CRICKETERS.—Memoirs of the late Mr. John Small, the celebrated Hampshire player (from the Literary Gazette.)
  “Our thanks are due to Mr. T. W. Bower, Mathematical Master in the School of Winchester College, for the M.S. copy of this song, written more than half a century since, by the Rev. M. Cotton, who at that time was Master of Hyde Abbey School, in that city.—Instead of offering any excuse for giving it a place, we think we may fairly urge the following as reasons why it ought not be withheld:—First, that it is eloquent in the praise of cricket; secondly, that it not only commemorates the successful prowess of the far-famed Hambledon Club, (which at one time was the pride of Hampshire and the envy of “all England,” but affords us an opportunity of introducing a biographical sketch of the last survivor of the original Members of that club; and, thirdly, that its author was the conductor of a school which has had the honour of enrolling in its list of pupils many talented youths who, in afterlife, have filled the most distinguished stations; of which we may (without appearing invidious to others) adduce a brilliant example in the person of the present enlightened Secretary of State, the Rt. Hon. G. Canning.

“VERSES IN PRAISE OF CRICKET.”

Assist, all ye Muses, and join to rehearse
An old English sport, never praised yet in verse;
‘Tis Cricket I sing of, illustrious in fame,—
No nation e’er boasted so noble a game.

Great Pindar has bragg’d of his heroes of old—
Some were swift in the race, some in battle were bold;
The brows of the victors with olive were crown’d,—
Hark! they shout, and Olympia returns the glad sound.

What boasting of Castor, and Pollux his brother!
The one famed for riding—for bruising the other!
Compared with our heroes they’ll not shine at all;
What were Castor and Pollux to Nyren and Small?

Here’s guarding, and catching, and running, and crossing,
And batting, and bowling, and throwing, and tossing;
Each mate must excel in some principal part,—
The Pantathlon of Greece never shew’d so much art.

The parties are met, and array’d all in white;
Famed Elis ne’er boasted so pleasing a sight;
Each nymph looks askew at her favourite swain,
And views him, half stript, both with pleasure and pain.

The wickets are pitch’d now, and measured the ground,
Then they form a large ring and stand gazing around;
Since Alex fought Hector in sight of all Troy,
No contest was seen with such fear and such joy.

Ye bowlers, take heed, to my precepts attend,
On you the whole fate of the game must depend.
Spare your vigour at first, nor exert all your strength,
Then measure each step, and be sure pitch a length.

Ye fieldsmen, look sharp! Lest your pains ye beguile,
Move close, like an army, in rank and in file;
When the ball is returned, back it sure—for, I trow,
Whole states have been ruin’d by one overthrow.

And when the game’s o’er, I O victory rings!
Echo doubles her chorus, and Fame spreads her wings;
Let’s now hail our champions, all steady and true,
Such as Homer ne’er sung of, nor Pindar e’er knew.

Birch, Curry, and Hogsflesh, and Barber, and Brett,
Whose swiftness in bowling was ne’er equal’d yet;
I had almost forgot—they deserve a large bumper—
Little George the long-stop, and Tom Suetor the stumper.

Then why should we fear either Sackville,§ or Mann,§
Or repine at the loss of Boynton or Lann?
With such troops as these we’ll be lords of the game,
Spite of Miller,§ and Minchin,§ and Lumpy,§ and Frame.§

Then fill up your glasses! He’s best that drinks most;
Here’s the Hambledon Club! Who refuses the toast?
Let us join in the praise of the bat and the wicket,
And sing in full chorus the patrons of cricket.

When we’ve played our last game, and our fate shall draw nigh
(For the heroes of cricket, like heroes, must die).
Our bats we’ll resign, neither troubled nor vext,
And give up our wickets to those that come next.”


