Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 698

'Then how have I been to blame, Miss?'

'It is a private undertaking, is it not, Nancy; almost entirely supported by one lady, although managed by a committee?'

'Yes, Miss; and the committee is managed by Mrs Gower. They all do what she tells 'em; though if they knew' —

'And costs a great deal of money; does it not? I think that I have heard this lady subscribes between fifteen and eighteen hundred a year to it.'

'Yes, Miss; I suppose she do. They say Mrs Gower the matron has two hundred a year besides lots of perquisites,' replied Nancy, a little surprised at what appeared to her the irrelevancy of the question.

'And this lady spends all that in the hope of benefiting her fellow-women! How much she must feel for them – nay, how much she must love them, Nancy! Think of feeling so much love for women who have done wrong as to spend all that upon the bare chance of benefiting them! In spite of their want of gratitude too!'

There was a new startled look in Nancy's eyes, as she murmured in a low voice: 'I never thought of that – I never thought about her caring.'

'But she must, you know; and it must be a great grief and disappointment to her to feel that all she does is in vain. It is, you say?'

'I am afeard it is – a most' – hesitatingly began Nancy. 'We've all on us been thinking about Mrs Gower, and she's' —

'A moment, Nancy! It is quite evident that Mrs Gower has not the same feeling towards you all which her employer has, or you would have experienced some good effects from it. But it is equally evident that those whom the benevolent lady is seeking to help have no gratitude towards her– not even gratitude enough to acknowledge her good-will towards them.'

'I – never thought of her,' repeated Nancy, more to herself than to me. 'I only saw her once; a pale thin lady, who looked so sorry – yes, she did look sorry, even for me, though she thought I was the worst there! If I'd only thought she cared!' – turning her eyes regretfully in the direction of the house again. Then drawing a heavy breath: 'But there; she thought it was all my wickedness! I let her think so; and – it's done now, and can't be undone. There's no hope for me now – I told you so – everything's against me.'

'Nonsense! No hope indeed! There's every hope for one with your keen sense of right and wrong, if you will only act up to it. Do you think I will ever give you up?'

'What can you do for such as me, Miss?' – I was glad to see a little anxiously.

'Lots of things. Let me think a moment.' Presently I went on: 'There are two ways to begin with, Nancy. One will require more moral strength and courage than the other; but you shall choose which you think best; and whichever course you take, I promise to hold fast to you.'

'What is it to do, Miss?' – eagerly.

'One plan I propose is, for you to come at once with me to the place where I am staying, and remain there until I am married, which I shall be shortly, when you should live with me as housemaid; none but us two knowing anything about the past, and' —

'I choose that!' she hastily began, her eyes brightening and her colour rising.

'Listen a moment, before you quite decide, Nancy. The other course is more difficult, I know; but I want you to decide fairly between the two. It is to go back to the Home, take your punishment, whatever it may be, and stay there, with me for your friend, until I am ready for you to come to live with me. I am quite aware it would require a great deal of courage and self-control to do that; but I think you could do it.'

'Which would you like me to do best, Miss?' – anxiously.

'If you succeeded in doing the more difficult thing of the two, I should of course have greater respect for you, Nancy; but I should not be less your friend for your being weak. I am not sufficiently perfect myself, to insist upon perfection in my friends.'

'That's it, Miss; that's just where it is! If Mrs Gower our matron only had some faults – ever such little ones – of her own, she might get nearer to us. It's the terrible goodness which makes it so impossible for her to understand us, and us to understand her. She seems to be always a-thinking about the great difference there is between her and us. It only makes us more spiteful against the goodness, when we see how hard it makes people. Why, the bad ones are ever so much more sorry for one another, and ready to help!'

