the proper sorts of soil and seeds, that has caused the beautiful wickets of the present day, and the corresponding increase in the number of runs scored. The gigantic scoring is an evil. Everything is made easy for the batsman. In no respect, save that of allowing overhand bowling, has the poor bowler had any consideration shown him, and the results are batting made easy and drawn games. The scoring during the season of 1887 reached a pitch that, for the sake of cricket, we hope will never be seen again; but it will be repeated when the next dry season comes round, unless in the interval some changes are made in the laws of the game to help the bowler and fieldsman this time and not the batsman. The unlearned and unlettered spectator, it is true, seems to regard a match as interesting according to the number of runs scored, but this is a perverted view. Such a one likes to see a good finish if he can, but he feels slightly disappointed every time a wicket falls, unless indeed it happens to be the wicket of a proverbial stick. His ideal day's amusement requires a hot day and a hard and perfectly true wicket—W. G. Grace, at the head of a strong side, batting for five hours and scoring over 200 runs; other batsmen piling up fifties and sixties—and when the stumps are drawn at seven he loves to see on the telegraph the following sort of figures:
We have no wish to be hard on our unintelligent friend, but we must point out to him that his conception of the game is based on an altogether wrong principle. If he tries to understand and appreciate the skill of bowling, and the beauty and grace of fine fielding and wicket-keeping, he will keep a tender spot in his heart for professors of these branches of the game, and not like to see them utterly defeated by the skill of modern batsmen, largely helped by the modern wickets. Where the score is in such a ridiculous state as the above, there will ensue one of two results: either the match will be drawn, or else W. G. Grace and his comrades will win an absurdly easy
