was like a barrel, and his forearms were the most powerful that I
have ever seen, with deep groves between the smooth-swelling muscles
like a piece of water-worn rock. In spite of his strength, however,
he was of a slow, orderly, and kindly disposition, so that there was
no man more beloved over the whole country side. His heavy, placid,
clean-shaven face could set very sternly, as I have seen upon
occasion; but for me and every child in the village there was ever a
smile upon his lips and a greeting in his eyes. There was not a
beggar upon the country side who did not know that his heart was as
soft as his muscles were hard.

There was nothing that he liked to talk of more than his old
battles, but he would stop if he saw his little wife coming, for the
one great shadow in her life was the ever-present fear that some day
he would throw down sledge and rasp and be off to the ring once
more. And you must be reminded here once for all that that former
calling of his was by no means at that time in the debased condition
to which it afterwards fell. Public opinion has gradually become
opposed to it, for the reason that it came largely into the hands of
rogues, and because it fostered ringside ruffianism. Even the
honest and brave pugilist was found to draw villainy round him, just
as the pure and noble racehorse does. For this reason the Ring is
dying in England, and we may hope that when Caunt and Bendigo have
passed away, they may have none to succeed them. But it was
different in the days of which I speak. Public opinion was then
largely in its favour, and there were good reasons why it should be
so. It was a time of war, when England with an army and navy
composed only of those who volunteered to fight because they had
fighting blood in them, had to encounter, as they would now have to
encounter, a power which could by despotic law turn every citizen