ve achieved....

"At a match of the Hambledon Club against All England, the club had to
go in to get the runs, and there was a long number of them. It became
quite apparent that the game would be closely fought. Mann kept on
worrying old Nyren to let him go in, and although he became quite
indignant at his constant refusal, our General knew what he was about in
keeping him back. At length, when the last but one was out, he sent Mann
in, and there were then ten runs to get. The sensation now all over the
ground was greater than anything of the kind I ever witnessed before or
since. All knew the state of the game, and many thousands were hanging
upon this narrow point. There was Sir Horace Mann, walking about outside
the ground, cutting down the daisies with his stick--a habit with him
when he was agitated; the old farmers leaning forward upon their tall
old staves, and the whole multitude perfectly still. After Noah had had
one or two balls, Lumpy tossed one a little too far, when our fellow got
in, and hit it out in his grand style. Six of the ten were gained.
Never shall I forget the roar that followed this hit. Then there was a
dead stand for some time, and no runs were made; ultimately, however, he
gained them all, and won the game. After he was out, he upbraided Nyren
for not putting him in earlier. 'If you had let me go in an hour ago'
(said he), 'I would have served them in the same way.' But the old
tactician was right, for he knew Noah to be a man of such nerve and
self-possession, that the thought of so much depending upon him would
not have the paralysing effect that it would upon many others. He was
sure of him, and Noah afterwards felt the compliment. Mann was short in
stature, and, when stripped, as swarthy as a gipsy. He was all muscle,
with no incumbrance whatever of flesh; remarkably broad in the chest,
with large hips and spider legs; he had not an ounce of flesh about him,
but it was where it ought to be. He always played without his hat (the
sun could not affect _his_ complexion), and he took a liking to me as a
boy, because I did the same."

[Sidenote: A LURGASHALL SATIRIST]

Lurgashall, on the road to Northchapel, is a pleasant village, with a
green, and a church unique among Sussex churches by virtue of a curious
wooden gallery or cloister, said to have been built as a shelter for
parishioners from a distance, who would eat their nuncheon there. The
church, which has distinct Saxon remains, once