and diving like a retriever under the table-cloth, I bring up and present to Mrs. Montague Forbes in rapid succession a laced pocket-handkerchief, a pair of white kid gloves, a small bouquet, a clasp bracelet, and a French fan—all which articles I presume must have been lost but for my exertions.

We drink a little more wine, and Bagshot introduces me to sundry "capital fellows," by all of whom I am most graciously received. Just as we are beginning to think of the charms of a cigar on such an evening, we are summoned to the ball-room, there to meet the ladies again, who have taken advantage of the mysterious interim to "do up" their hair, exchange confidential secrets with their particular friends, and have a little tea. Judging from the welcome smile with which she greeted me, I should say Mrs. Montague Forbes was not a favourite with ladies; and I have often remarked that the good opinion entertained of a woman by her own sex is generally in an inverse ratio to her popularity with ours. Be that as it may, to my mind she was infinitely the most agreeable person in the room; and after a night of music, waltzing, flirting, and philandering, such as I have seldom encountered, the early streaks of dawn greeted our aching eyes, as Joe and I climbed into the dog-cart for our homeward journey; and the pretty parsonage was smiling in the full light of a glorious summer sun, ere we sought our respective couches, cordially agreeing that we had spent a delightful day. What may have been the nature of my friend's visions, I am at a loss to state; but I can safely aver, with all regard to truth, that I dreamt that morning of Mrs. Montague Forbes!

CHAPTER XV.

The evaporation of a joyous day

Is like the last glass of champagne, without
The foam which made its virgin bumper gay;
Or like a system, coupled with a doubt;
Or like a soda-bottle, when its spray

Has sparkled, and let half its spirit out;
Or like a billow, left by storms behind,
Without the animation of the wind.

Don Juan.

Oh, monstrous !-eleven buckram men.

K. Henry IV.

MONSTROUS indeed. It might be difficult in the days of chivalry to recognize one's dearest friend, when, like a lobster in its shell, he appeared armed cap-à-pie for the encounter. But what shall we say of eleven stout elderly gentlemen, lapped in leather and swathed in cork, their natural rotundity increased tenfold by their voluminous defences, and their jolly faces crimsoned from the effects of such a costume, under a midsummer sun; but one and all gallantly bent upon achieving "a score," in defiance of the present terrific system of round bowling, which places cricket on a par with the tilts and tournaments of the middle ages? Such was the array that greeted my eyes, on our arrival at Ripley Down, the day after the Castle Bowshot Archery Meeting; a day ushered in with such tropical sunshine as England can rarely boast, and to be made memorable by a contest for supremacy between the Ripley eleven and twenty-two of the surrounding district; the whole thirty-three comprising, I verily believe, every cricketplayer within fifty miles. Need I say that Bagshot, the pride of the "Upper Shooting Fields," in his Eton days, was the very Achilles of the Ripley champions? or that

s to be in time for the fray deprived me of of necessary repose, and forced me to dispose eakfast in that uncomfortable manner which we in the equine species under the term "bolting 1"? It seemed as if I had only just left the brown horse and the dog-cart, when I found myself again “taking the road" in that locomotive vehicle, my jaded spirits and London pallor contrasting most unfavourably with Joe's rosy face and jovial tones, as he descanted upon the anticipated triumphs to be won by bat and ball. Why is it that to some, and those too often the very temperaments most susceptible of its enjoyments, the exhilaration of a gala-day should be invariably followed by a corresponding depression of spirits and incapacity for exertion? Is my frame weaker, or are my nerves more susceptible than my neighbours', that I should never fail to be the victim of this distressing reaction? I know not. But here I was, as usual, dull and weary in proportion to my yesterday's enjoyment; whilst Bagshot, who had drunk infinitely more champagne, and smoked twice as many cigars on his way home, looked fresh and rosy as a child-not a line in his beaming, goodhumoured countenance, not a shade on his frank, open brow. I could not help complimenting him on his superiority of organization, when I found that, like all people who live entirely in the country, he had formed a most exaggerated idea of London dissipation; and actually looked up to me as a man of iron frame, for sustaining as I did the pleasures of a fashionable life.