'And you judge all others – the lady who has done so much to prove her love and unselfishness, as well as every one else – by this matron. She is probably not suited to the office; but I do not see' – I paused, recognising that it was not just then the best moment for advancing any argument in vindication of what she termed 'goodness.' All that would be suggested by a better experience, by-and-by. So I merely added: 'Whether she feels it so or not, it is very sad for Mrs Gower to have so utterly failed in reaching your hearts, as she appears to have done. But we must not forget that it is our own defects, and not hers, which are in question just now, you know, Nancy.'

'I know what you mean, Miss; and I'm sorry as I did not' —

'Never mind about the past. There is plenty of time before us, I hope. Which is it to be, Nancy? Will you come with me now, or go back to the Home?'

'I will go back, Miss; and if you hear' —

'If I hear! Of course I shall go to see you to-morrow. You ought to know that.'

She rose, looked steadily towards the Home, now darkly and sharply defined against the moonlit sky, then turned her eyes upon my face, grasped my hand with a strong firm grip for a moment, and walked swiftly and silently away.

THE MORALE OF CRICKET

Cricket is a pastime so extensively and deservedly popular as to rank among the foremost of English institutions. It is physically an excellent test of wind, strength, and endurance, and is intellectually attractive from the opportunities it affords for the exercise of scientific skill. In a social respect the advantages it confers are great, because men of different grades are brought together without prejudice to the distinctions custom has created, and many genial consequences remain from such meetings. In a moral point of view cricket may be said to inculcate the cardinal virtues. And it is mainly in relation to this last aspect and the results, psychologically speaking, that we here propose to consider the game.

In the remarks we shall offer we will generally assume some knowledge of cricket on the part of readers; but still, for the benefit of the uninitiated, will here record a few brief particulars. Apart from preparing and keeping the ground in order, the material essentials of the game, as everybody knows, are simple and inexpensive, consisting of merely bats, stumps, and ball. It is usually played by two sides, each composed of eleven men, and subject to certain recognised rules. These sides alternately assume the position of the attacking and the attacked. The object of the former is to effect the fall of the wickets, which the other side defends, and to frustrate the endeavours of the latter to make or score 'runs.' It is on the superiority established in this respect that the issue of a game depends. This is a scanty and necessarily imperfect description; but taken with what we shall say incidentally as we proceed, it will be enough for the illustration of the points we have in view. Let us now observe that a member of each of the eleven is elected as captain; and by the two captains all the preliminaries of a game are arranged. Each then assumes entire control over the members of his own side. It is the captain who appoints the bowlers, assigns to the other men their different positions in the field, and settles the order in which his side are to take their innings. Throughout the game it is necessary that he should remain as watchful as a general directing the movements of a battle-field, and that he should be prepared with prompt measures to meet the varying exigences of the encounter in which he takes so prominent a part. In a word his duties are manifold and arduous. He must, according to circumstances, study and maintain the morale of his men under depressing prospects, or moderate their too sanguine anticipations in the face of approaching triumph, lest they beget carelessness, and so end in mortification and defeat.

A captain must at the same time infuse a spirit of contentment into his men, and also inspire them with thorough confidence in himself. It is probable there may be three or four men of tolerably equal pretensions as bowlers, or two or three equally ambitious to fill some other post in the field. The captain will have to select between these rival candidates, without condemning those he disappoints to the pangs of secret vexation and annoyance. Thus, in framing his dispositions for a game, he will have to consider each individual's special capacity for filling a particular post, not merely as it actually exists, but also in some degree as it exists in the estimation of the individual himself. He may otherwise leave room for petty heartburnings, and for the feeling that an injustice, or at least a slight, has been suffered. Should this unhappily prove the case, it will, even unconsciously to himself, mar a man's usefulness in the field, by inperceptibly or otherwise curtailing his activity of either mind or body, or both. As to the former, it is almost needless to observe that attention is the great watchword of cricket.

