er shoulder as she
flies through the air over the cities of the earth. Sir Kennington
did not fly, but in other respects he was very like the goddess,
so completely enveloped was he in his india-rubber guards, and so
wonderful was the machine upon his head, by which his brain and
features were to be protected.

As he took his place upon the ground there was great cheering. Then
the steam-bowler was ridden into its place by the attendant engineer,
and Jack began his work. I could see the colour come and go in his
face as he carefully placed the ball and peeped down to get its
bearing. It seemed to me as though he were taking infinite care to
level it straight and even at Sir Kennington's head. I was told
afterwards that he never looked at Sir Kennington, but that, having
calculated his distance by means of a quicksilver levelling-glass,
his object was to throw the ball on a certain inch of turf, from
which it might shoot into the wicket at such a degree as to make
it very difficult for Sir Kennington to know what to do with it.
It seemed to me to take a long time, during which the fourteen men
around all looked as though each man were intending to hop off to
some other spot than that on which he was standing. There used, I am
told, to be only eleven of these men; but now, in a great match, the
long-offs, and the long-ons, and the rest of them, are all doubled.
The double long-off was at such a distance that, he being a small
man, I could only just see him through the field-glass which I kept
in my waistcoat-pocket. When I had been looking hard at them for
what seemed to be a quarter of an hour, and the men were apparently
becoming tired of their continual hop, and when Jack had stooped
and kneeled and sprawled, with one eye shut, in every conceivable
attitude, on a sudden there came a sharp snap, a little smoke, and
lo, Sir Kennington Oval was--out!

There was no doubt about it. I myself saw the two bails fly away
into infinite space, and at once there was a sound of kettle-drums,
trumpets, fifes, and clarionets. It seemed as though all the loud
music of the town band had struck up at the moment with their
shrillest notes. And a huge gun was let off.

"And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth.
Now drinks the king to Hamlet."

I could not but fancy, at these great signs of success, that I was
Hamlet's father.