craig Gibson describes the sturdy figure of the old wrestler as follows, and then proceeds to make him relate the tale of the "Skulls of Calgarth," in his native _patois_. And Benjamin's chief ferryman was stalwart old John Long, A veteran of the wrestling ring, (its records hold his name,) Who yet in life's late autumn was a wiry wight and strong, Though grizzly were his elf-locks wild, and bow'd his giant frame. Yes; though John Long was worn and wan, he still was stark and strong, And he plied his bending "rooers" with a boatman's manly pride, As crashing past the islands, through the reed stalks crisp and long, He stretch'd away far northward, where the lake spread fair and wide. "Now rest upon your oars, John Long," one evening still said I, When shadows deepened o'er the mere from Latterbarrow Fell; For far beyond broad Weatherlam the sun sank in the sky, And bright his levell'd radiance lit the heights around Hillbell. "And tell me an old story," thus I further spoke, "John Long, Some mournful tale or legend, of the far departed time; The scene is all too solemn here for lightsome lay or song, So tell, and, in your plain strong words, I'll weave it into rhyme." Then old John Long revolved his quid, and gaunt he look'd and grim-- For darker still athwart the lake spread Latterbarrow's shade-- And pointing o'er the waters broad to fields and woodlands dim, He soberly and slowly spake, and this was what he said, &c. John Long died at the little hostelry on Kirkstone Pass, the highest inhabited house in England, about the year 1848. TOM NICHOLSON OF THRELKELD.