in the winter,
bounding lightly along the bright green turf of the pleasant common,
enticed by the gay shouts of a dozen clear young voices, to linger
awhile, and see the boys play at cricket.

I plead guilty to a strong partiality towards that unpopular class of
beings, country boys: I have a large acquaintance amongst them, and I
can almost say, that I know good of many and harm of none. In general
they are an open, spirited, good-humoured race, with a proneness
to embrace the pleasures and eschew the evils of their condition, a
capacity for happiness, quite unmatched in man, or woman, or a girl.
They are patient, too, and bear their fate as scape-goats (for all sins
whatsoever are laid as matters of course to their door), whether at home
or abroad, with amazing resignation and, considering the many lies of
which they are the objects, they tell wonderfully few in return. The
worst that can be said of them is, that they seldom, when grown to
man's estate, keep the promise of their boyhood; but that is a fault to
come--a fault that may not come, and ought not to be anticipated. It is
astonishing how sensible they are to notice from their betters, or those
whom they think such. I do not speak of money, or gifts, or praise, or
the more coarse and common briberies--they are more delicate courtiers;
a word, a nod, a smile, or the mere calling of them by their names, is
enough to ensure their hearts and their services. Half a dozen of them,
poor urchins, have run away now to bring us chairs from their several
homes. 'Thank you, Joe Kirby!--you are always first--yes, that is
just the place--I shall see everything there. Have you been in yet,
Joe?'--'No, ma'am! I go in next.'--'Ah, I am glad of that--and now's
the time. Really that was a pretty ball of Jem Eusden's!--I was sure it
would go to the wicket. Run, Joe! They are waiting for you.' There
was small need to bid Joe Kirby make haste; I think he is, next to
a race-horse, or a greyhound, or a deer, the fastest creature that
runs--the most completely alert and active. Joe is mine especial friend,
and leader of the 'tender juveniles,' as Joel Brent is of the adults.
In both instances this post of honour was gained by merit, even more
remarkably so in Joe's case than in Joel's; for Joe is a less boy than
many of his companions (some of whom are fifteeners and sixteeners,
quite as tall and nearly as old as Tom Coper), and a poorer than all,
as may be conjectured from the lamen