104 TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



Watch a good eleven, a good university or public-school team, 

 or the old A.F.P. for instance, and see how thoroughly they work 

 together, how the whole eleven is like one machine, 'point' 

 trusting ' coverpoint,' slip knowing that if he cannot reach a ball, 

 coverslip can, and the bowler feeling sure that his half rollings, 

 if hit up, will be caught, if hit along the ground, will be fielded. 

 Or see two good men batting, when every run is of importance, 

 how they trust one another's judgment as to the possibility of 

 running, how thoroughly they act in unison. Such training as 

 this teaches greatly a combination of purpose and of action, and 

 a confidence in the judgment of one's colleagues which must be 

 advantageous. 



The good cricketer is obedient to his captain, does what he 

 IS told, and does not grumble if he thinks his skill underrated ; 

 the tyro, proud of his own prowess, will indeed be cross if he is 

 not made enough of, or is sent in last ; but the good player, who 

 really knows the game, sees that one leader is enough, and obeys 

 his orders accordingly. 



There are other points taught by cricket, such as caution by 

 batting, patience and care by bowling, and energy by fielding ; 

 but I have no space to dwell on these, as I wish to examine very 

 briefly one more sport, which, though hardly national, is yet 

 much loved by the considerable number who do pursue it. Boat- 

 ing is found in its glory at the universities, or in some of the 

 suburbs of London which are situated on the Thames. It is 

 also found in some of the northern towns, especially Newcastle, 

 where the Tyne crew have long enjoyed a great reputation. 



By boating, I do not mean going out in a large tub and 

 sitting under an awning, being pulled by a couple of paid men, 

 or drawn by an unfortunate horse, but: boat-racing, for prizes or 

 for honour. The Oxford and Cambridge race has done more 

 than anything to make this sport popular ; and the thousands 

 who applaud the conquerors reward sufficiently the exertions 

 which have been necessary to make the contest possible. 



The chief lesson which boating teaches is self-denial. The 

 university oar, or the member of the champion crew at the 

 Thames or Tyne regatta, has to give up many pleasures, and 

 deny himself many luxuries, before he is in a fit state to row with 

 honour to himself and his party ; and though, in the dramatist's 

 excited imagination, the stroke-oar of an Oxford eight may 

 spend days and nights immediately before the race in the society 

 of a Formosa, such is not the case in real life. There must be 



