mother's side of Barclay of Ury, who wrote the _Apology_. She had a
famous niece, Elizabeth Fry, and a famous grandson, Edward Gibbon
Wakefield, the colonist. She was born in 1751 and died in 1832; wrote,
as I have said, many instructive books for the young; and was one of the
original promoters of savings banks for the people.

'Ellen and George; or, The Game at Cricket' is from an old friend,
_Tales for Ellen_, by Alicia Catherine Mant, from which I took, for _Old
Fashioned Tales_, the very pretty history of 'The Little Blue Bag.' I
do not consider 'Ellen and George' as good as the 'Little Blue Bag,' and
I should not be surprised if I discovered on a severe analysis of motive
that it was included here more for its cricket than its human interest.
But it has a certain sweetness and naturalness too. Ellen's very
sensible question (as it really was) on page 184, 'Then why don't you
send the cat away?' is one of the first examples of independent--almost
revolutionary--thought in a child recorded by a writer for children in
the early days. To say such a thing to a mother eighty years ago was
indeed a feat. For the most part children then were to accept all that
was said to them by their elders as fact, and neither meditate nor utter
criticism. The principal difference between the children of those days
and the children of these is their present liberty of criticism. To-day
every child has his own opinion; a hundred years ago none had.

Some of the remarks on page 186 will divert the young readers of to-day,
when girls know as much about cricket (and sometimes play as well) as
boys do. I must confess to much perplexity as to what part could be
played in the manufacture of wickets by George's hammer and nails. Runs
were called notches at that time because the scorer cut notches on a
stick. Wilson's good nature has, I fear, found its way more than once
into the first-class game--at least, I remember that a full toss on the
leg side went to Mr. W. G. Grace when he had made ninety-six towards his
hundredth hundred; and quite right too. When it comes, however, to
throwing down one's bat and flinging the ball at a batsman (as George
did), there is no excuse to be offered. I have omitted the end of the
story, in which Mr. Danvers condescends to take a hand at the game, in a
match against George and Tom Fletcher (who made it up), and beats them
by a narrow margin of notches. According to the author he had been in
his youth a fine