 ✶     “The whole of the Hambledon Club have now been bowled down by death; Mr. John Small, sen. of Petersfield, Hants, who was the last survivor of the original members, having terminated his mortal career on the 31st of December, 1826, aged nearly ninety! The great have their historians, and why should not the small?—nay, since every one in the present day exercises his right of publishing his ‘reminiscences,’ if he can but find a bookseller who is bold enough to venture on the speculation, we trust we shall stand excused for preserving a few stray notices of this venerable cricketer, whose exploits were once the theme of universal praise, and whose life was as amiable as his station was humble. John Small, sen. the celebrated cricketer, was born at Empshott, on the 19th April, 1737, and went to Petersfield when about six years of age, where he afterwards followed the trade of a shoe-maker for several years; but being remarkably fond of cricket, and excelling most of his contemporaries in that manly amusement, he relinquished his former trade, and practised the making of bats and balls, in the art of which he became equally proficient as in the use of them; and, accordingly, we find that these articles of his manufacture were, in the course of a short time, in request wherever the game of cricket was known. Mr. Small was considered the surest batsman of his day, and as a fieldsman he was decidedly without an equal. On one occasion, in a match made either by the Duke of Dorset or Sir Horace Mann (for we cannot exactly call to mind which), England against the Hambledon Club, Mr. Small was in three whole days, though opposed to some of the best players in the kingdom; nor did he at last lose his wicket, his ten mates having all had their wickets put down! At another time, in a five-of-a-side match, played in the Artillery Ground, he got seventy-five runs at his first innings, and went in, the last mate, for seven runs, which, it is hardly necessary to say, were soon scored. On this occasion, the Duke of Dorset being desirous of complimenting him for his skill, and knowing that Small was as passionately fond of music as he was of cricket, made him a present of a fine violin, which he played upon many years, and which is now made use of by his grandson. We shall not, however, enter into a detail of the numerous proofs he gave of his skill as a cricketer, nor of the flattering testimonies of approbation he at various times received from the patrons of the game; suffice it to state, that the first county match he played in was in the year 1775, and that he continued playing in all the grand matched till after he was seventy! Mr. Small was also an excellent sportsman and a capital shot. He had the deputation of the manor of Greatham and Foley for many years, as gamekeeper, under Madam Beckford, and retained it under her son and successor, till the property was parted with, which did not happen till Small was nearly seventy years of age; yet such was his strength and activity at that time of life, that, before he began his day’s amusement, he regularly took his tour of seven miles, frequently doing execution with his gun, which, to relate, would appear almost incredible. We ought also to mention, that, among other active exercises for which Mr. Small was famed, was that of skating. Those who have witnesses his evolutions on Petersfield Heath Pond (a fine sheet of water, a mile in circumference), have no hesitation in pronouncing him equal to any who have figured away on the Serpentine, how much soever they may have ‘astonished the natives.’ But we turn from Mr. Small’s athletic amusements, to notice his taste for music; and though we cannot say that his excellence as a musician was equal to his excellence as a cricketer, still among his compeers he was pre-eminent; and we have no doubt that to the soothing power of music he was not a little indebted for the equanimity of temper he possessed, and the tranquil delight he felt in the company of his friends; for those who knew him can conscientiously declare that no man was more remarkable for playful wit, cheerful conversation, or inoffensive manners. So early did he display his taste for music, that at fourteen years of age he played the bass in Petersfield Choir, of which choir he continued a member about seventy-five years, having performed on the tenor violin there within the last twelve months, and that, too, without the aid of spectacles! After what has been said, it will not be a matter of surprise to hear that Mr. Small was highly respected by all the gentlemen who patronised cricket; and as they knew nothing could gratify him more, they frequently joined in a concert with his musical friends after cricket was over for the day. His two surviving sons, John and Eli, not only inherit his love for the game, but the first mentioned particularly excels in it, and both are equally celebrated for their musical attainments; indeed, during their father’s life, this musical trio ranked high among the performers at all the amateur concerts in the neighbourhood. O that our readers would but tolerate our ‘fond garrulity,’ for much could we yet inform them concerning John Small!—We should delight in telling them that he was not merely a player on the violincello and violin, but that he was both a maker and a mender of them!—with pleasure should we descant on his mechanical as well as his musical skill, and shew that his proficiency in each was the result of his own untutored ingenuity, proving that he had a natural genius for fiddle-making, as well as for bat and ball-making—we should bring proof that he once made a violincello, ay, and a right good, one too, which he sold for two guineas—nay, we should further prove, that the old instrument which his son, the present John Small, plays on at church every Sunday (made by Andria Weber, Genoa. 1731) was thoroughly repaired by him, and an entire new belly put thereto, and that since it has been so repaired, an eminent professor has pronounced it to be worth as many guineas as would cover from one end of it to the other—we should . . . . . but we have not forgot the old proverb, which says, ‘too much of a good thing is good for nothing;’ and we desist, fearing that too much may be said even of John Small. But, notwithstanding our deference to the proverb, and our wish to be as taciturn as possible, there is one more musical anecdote which we must be allowed to narrate, inasmuch as it not only shews that our praises of his skill are by no means exaggerated, but because it cannot fail to be regarded as a corroboration of a most important fact—the influence of music upon the brute creation—or, to speak in the language of the poet, an additional proof that

‘Music hath charms to sooth the savage beast!’

    In his younger days, Mr. Small was in the habit of attending balls and concerts; sometimes contributing to the delight of the gay votaries of Terpsichore, at others, forming one of the instrumental band which met for the gratification of himself and his amateur friends. Returning one evening, with a musical companion, from a concert in the neighbourhood, they were suddenly saluted, when in the middle of a large field, by a bull, who, in o very gentle mood, gave them reason to believe that, to insure their safety, they must either hit upon some expedient to allay his rage, or make a hasty retreat. Mr. Small’s companion adopted the latter plan; but our hero, like a true believer of the miraculous power of Orpheus, and confiding in his own ability to produce such tones as should charm the infuriate animal into lamb-like docility, boldly faced him, and began to play a lively tune. Scarce had the catgut vibrated, when the bull suddenly stopped, and listened with evident signs of pleasure and attention. The skilful master of the bow felt a secret satisfaction on discovering so unquestionable a proof of the influence of the sweet sounds; and continuing to play, while he gradually retreated towards the gate, quietly, and followed by the bull, he then gave his quadruped auditor an example of his agility by leaping over it, and unceremoniously left him to bewail the loss of so agreeable a concert. Having thus given such memorabilia in the life of Mr. John Small as we conceive ought to be handed down to posterity, and (with humility be it spoken!) hoping to obtain some distinction for ourselves in this necrological, autobiographical, and reminiscent age, we shall close our remarks by observing, that so great a degree of health and vigour did Mr. Small un-interruptedly enjoy, that even during the last three or four years he took the most active exercise as a sportsman, and frequently followed the hounds on foot!—Thus it will be see, that by attention to temperance and exercise, and by encouraging cheerfulness and equanimity of temper, a man may still attain the age of a patriarch, enjoying to the last, health of body, peace of mind, and the rational amusements of life. Were we to write his epitaph, it should be an unlaboured composition of quaint simplicity—just such a one as the parish clerk himself would indite. Something, for example, after the following fashion:—

Here lies, bowl’d out by death’s unerring ball,
A cricketer renown’d, by name John Small;
But though his name was Small, yet great his fame,
For nobly did he know the ‘noble game.’
His life was like his innings, long and good;
Full ninety summers he had death withstood;
At length the ninetieth winter came—when (Fate
Not leaving him one solitary mate)
This last of Hambledonians, old John Small,
Gave up his bat and ball—his leather, wax, and all

  † Part of the Hambledon Club.
    § All-England Men