VILLAGE CRICKET 167 



known to fall into a troubled sleep in the 

 pavilion at Lord's on a hot summer's afternoon 

 while watching the mancBuvres of a couple of 

 conscientious batsmen who have taken an hour 

 to compile twenty runs, and are evidently 

 labouring under the delusion that they are 

 engaged in an eight-day match. But although 

 it may be true that first-class cricket does not 

 appeal to every taste, there is one form of the 

 game which no sane person can fail to enjoy. 

 This particular branch of the sport in question 

 can never justly be called tame (if a branch 

 could ever be designated by so inappropriate 

 an epithet), since it combines the peculiar 

 charms of American baseball with the excite- 

 ment of the Spanish bullfight and much of the 

 anxious futility of patience. I refer, as I need 

 hardly add, to what is technically known as 

 Village Cricket. 



Village Cricket ! What blessed memories 

 those two simple words recall to the minds of 

 most of us ! We seem to behold once more the 

 village-green of our happy youth, with the 

 Jubilee Pump at one end competing ineffectually 

 with the "Bull and Kingfisher" at the other. 

 We see the little church — recently restored by 

 Messrs. Burling and Glammer, who have pic- 

 turesquely fitted the Norman Tower with a 

 steeple and replaced the unhygienic stone font 



