pardoned for introducing upon this occasion. The first match of any importance in which I played was when the Hambledon Club challenged all England: I was then between seventeen and eighteen years old, and played for England. The celebrated James Aylward was our General. His command to me was, 'You will cover the middle wicket and point.'—'What,' said I, 'out to save the two runs?'—'Why, you would not play in to save one on this ground!'—'I would, when Clifford bowls.' (Clifford was a slow bowler.)—'You shall do as you like,' said he, with an approving smile, and a hearty shake of the hand. Now, the time I took to move in to save the one run was just before the bowler had started, the batsman's eye being at that time fixed upon him. By this manœuvre I had the good fortune, in the course of the match, to put out two of the Hambledon Club, and received in consequence the thanks of Sir Horace Mann. The glory of this reward made me scarcely to know whether I stood on my head or my heels; and if my memory be an honest one, some time elapsed before I had rubbed off my conceit.
Suppose the fieldsman in this station be brought in to save the one run—a case of frequent occurrence when the bowling is good he should not wait and let the ball come to him, but dash in to meet it, fielding it with his right hand, and with a quick motion, throwing it at the top of the stumps to the wicket-keeper's hands. If this act be performed neatly, it has a beautiful effect, and is the very essence of fine fielding. It is a movement that any active young player may attain with a little perseverance, and the best mode of accomplishing it, is to get a person to stand at the wicket and throw the ball towards him—moderately quick at first, increasing the speed with his improvement.
