dressed in an airy, gauzy, becoming, and
thoroughly French manner. After presenta-
tions she transfers to me the attentions she
has been lavishing on an Italian greyhound,
and explains that the reason she is up at this
terribly early hour is that she is going off by
the train-of-great-swiftness to Paris, and that
on such an occasion she would have arisen
in the middle of the night, or never gone to bed
at all, so anxious is she to get away from Mar-
seilles. " And thou, too"—this again to the
greyhound—"and thou, too, Fanchette, thou
too hast wearied thyself like thy mistress in this
beast of a city!" And now the chief advances,
with the way-bill properly signed, and I make
my bow to Madame, and ascend another
omnibus; but, this time, one of inferior
quality, and drawn by only two heavy horses.
In our short progress to the quay I gaze
with wonder on the yoked oxen, on the gigantic
mules with their gaudy trappings and their
jingling bells, on the swarthy faces and
picturesque semi-Spanish dresses of their
drivers, and on the quaint head-dresses, the
silver arrows, and high combs of the female
peasantry.

At the quay, I find my old companion the
Courier waiting to take leave of me; the boxes
are once more counted and stowed away in
three large flat-bottomed boats, exactly like our
Thames punts; and in the last of these, after a
fervent embrace from my late comrade, I start off,
am pulled alongside the Peninsular and Oriental
Company's steamer Niger, which, with her
steam up, is awaiting my arrival. The engines
presently begin to throb, the paddles to revolve,
and I realise to myself that I am on the Medi-
terranean, and am entering on my Second and
Last Flight bound for the East!

THE COLONEL'S CRICKET-MATCH.

FOR two years the "town" of Hythe had given
the garrison (or School of Musketry) a thorough
beating at cricket. Our colonel, formerly a
capital player, was a great patron of the game,
and he felt these defeats sorely. It happened
that when the " town" sent a third annual chal-
lenge, there were at the School of Musketry two
lads in the Rifles who had acquired some fame
with the bat and ball; Southey and myself.
Southey had been captain of the Eton eleven for
two years, and at that time we could muster a
very fair eleven; I think our gallant colonel
wavered in consenting to the match for one
minute, and no more. He feared that the
School might be beaten three years in suc-
cession; but he was too true a cricketer at
heart to think twice about that, and a day
was fixed for our match. What a ground it
was! A large and level piece of Kentish turf
on the edge of a mile of beach. No waving
trees to fringe your line of sight; no dark hedges
behind the bowler's arm; no shadows, but, sun
in or sun out, all clear and light; with the
shingle stretching down far and away to the blue
waters of the English Channel. The wicket
itself was almost too good—for the bowlers
at least. It had no dead spots, no lively ones;
no chance for " shooters," none for "bumpers;"
and, when you had bowled your finest and
straightest, you could only feel you had done
your best, and thank your stars that your ball
was " stopped," and stopped only.

There was a proper telegraph to show the
"runs got" and the "wickets down." There
were tents and spectators in abundance. There
were the fathers and mothers and brothers
and sisters of the good town of Hythe, all
gathered together to see their side win; and
a gay crowd they were, nearly all gaily dressed.
But not half so gay as our lookers on, who
numbered men or officers from nearly every
regiment in the service. We had no fathers
or mothers or sisters to look at us, but we had
between two and three hundred brothers, Guards-
men, Highlanders, Riflemen, Sappers, Artillery,
Marines, Dragoons, Linesmen, Company's officers,
red, green, and blue, each with many kinds of
facings, all mixed up together; every conceivable
uniform and corps (even Africans from a West
India regiment), all there in a great crowd,
waiting to see how the match went for the
School. Away, on the other side of the ground,
in a cluster by themselves, but at the proper
angle for seeing the play, were the club players
from the neighbouring country clubs; honest
enemies of each other, probably, and of Hythe
certainly. There was our veteran colonel, too,
just as anxious and silent as if he were going
to lead us all into the thick of a battle.

The town won the toss for innings, and
put their men in first. I bowled at one end
through the whole of the innings on that hot
summer's day, and hard work it was. One of
our adversaries scored 70 off his own bat: they
totalled 138. Betting two to one on the Town.

We went in for our innings. Old Southey
and I only made 10 or 12 each, both given out
"leg before wicket." Our side made a total of
73, which left us 65 to the bad—and very bad
it was. Our dear old colonel, attired in uniform,
had stood most of the time of the first innings,
attentively watching the game: sometimes with
the town party friends, sometimes with ours.
He always gave a word of encouragement to
our lucky ones, and a word of kindness to the
unlucky. But as the innings got on, and
our eleven were falling fast in making that
miserable 73, he suddenly disappeared. We
thought he had gone away disgusted. The match
went on. We were 73 to their 138 when they
went in for their second innings; and, if ever
two fellows were determined to bowl out our
foes, they were Southey and myself. We played
fiercely, for we knew well that now was the
time when we must either do or die. Southey,
though a good bowler and "field," and a
terrific hitter, excelled most at the wicket; and
that day he outdid himself. He caught two
of the town off my first " over," stumped two
in my second, and caught number five in my
third "over"—all clever catches, and clever
stumps too. Southey bowled slow twisters at