ll-known dribbler
the other day how it came about that he played under a _nomme de
guerre_, "Was he afraid to let his real name be known?" The answer was
conclusive. The governor was sometimes inexorable, and treated him to a
lecture on filial obedience and the inevitable consequences of
neglecting business. He positively debarred him from playing again, but
Tom was not to be done. Taking advantage of the old fellow's absence
from home, he yielded to the solicitations of his captain, and played
under an assumed name, dribbling and passing in such beautiful form that
thousands of spectators applauded his efforts, and his side won in a
canter. As the non-indulgent parent did not observe Tom's name in the
papers, his little deception was never found out, and he continued doing
duty for his club in this way for a couple of seasons. And of the yet
fine player who thinks he will retire as each season comes round,
something must also be said. His eye has not yet lost the gleam of
honest rivalry, and he snorts like the war-horse as each season comes
round to be in the thick of the fight. He retired, it may be, last
season, for good, as he thought, but the fascinations of the goal-posts
and flying corner-flags was too much for him as a spectator at the first
big game, and he yielded for another year, but it will be his last, for
Maud, his beloved and beautiful Maud, will claim him as her own before
June. "We have been long engaged," he is heard to say to an old club
companion, "but this blessed football, of which I am very fond, has been
the cause of putting off the marriage."

I once knew a fine young fellow, a crack half-back, who was so anxious
to play in an "International," that he positively swore he would never
get married till he was one of the chosen team. He kept his word. He
played twice for his country, got married, and, as the "unexpected does
not always happen," is now the father of what may some day prove a race
of stalwart football players. His handsome, though now slightly-bent
form, is still often seen when a great event is being decided,
accompanied by his wife and children, and woe betide the captain of his
former club if he allows it to be beaten. "Well played; keep him off the
ball, can't you!" he is heard to exclaim, till he is red in the face,
and he goes home to dinner with something like an appetite.

None but those who have positively come through all the grades of
football probation really know what a