Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales. Kingston William Henry Giles

      Reginald used to say of his father that he did not preach much, but that he had a wonderful way of bringing in good advice, and sugaring it at the same time. In the present instance he was washing down a temperance harangue with champagne and claret. He knew that his advice would much more likely be taken than if he had ordered toast-and-water and small beer for dinner.

      In very good humour with themselves, with the world in general, and with Eton in particular, which Reginald thought a first-rate place indeed, they sallied forth into the playing-fields, where several cricket matches were going on. One, Oppidans against Collegers, excited most interest, because there always is, though there ought not to be, a good deal of party-feeling between the collegers, the boys on the foundation, and those who are not; the latter, who are more frequently sons of men of wealth and influence, looking down upon those who have gained their position by their talents and industry. The broad smooth green meadows, with the fine grey school buildings, and their magnificent trees rising up behind them, presented a very gay and animated appearance. Numbers of boys in their picturesque cricketing costumes were lying about in all directions – England’s nerve and spirit, and head and heart – those who were hereafter to head her armies and guide her councils. Little wotted they then of the destinies in store for some of them. A stranger might have said, as he saw their active forms bounding here and there – There is England’s bone and muscle. So there was, but that is to be found rather in her wide fields, in her mines, her coal-pits, on her broad quays, in her manufactories, in her towns, and on her railroads. The different games were sufficiently apart, so as not to interfere with each other. Round each of the scorers knots of amateurs were collected, watching the game with intense interest, and applauding or condemning, as each hit was well or ill made or fielded. At a respectful distance from the wide-flying balls, a number of ladies, and children, and nurses, and other spectators, wandered about admiring the play or the cricketers.

      “Come along here,” said Power to the Squire and Reginald, as he led them up to one of the best spots for witnessing the sport; “it’s a hard-run game – well hit, Hawkins – beautifully run! – he’s my tutor’s pupil – the others will have hard work to get him out – I’ve known him score twice as many as any other fellow in the eleven – bravo, Langdale! – a first-rate hit – well fielded, too – he’ll get caught out though – he often does – he hits too wildly.”

      So Power ran on. The Squire at once entered into the spirit of the game. He clapped his hands as enthusiastically as any boy. “Capitally hit! – Smartly run!” he shouted. “Reggie, my boy, I wish that you were playing. Well done! Who is that tall fellow with the light hair? He caught out Langdale in fine style. You said he would be caught out.”

      “Oh, that’s Gull, an Oppidan,” answered Power; “he’s one of their best fielders. Who is going in next, I wonder? Beaumont, I see. Ah, he’s one of our crack players.”

      “Beautiful! beautiful!” shouted the Squire, as other hits were made. “Capital – first-rate – bravo – bravo – well run – a superb hit!”

      His animated remarks soon drew the attention of the boys towards him. When they heard from Anson that he was an old Etonian, they regarded him with a respect he might not otherwise have obtained, and all were eager to show him any attention in their power. They went on end had a look at the other games, and at last the hour came when it was necessary for the Squire to turn his steps towards the station. He had also on his way there to introduce Reginald to his tutor, Mr Lindsay. Old Spankie had been looking out for them. He had seen Power with him, and thus learned his name and all about him.