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 Nyren's book (of which the present is the fourth modern reprint ) stands alone in English literature. It had no predecessor; it has had no successor. The only piece of writing that I can find worthy to place beside it is Hazlitt's description of Cavanagh, the fives player, which is full of gusto—the gusto that comes of admiration and love. There is no other way—one must keep to one's friends; the inter-county game and its players have grown too public, too commercial, for any wider treatment to be of real merit. But I doubt very much if any more really great literature will collect about the pitch. The fact that Tom Emmett was allowed to die, a year or so ago, without a single tribute worth the name being written is a very serious sign. There was a 'character', if the world ever saw one; but not one of his old friends or associates, not one of his old pupils at Rugby, seems to have thought it worth while to set down any celebration of him. That seems to me very unfortunate, and very significant. In the new bustle of county championships, too many matches, and journalistic exploitation, individuals are being lost.

John Nyren died at Bromley on June 28, 1837. He had been living for some time, with his son, in the old royal palace there. If the reader—the next time that he visits South Kensington Museum—will make a point of seeing the carved overmantel from Bromley Palace which is preserved there, he will have before him a very tangible memento of the old cricketing gentleman, for it was taken from Nyren's room when the house was pulled down.