ss, and a sort of rustic grace; her bright, acute eye is softened
and sweetened by a womanly wish to please; her hair is trimmed and
curled and brushed with exquisite neatness; and her whole dress arranged
with that nice attention to the becoming which would be called the
highest degree of coquetry if it did not deserve the better name of
propriety. The lass is really pretty, and Ned Miles has discovered that
she is so. There he stands, the rogue, close at her side (for he hath
joined her whilst we have been telling her little story, and the milking
is over); there he stands holding her milk-pail in one hand, and
stroking Watch with the other. There they stand, as much like lovers as
may be; he smiling and she blushing; he never looking so handsome, nor
she so pretty, in their lives.

There they stand, and one would not disturb them for all the milk and
the butter in Christendom. I should not wonder if they were fixing the
wedding-day.

_III.--A Country Cricket Match_

I doubt if there be any scene in the world more animating or delightful
than a cricket match. I do not mean a set match at Lord's Ground--no!
the cricket I mean is a real solid, old-fashioned match between
neighbouring parishes, where each attacks the other for honour and a
supper.

For the last three weeks our village has been in a state of great
excitement, occasioned by a challenge from our north-western neighbours,
the men of B----, to contend with us at cricket. Now, we have not been
much in the habit of playing matches. The sport had languished until the
present season, when the spirit began to revive. Half a dozen fine,
active lads, of influence among their comrades, grew into men and
yearned for cricket. In short, the practice recommenced, and the hill
was again alive with men and boys and innocent merriment. Still, we were
modest and doubted our own strength.

The B---- people, on the other hand, must have been braggers born. Never
was such boasting! Such ostentatious display of practice! It was a
wonder they did not challenge all England. Yet we firmly resolved not to
decline the combat; and one of the most spirited of the new growth,
William Grey by name, and a farmer's son by station, took up the glove
in a style of manly courtesy that would have done honour to a knight in
the days of chivalry.

William Grey then set forth to muster his men, remembering with great
complacency that Samuel Long, the very man who had bowled us out at a