consisting of five or six growing lads, or
young men, as they would perhaps have
described themselves, and a young lady. The
young men belonged to a class which it is
pleasant to think is pretty largely
represented in this country. They were high-
spirited, healthy lads, who were either just
finishing their career at a public school, or
about to enter the lists at a university. A
happy time indeed; when the youngster is
freed from the more oppressive thraldom of
school-life; when he is emancipated from the
restraints and punishments which trouble
the boy, and has not yet entered on the
responsibilities and anxieties which the world
has in store for the man. Who that has
spent half an hour in the Christchurch
meadow, or the playing-fields at Eaton, and
seen a handful of these young fellows hurrying
off to their boats or their cricket-practice,
has not envied them, and at the same
time rejoiced to see their health and strength,
their manly looks, and rampant spirits?

The group which surrounded me, consisted
of half-a-dozen of such youngsters as I have
described, and a young lady, unmistakably
the sister of at least two of the number.
They were all talking eagerly about a cricket-
match which they were evidently much
interested in, and which, it appeared, was
shortly to come off. Nor did this subject
appear to be in any way an unattractive one
in the eyes of the young lady who
accompanied them. On the contrary, she was
discussing it quite as earnestly as her brothers
or their friends, and seemed as happy and
excited in looking forward to it as they.

She was an exceedingly handsome and
brilliant creature, with dark and flashing
eyes, and a complexion glowing with health
and animation. The family to which she
belonged was a large one, with a stout and
somewhat irritable-looking old Indian colonel
at the head of it. They were not inhabitants
of Smallport, but lived in a large house
which, inclosed in its own grounds, stood
upon the cliff by itself, about a couple of
miles from the town. I had often, however,
seen the young lady about the place, and had
as often wished for some opportunity of
getting acquainted wjth her family, that I
might be able to see more of her. Let the
reader judge, then, of my sensations, when
one of her brothers, turning suddenly to me,
and apologising for addressing a stranger,
told me that they were getting up a cricket-
match in which they were going to play
against the neighbouring town of Stumpton
and that if I was a cricketer, they should be
very happy if I would join them. Let the
reader, I say, judge of my sensations and pity
them, when I was obliged to own that I knew
nothing of the game, and to decline this most
attractive invitation.

The young fellow bowed, and, as the boat
for which the party was waiting was now
ready, they pushed off, and I was left to
ruminate on my defective education, to wish
that I had been brought up at a public
school, and to speculate on all impossible
schemes for recovering the opportunity I
had just lost, such as rushing up instantly to
London by express-train, flinging myself at
the feet of the illustrious Pilch or the
distinguished Lillywhite, as the case might be,
and imploring such an immediate initiation in
the mysteries of cricket as should make me
an able professor in two days, which was the
time yet left before the day of the great
Smallport match.

From such speculations as these I got,
being in a thoughtful mood, to others still
more wild and extravagant. I pictured to
myself the delicious career of a sort of
admirable Crichton who could do everything;
or, still more attractive, that of one of those
impossible heroes who are to be met with in
the pages of French romance, who never
have a failure, are never at a loss, never in a
hurry, still less in a perspiration; who are
never hungry, never thirsty, never sleepy,
never, in short, subject to any human
weakness; and the most perfect specimen of
whom is to be found in the immortal pages
which record the history of the Count de
Monte-Cristo.

This subject proved in my present
condition of recent failure so attractive to me
that I abandoned myself by degrees utterly
to its influence, though somehow or other, I
suppose from my being at the sea-side, it
took always something of a watering-place
aspect.

I pictured, then, to myself this Smallport
Monte-Cristo, leaning as I had done against
the wood-work of the pier. I saw before me
his symmetrical figure and countenance, pale
as marble (catch him with his nose burnt by
the sun to a bright crimson as mine was).
The group which had approached me
advances towards him, and the brother of the
young lady with the flashing eyes addresses
him:

"I beg your pardon, sir, but are you at
all a cricket-player?"

"Yes! I play a little"

"We are getting up a match against the
neighbouring town of Stumpton; we have
not made up our eleven yet, and should be
very glad if you would join us."

"When do you play?"

"On Saturday next."

"The place, and hour?"

"The cricket-ground is at Stumpton. Any
one there will direct you to it. We meet at
half-past ten."

Monte-Cristo draws from his pocket a set
of tablets, which he consults, muttering to
himself the while:

"On Saturday, and to-day is Wednesday—
let me think. This evening at six my screw
yacht—Calais at eight—special train to Paris
—Lyons—Marseilles—midnight on Thursday
ha!—and Clothilde! Yes; it can be done.