The Cricket Field

And, in these lines, Virgil truly describes the right sort of man for a cricketer: plenty of life in him: not barely soul enough, as Robert South said, to keep his body from putrefaction; but, however large his stature, though he weigh twenty stone, like (we will not say Mr. Mynn), but an olden wicket-keeper, named Burt, or a certain infant genius in the same line, of good Cambridge town,-he must, like these worthies aforesaid, have ???? in perfection, and be instinct with sense all over. Then, says Virgil, igneus est ollis vigor: "they must always have the steam up," otherwise the bard would have agreed with us, they are no good in an Eleven, because-

that is, you must suspend the laws of gravitation before they can stir,-dull clods of the valley, and so many stone of carrion; and then Virgil proceeds to describe what discipline will render those, who suffer the penalties of idleness or intemperance, fit to join the chosen few in the cricket-field:

Of course Elysium means "Lords," and læta arva, "the shooting fields." We make no apology for classical quotations. At the Universities, cricket and scholarship very generally go together. When, in 1836, we played victoriously on the side of Oxford against Cambridge, seven out of our eleven were classmen; and, it is doubtless only to avoid an invidious distinction that "Heads v. Heels," as was once suggested, has failed to be an annual University match; though the seri studiorum-those put to school late-would not have a chance. We extract the following:-

"In a late Convocation holden at Oxford, May 30, 1851, it was agreed to affix the University seal to a power of attorney authorising the sale of 2000l. three per cent. consols, for the purpose of paying for and enclosing certain allotments of land in Cowley Common, used as cricket grounds by members of the University, in order to their being preserved for that purpose, and let to the several University cricket clubs in such manner as may hereafter appear expedient."

From all this we argue that, on the authority of ancient and the experience of modern times, cricket wants mind as well as matter, and, in every sense of the word, a good understanding. How is it that Clarke's slow bowling is so successful? ask Bayley or Caldecourt; or say Bayley's own bowling, or that of Lillywhite, or others not much indebted to pace. "You see, sir, they bowl with their heads." Then only is the game worthy the notice of full-grown men. "A rubber of whist," says the author of the "Diary of a late Physician," in his "Law Studies," "calls into requisition all those powers of mind that a barrister most needs;" and nearly as much may be said of a scientific game of cricket. Mark that first-rate bowler: the batsman is hankering for his favourite cut-no-leg stump is attacked again-extra man on leg side-right-that's the spot-leg stump, and not too near him. He is screwed up, and cannot cut away; Point has it-persevere-try again-his patience soon will fail. Ah! look at that ball;-the bat was more out of the perpendicular-now the bowler alters his pace-good. A dropping ball-over-reached and all but a mistake;-now a slower pace still, with extra twist-hits furiously to leg, too soon. Leg-stump is grazed, and bail off. "You see, sir," says the veteran, turning round, "an old player, who knows what is, and what is not, on the ball, alone can resist all the temptations that leg-balls involve. Young players are going their round of experiments, and are too fond of admiration and brilliant hits; whereas it is your upright straight players that worry a bowler-twenty-two inches of wood, by four and a quarter-every inch of them before the stumps, hitting or blocking, is rather disheartening; but the moment a man makes ready for a leg hit, only about five inches by four of wood can cover the wicket; so leg-hitting is the bowler's chance: cutting also for a similar reason. If there were no such thing as leg-hitting, we should see a full bat every time, the man steady on his legs, and only one thing to think of; and what a task a bowler would have. That was Mr. Ward's play-good for something to the last. First-rate straight play and free leg-hitting seldom last long together: when once exulting in the luxurious excitement of a leg volley, the muscles are always on the quiver to swipe round, and the bowler sees the bat raised more and more across wicket. So, also, it is with men who are yearning for a cut: forming for the cut, like forming for leg-hit-aye, and almost the idea of those hits coming across the mind-set the muscles off straight play, and give the bowler a chance. There is a deal of head-work in bowling: once make your batsman set his mind on one hit, and give him a ball requiring the contrary, and he is off his guard in a moment."

Certainly, there is something highly intellectual in our noble and national pastime. But the cricketer must possess other qualifications; not only physical and intellectual, but moral qualifications also. Of what avail is the head to plan and hand to execute, if a sulky temper paralyses exertion, and throws a damp upon the field; or if impatience dethrones judgment, and the man hits across at good balls, because loose balls are long in coming; or, again, if a contentious and imperious disposition leaves the cricketer all 'alone in his glory,' voted the pest of every eleven?

The pest of the hunting-field is the man always thinking of his own horse and own riding, galloping against MEN and not after HOUNDS. The pest of the cricket-field is the man who bores you about his average-his wickets-his catches; and looks blue even at the success of his own party. If unsuccessful in batting or fielding, he gives up all-"the wretch concentred all in self." No! Give me the man who forgets himself in the game, and, missing a ball, does not stop to exculpate himself by dumb show, but rattles away after it-who does not blame his partner when he is run out-who plays like play and not like a painful operation. Such a chilly, bleak, northwest aspect some men do put on-it is absurd to say they are enjoying themselves. We all know it is trying to be out first ball. "Oh! that first look back at rattling stumps-why, I couldn't have had right guard!"-that conviction that the ball turned, or but for some unaccountable suspension of the laws of motion (the earth perhaps coming to a hitch upon its ungreased axis) it had not happened! Then there's the spoiling of your average, (though some begin again and reckon anew!) and a sad consciousness that every critic in the three tiers of the Pavilion, as he coolly speculates "quis cuique dolor victo, quæ gloria palmæ," knows your mortification. Oh! that sad walk back, a "returned convict;" we must all pace it, "calcanda semel via leti." A man is sure never to take his eyes off the ground, and if there's a bit of stick in the way he kicks it instinctively with the side of his shoe. Add, that cruel post mortem examination into your "case," and having to answer the old question, How was it? or perhaps forced to argue with some vexatious fellow who imputes it to the very fault on which you are so sore and sensitive. All this is trying; but since it is always happening, an "inseparable accident" of the game, it is time that an unruffled temper should be held the "differentia" of the true cricketer and bad temper voted bad play. Eleven good-tempered men, other points equal, would beat eleven sulky or eleven irritable gentlemen out of the field. The hurling of bats and angry ebullitions show inexperience in the game and its chances; as if any man in England could always catch, or stop, or score. This very uncertainty gives the game its interest. If Pilch or Parr were sure of runs, who would care to play? But as they make sometimes five and sometimes fifty, we still contend with flesh and blood. Even Achilles was vulnerable at the heel; or, mythologically, he could not stop a shooter to the leg stump. So never let the Satan icagency of the gaming-table brood on those "happy fields" where, strenua nos exercet inertia, there is an energy in our idle hours, not killing time but enjoying it. Look at good honest James Dean; his "patient merit" never "goes Out sighing" nor In, either-never in a mumbling, though a "melting mood." Perspiration may roll off him, like bubbles from a duck's back, but it's all down to the day's work. He looks, as every cricketer should look, like a man out for a holiday, shut up in "measureless content." It is delightful to see such a man make a score.

Add to all this, perseverance and self-denial, and a soul above vain-glory and the applause of the vulgar. Aye, perseverance in well-doing-perseverance in a straightforward, upright, and consistent course of action.-See that player practising apart from the rest. What an unpretending style of play-a hundred pounds appear to depend on every ball-not a hit for these five minutes-see, he has a shilling on his stumps, and Hillyer is doing his best to knock it off. A question asked after every ball, the bowler being constantly invited to remind him of the least inaccuracy in hitting or danger in defence. The other players are hitting all over...