remarkable in bad habits of play is, that, long after a man thinks he has overcome them, by some chance association, the old trick appears again, and a man feels (oh! fine for a moralist!) one law in his mind and another law—or rather, let us say, he feels a certain latent spring in him ever liable to be touched, and disturb all the harmony of his cricketing economy.
Having, therefore, a habit to form, take the greatest pains that you methodically play forward to the over-pitched, and back to the under-pitched, balls. My custom was, the moment the ball pitched, to say audibly to myself "forward," or "back." By degrees I was able to calculate the length sooner and sooner before the pitch, having, of course, the more time to prepare; till, at last, no sooner was the ball out of the bowler's hand, than ball and bat were visibly preparing for each other's reception. After some weeks' practice, forward and back play became so easy, that I cease to think about it: the very sight of the ball naturally suggesting the appropriate movement; in other words, I had formed a habit of correct play in this particular.
"Suave mari magno," says Lucretius; that is, it is delightful, from the vantage ground of science, to see others floundering in a sea of error, and to feel a happy sense of comparative security;—so, was it no little pleasure to see the many
