Page:The Hambledon Men (1907).djvu/163

 'He possessed an instinctive admiration of everything good and tasteful, both in nature and art. He was fond of flowers, and music, and pictures; and he rarely came to visit us without bringing with him a choice specimen of a blossom, or some other natural production; or a manuscript copy of an air which had given him pleasure. And so, hand in hand with these simple delights, he went on to the last, walking round his garden on the morning of his death.

'Mr. Nyren was a remarkably well-grown man, standing nearly 6ft., of large proportions throughout, big-boned, strong, and active. He had a bald, bullet head, a prominent forehead, small features, and little deeply-sunken eyes. His smile was as sincere as an infant's. If there were any deception in him, Nature herself was to blame in giving him those insignificant, shrouded eyes. They made no show of observation, but they were perfect ministers to their master. Not a thing, not a motion escaped them in a company, however numerous. Here was one secret of his eminence as a Cricketer. I never remember to have seen him play; but I have heard his batting, and fielding at the point, highly commended. He scarcely ever spoke of himself, and this modesty will be observed throughout his little Book. He had not a spark of envy; and, like all men of real talent, he always spoke in terms of honest admiration of the merits of others.'

Leigh Hunt wrote thus, when reviewing the Young Cricketer's Tutor ('Messrs. Clarke and Nyren's pleasant little relishing book'), in the London Journal for May 21, 1834: 'It is a pity the reader cannot have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Nyren, as we have had. His appearance and general manner are as eloquent a testimony to the merits of his game as any that he or his friend has put upon paper. He is still a sort of youth at seventy, hale and vigorous, and with a merry twinkle of his eye, in spite of an accident some years ago—a fall—that would have shattered most men of his age to pieces. A long innings to him in life still, and to all friends round the wicket.'