neighbour's carriage; but, while the natives are marvel-stricken, Caldecourt will shake his head, and inwardly grieve at folly so triumphant.
This reminds me of a memorable match in 1834, of Oxford against Cowley, the village which fostered those useful members of university society; who, during the summer term, bowl at sixpences on stumps sometimes eight hours a day, and have strength enough left at the end to win one sixpence more.
The Oxonians, knowing the ground or knowing their bowlers, scored above 200 runs in their first innings. Then Cowley grew wiser; and even now a Cowley man will tell the tale, how they put on one Tailor Humphreys to bowl twisting underhand sneaks, at which the Oxonians laughed, and called it "no cricket;" but it actually levelled their wickets for fewer runs than were made against Bayley and Cobbett the following week. The Oxonians, too eager to score, and thinking it so easy, hit across and did not play their usual game.
Never laugh at bowling that takes wickets. Bowling that is bad, often for that very reason meets with batting that is worse. Nothing shows a thorough player more than playing with caution even badly pitched underhand bowling.
One of the best judges of the game I ever knew was once offered by a fine hitter a bet that he
