poor enjoyment, compared with the rural diversions, the Mayings, revels,
and cricket-matches of Whitsuntide.

We ourselves are to have a cricket-match on Monday, not played by the
men, who, since their misadventure with the Beech-hillers, are, I am
sorry to say, rather chap-fallen, but by the boys, who, zealous for the
honours of their parish, and headed by their bold leader, Ben Kirby,
marched in a body to our antagonist's ground the Sunday after our
melancholy defeat, challenged the boys of that proud hamlet, and beat
them out and out on the spot. Never was a more signal victory. Our boys
enjoyed this triumph with so little moderation, that it had like to have
produced a very tragical catastrophe. The captain of the Beech-hill
youngsters, a capital bowler, by name Amos Stokes, enraged past all
bearing by the crowing of his adversaries, flung the ball at Ben Kirby
with so true an aim, that if that sagacious leader had not warily ducked
his head when he saw it coming, there would probably have been a
coroner's inquest on the case, and Amos Stokes would have been tried for
manslaughter. He let fly with such vengeance, that the cricket-ball was
found embedded in a bank of clay five hundred yards off, as if it had
been a cannon shot. Tom Coper and Farmer Thackum, the umpires, both say
that they never saw so tremendous a ball. If Amos Stokes live to be a
man (I mean to say if he be not hanged first), he'll be a pretty player.
He is coming here on Monday with his party to play the return match, the
umpires having respectively engaged Farmer Thackum that Amos shall keep
the peace, Tom Coper that Ben shall give no unnecessary or wanton
provocation--a nicely-worded and lawyer-like clause, and one that proves
that Tom Coper hath his doubts of the young gentleman's discretion; and,
of a truth, so have I. I would not be Ben Kirby's surety, cautiously as
the security is worded,--no! not for a white double dahlia, the present
object of my ambition.