s the remorseless march of the dominant sun across
the heavens.

Very little of my time has been spent in London or any other town, and
my early recollections of passing through London on my way to or from
school after or before the holidays are of very depressing weather
conditions--fog, greasy streets and pavements, or a sun veiled in a
haze of smoky vapour. Even when I went to Lord's annually in July to
see the Eton and Harrow match my recollection of the weather is of
dull, sultry heat and oppression of spirits. Cricket never seemed the
same game as I knew and loved at Harrow, or in my own home in Surrey;
there was an unreality about it, and a black coat and top hat were
insufferably uncongenial.

I am able, as an eye-witness on one of these occasions, to write of an
incident which, I think, has been almost forgotten. It was within a
year of the marriage of King Edward, then Prince of Wales, and Queen
Alexandra. A ball had been hit almost to the boundary, but was stopped
by a spectator close to the ropes, thrown in to the fielder, and
smartly returned to the wicket-keeper. The batsmen took it for granted
that it was a boundary hit, and were changing ends when, one man being
out of his ground, the wicket was put down, the wicket-keeper not
recognizing that the ball was "dead." The umpire gave the man "out."
The man demurred, and immediately shouts arose on all sides: "Out!"
"Not out!" "Out!" "Not out!" "Out!" "Not out!" rising _in crescendo_
to a pitch of intense excitement. The boys watching the match, and the
other spectators, some agreeing with, and some disputing the verdict,
rushed into the centre of the ground, and completely blocked the open
space still shouting vociferously. When the turmoil was at its height
the carriage of the Prince and Princess was driven on to the ground;
one of the players rushed up excitedly, and asked the Prince to decide
the matter. The Prince had not seen the incident, and of course
declined, as no doubt he would have done under any circumstances, to
give an opinion. It was impossible to clear the ground and continue
the play that evening, and stumps were drawn for the day. Next morning
the fielding side offered the disgusted batsman to continue his
innings, but he decided to play the game and abide by the umpire's
decision. I forget whether Eton or Harrow was in the field at the
time, and after this lapse of years it does not matter. The headmaster
always sent a notice round, jus