Now, to enable the captain to acquit himself satisfactorily on the foregoing heads, and to secure the results we have indicated, with a perfect knowledge of cricket, he should combine both a knowledge of character and the exercise of considerable tact and Prudence. The latter being the point with which we are immediately concerned, let us see how it is exemplified in the rôle the players are all successively required to perform – that of batsman. At each wicket stands a batsman, and both are obliged to keep within spaces extending four feet from the stumps, the spaces being marked by lines transverse to that in which the wickets are pitched. The 'runs' before alluded to, which it is the great object of the game to make, are obtained by the occupiers of the wickets running the distance between them as often as possible in the interval taken in returning the ball to the hands of either the bowler or wicket-keeper, after it has once left the bowler's hand, during which time it is said to be in play. But they cannot do so, nor indeed go out of their 'ground' at all, demarcated as described, while the ball is in play, except at the risk of the wickets being put down. This may be done by a batsman's being either 'run' out, or 'stumped' out. He necessarily exposes himself to a risk of the former contingency when making runs in the manner explained. Consequently, under such circumstances, a man has not only to be very watchful and quick in his movements, but has also to make the best use of the judgment at his command. The penalty of error in this respect is fatal, unless some fortunate accident should intervene.

Now in regard to the second of the risks referred to, the occasion is one for the exercise of both judgment and considerable prudence. In order that this point may be properly understood, it should be remembered that the balls bowled to the batsman are either 'lengths' or the reverse – that is, they are such that he can best play them either by waiting in his ground or by stepping out a little to meet them. When he should so step out and when he should forbear – for there is at all times a great temptation in the matter – is the pivot on which his prudential considerations in this connection revolve. Should he, after advancing, fail to hit or stop the ball, the wicket-keeper, who stands in readiness behind the wicket, will have most probably picked it up, and put down the wicket before the batsman can return to his ground. But with prudence in the ascendant, and a nice calculation of chances, the risk to which the batsman exposes himself becomes reduced to a minimum, or is altogether avoided. And with the same principle governing his play throughout, he delays or postpones the calamity which finally compels his retirement from the wickets until he has at least placed a fair amount of runs to his credit; or as happens in exceptional cases, he entirely averts the calamity, and achieves the honour of 'carrying' out his bat. But self-evidently, there is no honour attending this performance if a score beyond the average has not been made.

Now let us see in what respect it behoves a bowler to exercise this virtue of prudence. Many batsmen have a favourite stroke with which they succeed better than with any other. Thus a man may be able to hit effectively to 'leg' who does not succeed so well at 'off.' In cricketing parlance, he is in that case stronger on his leg than on his off-stump. But the actual circumstances in any given case may of course vary, and they may be just the reverse of the foregoing. We shall, however, suppose them to be as we have stated. Well, the respective points of strength and weakness of the batsman soon become apparent to the bowler; and ordinary consideration or prudence then naturally suggests to the bowler the advisability of avoiding the delivery of balls likely to pass to 'leg' or the near side, and of directing the ball as much as possible, consistently with the main object in view, to 'off' or the far side, of the batsman. This would both preclude the negative result of the ball being hit away, and afford a fairer prospect of the positive result of the wicket being lowered, since it would be assaulted on the weaker side. But these circumstances really represent only certain elemental conditions of the game, and are here brought forward simply for illustration's sake. Still, without a due observance of them, and of such points as varying the length of a ball, and bowling so that a catch may result – which are all to be attained by the study prudence would suggest – cricket would cease to be the scientific game that it is; and a bowler would deserve the reproach we sometimes hear applied to him of bowling only with his hand, instead of bowling with both hand and head, as he is invariably bound to do.

The necessity of Temperance for the satisfactory prosecution of cricket is altogether too obvious to call for argument. The habit itself is not only essential to the unimpaired preservation of wind and limb, but even a solitary occasion of deviation from it may be productive of baneful effects. What cricketer of experience cannot recall the incident of a good 'bat' prematurely returning to his comrades, to make their sympathising bosoms the willing repository of his confession, that the disaster by which he has just been overwhelmed is due to either the salmon or champagne he took overnight; in consequence of which he unhappily 'saw double!'