"Very few men could stand it as you do," said the unsophisticated parson. "I have heard of you, Nogodancing, and sitting up, and Crockford's, and all that: it would kill me in a fortnight," added the clerical Hercules: "and I am only too thankful that my lot is cast in this quiet nook of the country, where I can enjoy the out-of-door life that I am so fond of, and have no temptation to late hours and smart company."

And thus we chatted on, beguiling the way with remarks

on our previous day's amusement, and the different Westcountry notabilities whose acquaintance I had made; nor did Mrs. Montague Forbes obtain less than her due share of our attention, Bagshot declaring her to be "a very charming person, and just in the prime of life;" to which I gave a tacit assent, not the less cordial for its confinement to my own bosom.

But a long steep hill, which must have been interminable had the brown horse been less well-bred, brings us at last to the "Down," where a large tent, surrounded by rows of benches, and sundry spectral figures flitting about in white flannel, announce that the cricket-match is about to be holden. Already have several vehicles deposited their alluring loads; and pretty faces, peeping from under pink, blue, and white parasols, lavish glances of welcome on Joe, and curiosity on his companion. Here and there a gracious damsel, recognizing the partner of last night, bestows a nod that seems to court further acquaintance; and it is evident to me that Mr. Tilbury Nogo is not half the man in Kensington Gardens or the Park that he promises to be on Ripley Down.

The eleven, or rather nine of them, gather round Joe, as he descends from his dog-cart; while the confusion of tongues and elongation of faces proclaim that some dire catastrophe has taken place, and that, in the oratorical words of Mr. Quivering, whom I recognize with difficulty in his panoply, "this will prove a disastrous day for Ripley." I whisper an inquiry to a short-legged gentleman—in flannel, of course, with a red silk handkerchief bound round his head, whose name I afterwards discovered to be Swaddlesand the truth bursts upon me volubly.

"Trimmer is absent! Trimmer has written to say he can't come! Trimmer has been tampered with by the twenty-two! It's disgraceful!-it's too bad!—it's beyond a joke! The only man who can stop Trundle's bowling. The only bat in England that really knows how to hit to the leg.' It's absurd to say his wife is taken ill. (Mrs. Trimmer has

already had twelve children, and this is her thirteenth confinement.) He might have gone back after the match; it's only nineteen miles across country. He's used us shamefully. Never forget it!"

And the tide of indignation sets in violently against the uxorious absentee; Mr. Swaddles, in particular, becoming ludicrously excited.

"We must make up our number," says the latter gentleman, apparently much inclined to quarrel with somebody; "how is it to be done? I ask you, how is it to be done?"

And he glances fiercely round on the devoted band, whose blank visages promise no solution of the inquiry. At length taking Bagshot aside, he enters into a whispered conference, in which such expressions as these force themselves upon my startled ear:-" He used to play, when at Eton." "Hunting man, did you say? Of course he can bat." "Good shot I dare say; don't doubt he can bowl. Light, active figuresure to be able to run." And the pleasant conviction obtrudes itself on my mind that I am about to be selected as a further victim to the terrific bowling of the insatiate Trundle. Sure enough Mr. Swaddles, who has constituted himself a dictator in the present crisis, marches up to me with short, determined strides, and informs me, as if I had no voice at all in the matter, that they have "chosen me into their eleven, and they have no doubt I shall prove a most efficient aid, and worth a dozen of the degraded Trimmer; who," adds Mr. Swaddles, with a parting growl at the deserter, "ought never to have been elected a member of the club at all."

Vanity ambition! the defect of the bravest, the infirmity of the noblest; much have ye to answer for. From the submersion of a Narcissus to the Moscow of a Napoleon-still, sister-failings have ye lured mankind to their downfall; and now would nothing satisfy either or both of you but to lead the unfortunate Tilbury Nogo a willing victim to your delusive altar? Weary, jaded, and unwell, I was in the very worst possible condition for the manly game I was about to

M