I cannot close this chapter better than by quoting two anecdotes which show the force of these remarks, from an excellent book on Cricket by William Bolland, Esq.

In advising the field to pay attention, he writes, "An accident may soon occur if you are near the wicket. We are reminded of one which happened to Mr. Knatchbull, though it was not the penalty of inattention; but it will prove our remark true regarding the danger inattention may involve. He was keeping wicket, and suddenly moved, for good reasons, towards the point, standing close in upon the batsman. The ball was struck sharply to him, and hit him severely in the centre of the forehead and rebounded. In the excitement he shouted, 'Catch it, somebody; and, strange to say, the catch was made by the bowler who had lately delivered the ball. Mr. Knatchbull assured us he felt no inconvenience from the blow, nor was any mark of violence perceptible upon him."

In cautioning players about the dangers of overthrows, our author writes: "Colonel Lowther and Mr. Walker, the left-handed bowler, a very fast runner, made an example of a field at Woolwich from an indiscreet shy. The Colonel was always a desperate runner of sharp runs, and stole many from his opponents. On this occasion he made a little tip, and ran it. Swish came the ball-missed the wicket; on went the Colonel and Walker, frequently both being simultaneously at the same wicket-swish, swish, going the ball. At last it came to the experienced hand of Captain Mundy, who closed the pantomime by imitating the clown's universal remedy in difficulty-viz., putting the ball in the pocket. Then came the inquiry from the scorers, 'How many are we to score?' and the umpire's reply, 'Why, you may put down five; but Mr. Walker has run a great many more!'"

THE POINT OF HONOUR.

A TALE OF OUDENDALE COLLEGE.

BY R. HOPE MONCRIEFF.

"HUR

CHAPTER I.

[URRAH! Finished at last! sung out Master Thomas Brackenbury, one of a group of three boys who were sitting in one of the schoolrooms of Oudendale College on a September afternoon. There was no one else in the room, and the three were attentively regarding a roughly formed key, which work of art was apparently just receiving the finishing touches from a file which one of them held in his hand. This was a tall and dark boy, with rather a cunning and unprepossessing expression of countenance. His name was Howard Roberts, and he was a cousin of Brackenbury. The third, George Wyndham, was a pleasant-looking fellow, with blue eyes, regular features, and a great deal of that curly, light-brown hair which is peculiar to English boys. The only possible description of Master Brackenbury, commonly called "Tom" or "Brack," is that he was a careless, good humoured-looking fellow, whose merry eyes spoke of "larks" and impositions, and whose tongue, for ever in motion, proclaimed that its owner had neither the gift of silence nor the possession of deep and erudite wisdom.

"Finished at last! Now for a lark!" cried Master Tom, with manifest tokens of delight and exultation. "Ri tooral, ooral, ooral, diddlede-dum!" he added, by way of strengthening his exclamation.

"Well, I'm game for anything you like," said his cousin Roberts. "Are you sure it will fit, though?"

"Sure as bricks. Chuck over the file, will you, George. I want to smooth down this rough place. Now, I say, you fellows, what shall we do now that we can get out? What do you vote, George?"

"Well, I don't know," answered Wyndham.

me yet what it is the key of."

Both the others burst out laughing.

"You have never told

"We'll tell you, but you musn't let on to anybody," said Tom.

"It's

the key of the master's garden, and we intend to get out some night and

have some fun."

"We

"And I have thought of such a capital dodge," said Roberts. might get out about one o'clock and bag a whole lot of old Hardy's plums. What do you say, Wyndham ?"

"You don't think that I am going out to steal plums, do you?" cried George, rather indignantly. "I wish you had just told me what you were making that key for, and I would have had nothing to do with it."

"Oh, man, what's the use of being so particular?"

"You know quite well, Brack, that I don't like having anything to do with affairs of that sort. I wish you had never told me about it.” "I didn't know you were so particular."

"At all events, you musn't tell anybody," said Roberts. "If we had thought you were going to tell we would never have let you into the secret."

"You needn't be afraid. I won't tell, but I would rather not have anything to do with your plans;" and with that George Wyndham left the room.

"What a fool Wyndham is! I would never have let on to him, if I had thought he would have kicked up such a row," said Tom, when he had gone.

"Oh, never mind him. I vote we go and bag the plums all the same. Nobody will ever find out, and Wyndham won't tell, of course.' "Oh, shut up, Howard. Robbing gardens is unanimously voted low. There's no fun in that sort of thing, and it's beastly caddish. It's not the proper tip either-not correct-you know what I mean. never read that beautiful thing Tennyson or Dr. Johnson, or one of those fellows, says—

Him as prigs wot isn't his'n,

When he's cotched 'll go to pris'n?

I should like some real lark, but none of your low dodges."

Did you

“Well, then, let us go and break some of that old humbug Lowton's cucumber-frames. It will pay him out nicely for telling Godfrey about that affair at the Warm Arms."