Then as to Fortitude, there is perhaps no other single quality adorning manhood which takes so wide and active a range in cricket. There is the fortitude which sustains the bowler as he finds his best efforts fail in making an impression upon the wicket, and teaches him to persevere with a heart that is still composed and undaunted. He in truth calms the flutter which will occasionally seize him at such a time; and despite the conviction painfully forced upon him again and again, that his bowling has been mastered, he still manfully endeavours, and frequently succeeds, in pitching the ball on the one spot which above all others serves to afford a crucial test of his opponent's mettle and prowess. But the latter meets the effort each time with unswerving steadiness and marvellous effect. With what ease and perfection he stops the ball, with what consummate grace and vigour he hits it away when a chance offers! Immense indeed is the fortitude which enables the bowler to bear up against soul-crushing vicissitudes of this kind. And fortunate, too, for him is it that in such a crisis the captain comes to his relief, and institutes a change of bowlers. This change is sometimes admittedly from good to bad. But it nevertheless often produces immediate benefits; and so well recognised is the fact, that it has almost passed into an axiom of the game.

Let us now picture to ourselves the batsman in circumstances contrary to what we have supposed above. He is confronted by a bowler who sends him, we shall suppose, a succession of 'overs,' comprising balls which are, with few exceptions, all perfectly straight and of excellent length. He occasionally plays the ball away; but it is quickly returned by a smart 'point' or active 'mid-wicket,' so that he cannot obtain a single run. Oftener he only succeeds in merely staying the progress of the ball, and his resistance does not go beyond that. Now, every time the ball rises against the body, or perhaps the shoulder, of the bat, the consciousness of a deliverance from danger rushes through the possessor's mind, which is naturally enough followed by a thrill of delight and self-congratulation; for however accomplished be a player, he for some time at least feels that his fate is not in his own hands. This is owing to the possibility of some subtlety, such as a twist or bias, being suddenly developed by the bowler in the course of a well-directed and well-maintained attack, which takes the defender of the wicket by surprise, and occasions his fall. Such an event may easily happen, and is to be reckoned among the uncertainties of the game, in regard to which we shall have a word or two to say. It will meanwhile, from the circumstances we have stated, be seen that the sensibilities of the batsman are subjected to short but severe fits of tension, as they rapidly undergo the alternate forms of a vague fear or anxiety on the one hand and of joy on the other. So decided indeed is this fact, that numbers of spectators very commonly sympathise, to judge from the expressions which spontaneously escape them, as they watch the events of the game. Fortitude alone enables the hero of the bat, with stout heart, to live through so trying an ordeal. And all honour to him when he at length succeeds in turning the tables on the foe, and finally punishes the bowling to his own satisfaction and to the admiration of the by-standers!

Now, in regard to this quality of fortitude, which is essentially heroic in its nature – consisting in the patient resolute endurance of suffering – the wicket-keeper and long-stop frequently furnish notable examples. The wicket-keeper's duties inevitably entail that condition of martyrdom as their allotted burden; while as to long-stop, the degree in which he is called on to bear the buffets of fortune and of the ball very much depends upon the precise circumstances in which he is placed. Nor, in this connection, must we omit to notice the possible case of some stout gentleman standing at 'long-field,' whom the energy of the batsman constantly despatches in pursuit of the ball. In the course of each rapid excursion he makes, with the prospect of four or five runs resulting to the striker, what is it nerves him with spirit and determination, and despite his shortness of breath and quivering limbs, impels him to struggle on, but that heroic quality of which cricket teaches us so sound and useful a lesson!

The love of Justice is undeniably one of the sublimest instincts of the human mind, and it is not too much to say that, so far as it goes, cricket directly tends to foster and promote it. In a primary or fundamental sense, the rules which have been instituted for the management of the game are a provision for its being conducted on fair and equitable principles; and they are, moreover, administered by umpires appointed for the purpose, who adjudge all doubtful and disputed points. The associations of the game are in general so healthy that a wrong decision wilfully given is a thing almost unknown; and one reason why the umpires should discharge their duties in a strictly scrupulous and conscientious manner is, that they themselves are very much under the cognizance of those who observe the progress of the game purely for their own pleasure, so that any glaring inaccuracy, or deviation from truth or principle on their part (allowing the last to be possible), would be at once detected, and lead to public remark and comment.

