“In the old palace of King
Ethelbert, in the ancient monastery of St.
Augustine are—two Racket-Players! who have found the true city
of God, the court in respect whereof St. James’s with the approaching
ceremony is nought. A massy stone wall of thirteen hundred years’
duration, even as a board placed by the hand of modern art, fair and smooth as
Belphœbe’s forehead, forms its
point. No holes or crannies throw out the well-directed ball. No jutting rocks
or pendent precipices spoil the hit and the temper. All is smooth. Eleven yards
from each other are two abutments, round which monks formerly prayed or seemed
to pray, and courtiers lied, and seemed to speak the truth. These bound the
court, and form delicious side walls; but alas! they terminate abruptly before
they have proceeded five yards. Endless, however, is the variety these
quicklyending walls occasion. Of chalky foundation, firm, even, and hard is the
ground; eighty-six feet in length, ever widening as it recedes from the wall.
Close behind the court, but not too close, and down a slight descent, is a
large square bowling-green, encompassed by old cloister walls covered with
vines and trees, and edged with flowers of all sorts, the rose being one.
Immense arches, ivy-covered towers, time mutilated, at magnificent
distances—the house itself, like one of those chapels
| 4 | A TEMPTING PICTURE. |
The way they still remembered, of King
Nine, Of old Assaracus and Inachus divine. But nothing gloomy, all cheerful, lively, pleasing, gay, In spot more delicious, though but feigned, Long or Joe
Davis never played, or Spines
Or Hazlitt vollied. |
“The inhabitants are not altogether unworthy of the place. For country people they are excellent. Racket is a great humanizer of the species, and ought to be encouraged.
Tonbridge is decent, Cooper hath a heart, And Austin ale, the which he will impart With liberal hand to all who pay. |
“They are, in fact, very civil. Our coming has revived the game, stirred up the ashes of a cheerful fire, inspirited the players. Many matches are in embryo, and the coronation is forgotten.
“Many Margate, Ramsgate, and Dover coaches go from the Bricklayers’ Arms at a quarter before eight every morning—and all through Canterbury, to which the fare on the outside is only 14s.
“Do come. You never saw so pretty a place. It beats
Netley Abbey, and is older. The court is really admirable, and has the property
of drying in two hours after the longest succession of hard rains. Good chalk
has no fellow. The only false hops are in the beer,
| A BUSINESS LETTER. | 5 |
“One of the old racket-players here says: ‘Jack Davis was the finest player I ever saw; and, by God, there is nobody can come near him.’
