308 THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. 



we were all, if not good players, yet at least, 

 playing in the right method, and secure of im- 

 provement. Gentle lover of this noble art ! whether 

 thou art of the Northern Eleven, or the Southern ! 

 whether thy name be found in the former or lat- 

 ter part of the alphabet ; whether thou delightest 

 in the suburban shades of St. John's Wood, 

 or in the breezy Titchborne Downs; whether 

 thou upholdest the ancient fame of Beldam 

 clarum et venerabile nomen or whether thou 

 boastest of the more recent exploits of Lambert; 

 whether thou favourest under hand bowling, or 

 supportest the modern bias; in all the possible 

 forms thou mayest assume, and the prejudices and 

 antipathies thou mayest entertain, believe me, 

 when I assure you that the preceding account is 

 no fable. It is a tale of truth, Mrs. Opie can 

 never put it in her ' art of lying/ It is more true 

 than the Iliad, the JEneid, or the Lay of the Last 

 Minstrel. The hero of the tale is still alive ; though 

 now nearly blind, and incapable of muscular ex- 

 ertion, he is still wandering about the beautiful 

 common, the scene of his former glory, and he is 

 still dwelling under the charitable roof of the elder 

 Ashley, who no doubt will protect him from want 

 during his future days. Of course, it may natu- 

 rally be supposed, that old Fennex was much 

 questioned by us concerning his contemporaries 

 as well as his own former exploits. It appears 