How it is that others should be so easily able to note points which it is the duty of the umpires to decide, will be apparent when it is borne in mind that, however important their effects, the casualties which occur in cricket are of a very simple nature, and are all referable to a particular condition or stage of progress of the ball. Aided by a knowledge of the rules, which are clear and explicit, the eye has therefore merely to fix itself closely on the ball. To take now an introspective view of the matter, or to look say to secondary and internal effects, the desire to do justice to one's companions, or in other words to see the fullest possible scope given to the cricketing abilities they may possess, is an essential ingredient of the spirit which animates a side. The hopes and calculations of success in a game of cricket are based on the united exertions of the eleven men who form a side, though special faith may often be placed in particular individuals who have proved themselves conspicuously good players. But in the inevitable nature of things, such 'stars' are apt to undergo a sudden eclipse when least expected, to the manifest ruin of any calculations which may have been made with exclusive reference to them. Hence policy and experience combine to indicate the above mentioned as the only course which is to be relied on as perfectly sound and safe. It is consequently a wish with every member of an eleven that every other member should do the utmost of which he is capable, both in his place in the field and in the way of making runs and contributing to the general score. This wish is bound up in the breast of each member with the personal interest he takes in the success of the side to which he belongs. But this feeling is even extended, as it is only right it should be, to the opposite eleven; to whom, collectively and individually, the opportunities of a free exercise of their powers and the chance of winning on their merits, are never grudged by any true-hearted cricketer. But it may be argued that all this indicates only an absence of selfishness and a love of fair-play. Yet what are those feelings but the concomitants or essential characteristics of that divine attribute which springs from the cultivation of cricket, and by a healthy reactionary influence, expands and purifies in the process?

Among the other advantages of the game, a moment's consideration will determine that it is directly opposed to the growth of arrogance and self-assumption. There is this to be said of it, that as the battle is not always to the strong nor the race to the swift, so the victory in cricket does not always go to the eleven who may, on a comparative estimate with their rivals, be reasonably regarded as of superior merit. This is to be accounted for by the fact, that the forces the two elevens represent act not merely in opposition, but also in some respects in correlation with each other. Therefore the result of a game of cricket, though in the main due to the relative strength of the sides engaged, is somewhat eccentric in its nature; like the direction a movable body assumes when operated on by forces acting from separate quarters. And this affects not only the collective fortune of a side, but also the individual fortune of each player. Accordingly in other games and sports the expert may revel in the proud consciousness of superiority, and in weak moments betray that fact in his demeanour; but the cricketer can venture on no such dangerous exhibition of conceit. He may in the early stage of his career, but experience soon teaches him the folly of his conduct. The reverses he meets with, often when least expected, induce in him an air of becoming humility, or at least of modesty, under all circumstances.

This then, in plain language, is the consequence of those uncertainties of cricket which have been spoken of before; and so it arises that when the contending sides are tolerably well matched – a condition embodied in the framework of the several propositions we have advanced – even the greatest and surest run-getters approach the wickets with a secret sense of diffidence, and with their minds already troubled by that vague sense of apprehension to which allusion has elsewhere been made. Probably so eminent and successful a batsman as Mr W. G. Grace may be exempt from the influence of these feelings; but he is certainly not exempt from the operation of that law of contingencies which produces them in less gifted individuals. In order to prove this we have only to compare some of the enormous scores made last season by him with his failure at other times. But not to strain the comparison too far, it will be enough to state that in the match, Gentlemen versus Players, played in the beginning of July, Mr Grace was caught for ninety in his second innings; while in his first he was bowled by Emmet for the traditional duck's-egg (0)!