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 It was a few weeks after this review of Nyren's book that Leigh Hunt printed in the London Journal a letter from the old cricketer (not so old as he had been called, however), describing a cricket festival, which is notable chiefly for the masterly way in which he avoids describing the match itself. If ever a reader was disappointed, it is surely here! It is as though Paderewski stepped to the piano and—recited a poem; or Cinquevalli, with all his juggling implements about him, delivered a lecture. But the little article has such a pleasant naïvete that we must forgive the omissions.

'My Dear Sir,

'The wise men of the East invited me to stand umpire at a cricket match, the married men against the bachelors. The day was highly interesting, and I cannot forbear giving you a short account of it. If you can take anything from the description I give you for your paper, do it any way you like; this will be only a rough sketch. I call these gentlemen 'the wise men of the East', as they will not suffer their names in print, and they live at the East End of London.

'When we arrived at the place of our destination I was both surprised and delighted at the beautiful scene which lay before me. Several elegant tents, gracefully decked out with flags and festoons of flowers, had been fitted up for the convenience of the ladies; and many of these, very many, were elegant and beautiful women. I am not seventy; and "the power of beauty I remember yet". I am only sixty-eight! Seats were placed beneath the wide-spreading oaks, so as to form groups in the shade. Beyond these were targets for ladies, who love archery, the cricket ground in front.

'The carriages poured in rapidly, and each party as