"Them's the words of wisdom, and I second that resolution," said Tom. "He's a horrid muff, that Lowton. Do you remember, Howard, when he found us at a pothouse with Arkley, how he looked glum at us out of his great goggles, and jawed away about all sorts of bosh for an hour? He told us that what he was saying was for our good." "Then we'll break his cucumber-frames for his good," growled Roberts. "Won't he be mad! You must take your catapult, and we will have a bombardment from the top of the wall. Oh, what fun!" "All right. We'll do the business without Miss

George's assistance.

you stay awake till eleven, I will till half-past twelve, and then we'll slip out while the other chaps are buried in the arms of-what's his name ?"

"All right. But there goes the bell. Come along."

The two conspirators now separated and went into tea, after which followed preparation, so that they had not another opportunity of conversing until bedtime. Tom and Roberts slept in the same room, in which were also Wyndham and five others. When they were all ready, the captain of the room made a rattling sound upon the ventilator, which was the signal for the boys to say their prayers. This interval Tom and his cousin made use of to carry on a correspondence upon scraps of paper about their proposed nocturnal expedition. Tom was for revealing their plan to all the rest, but Roberts, who was of a suspicious and cautious disposition, wished to keep it secret. As in all cases of mischief the college boys were honoured with the first suspicions, he feared to be found out if he entrusted the plan to others, but hoped, by keeping it secret, to gratify his malice against Mr. Lowton with impunity. Moreover, as he and Tom had obtained leave to go and see his father, who was to be in the neighbourhood next day, he thought to escape an inquiry, if it should be instituted. Poor Tom had none of his cousin's cunning, and, eager for a lark, never reflected whether it were right or wrong, nor considered the chances of detection and punishment. However, he complied with Roberts' wish, and when prayers were over they got into bed without saying a word about their intention to any one. George Wyndham never supposed that his companions really meant to carry their design into effect. He had not spoken to either of them since he left the room to escape Roberts' sneers, and now he fell into the refreshing sleep which happy and healthy boyhood alone can give, without thinking about the plot. But if he had remained awake, he would have seen Tom Brackenbury jump out of bed about twelve o'clock and awaken Roberts. The two then dressed themselves with great haste, and without much regard to their personal appearance, only speaking a few words under their breath. At length their preparations were completed, and they were just going to leave the room, when Tom said,

"What have you put on that great-coat for? It aint yours, is it? No, I say, it's George Wyndham's. You'd better leave it."

"Hush! Never mind. It's a jolly big one, and I want something of the kind to keep me warm. Wyndham will never know.”

Tom made no further objection, but led the way out of the bedroom, which opened into a large hall. Noiselessly crossing this, with their

boots in their hands, they pushed open a little door, which admitted them to a flight of steps leading down to the ground floor. Arrived at the bottom, they came to a small window, which was easily opened by pushing back the catch. Leaving it open, they then dropped down into a garden, at the end of which they found a small door which was locked. Roberts produced the key which we have seen them fabricating, and unlocked it. Then having passed out and shut, but not locked, the door, the boys put on their boots, and scampered down the road. After they had gone about three hundred yards they turned up a path leading through some fields, and presently arrived under a low garden-wall. "Now," said Roberts, "give me a leg up, and I will get over and see where these frames are. I don't know exactly, but when I have found them I shall whistle to you, and you must shy over some stones to me. Then when we've smashed them, you must get up on the wall and help me back."

"All right," said Tom; "fire away."

Roberts got up to the top of the wall and dropped into the garden. There was a crash of bushes heard, showing that he had not alighted on his feet.

Holloa, old fellow, what's the row?" said Tom in a loud whisper. "Got a spill?"

"Ah, it's no matter.

Now look out for my whistle."

If

Master Thomas was now left to his own reflections, which was a most uncommon predicament with him. It was very cold, he thought. it wasn't for the fun he would rather be in bed at school. While making that key he had never thought of getting out at night to do mischief; and now, when he thought of it, there was no use in breaking Lowton's frames. The old boy was an awful muff, but he certainly did once protect Tom, then a very small boy, from a big bully who was licking him. It was a shame. George Wyndham was right. He was a jolly fellow, George, and it was a shame to humbug him. Roberts said he was a muff because he read a chapter of the Bible every day. But Roberts wasn't half so good at football as George was; and after all those awfully particular fellows were not so bad. Cholmondeley, who was captain last year, always read the Bible, they said. Oh, hang it, what was the use of breaking Lowton's frames? He would be shot if he would, after all. Such was the train of Tom's thoughts, and accordingly, hearing Roberts whistle close by, he said,—

"I say, look here. What's the fun of smashing this chap's frames? I think it's all bosh, and I vote to cut back. The whole fun's in coming out, you know, not in breaking things and climbing over walls."