to come forward to
compete with him. The umpire of the games was proclaiming that, if no
one stood against him, the purse would be awarded to him who had already
been pronounced the victor of the day, when Ensign Sim, who, with his
brother officers, had witnessed the sports from the windows of an
adjacent inn, said--

"Well, the lad shall have the purse, though I don't expect he will win
it; for, if no one else will, I shall give him a throw to redeem the
credit of old Cumberland."

"Bravo, Sim!" cried his brother officers, and they accompanied him
towards the ring.

The people again shouted when they perceived that there was to be
another game, and the more so when they discovered that the stranger
competitor was a gentleman. The ensign, having cast off his regimentals,
and equipped himself in the strait canvas jacket worn by wrestlers,
entered the ring. But now arose a new subject of wonderment, which in a
moment was perceived by the whole multitude; and the loud huzzas that
had welcomed his approach were hushed in a confused murmur of
astonishment.

"Zwinge!" exclaimed a hundred voices, as they approached each other;
"they be loik one anoother as two beans!"

"Whoy, which be which?" inquired others.

The likeness between the two wrestlers was indeed remarkable; their age,
their stature, the colour of their hair, their features, were alike.
Spectators could not trace a difference between the one and the other.
The ensign had a small and peculiar mark below his chin; he perceived
that his antagonist had the same. They approached each other, extending
their arms for the contest. They stood still, they gazed upon each
other; as they gazed they started; their arms dropped by their sides;
they stood anxiously scrutinizing the countenance of each other, in
which each saw himself as in a glass. Astonishment deprived them of
strength; they forgot the purpose for which they met; they stretched
forth their hands, they grasped them together, and stood eagerly looking
into each other's eyes.

"Friend," said the ensign, "this is indeed singular; our extraordinary
resemblance to each other fills me with amazement. What is your name?
from whence do you come?"

"Whoy, master," rejoined the other, "thou art so woundy like myself,
that had I met thee anywhere but in the middle o' these folk, I should
have been afeared that I was agoing to die, and had zeen mysel'. My name
is George Prescot, at your sarvice. I coom from thre