Let me sketch an ideal week of country-house cricket, such as I have myself experienced several times. People are asked to stay in the house who are all previously acquainted with one another, thereby removing any stiffness and undue formality. There have been cases where, from almost undue kindness, host and hostess have had a house full of cricketers, many of whom they do not personally know, and the guests themselves, however much they enjoy themselves, must be conscious of the feeling that they are practically staying in a hotel, so little do they really come in touch with their hospitable entertainers. I do like a hostess to act as mother to the team, and for the old sportsman who entertains us to stand umpire. A bevy of nice girls are needed to keep us all civilised, and the merriment is then tremendous. Perhaps if a match is over early there is a ladies’ cricket match. Anyhow, there is a dance one night. On the others, songs, games, practical jokes, any amount of happy, innocent nonsense, as well as perchance a flirtation as hot as it is hopeless. Boy and girl alike know they may never meet again, but they won’t waste time meanwhile. Another of the charms of country-house weeks, if you are invited to the same one regularly, is that year by year you meet a group of very nice people you never perhaps see at any other time, but who inspire you with sincere regard. “Don’t you remember?” and “How’s so-and-so?” enable you in five minutes to pick up the old threads. These form the background. The cricket itself ought to be of sufficient importance to interest everybody, but not be allowed to degenerate into an infatuation, and therefore a nuisance to the fair sex. The ground ought not to be too good, for a perfect pitch takes the heart out of the bowling, and long scoring can be over-indulged in. All the four totals over 100 and under 200 was A. G. Steel’s ideal game, and it is about the best. The games should have local interest, and should if possible bring over one or two cricketers known to the house party. As for the cricket lunches, most delightful of all Benedick meals, on no account let hospitality spoil them. Champagne lunches are being horribly overdone. Men do not play good cricket on Perrier Jouet, followed by _creme de menthe_, with two big cigars topping a rich and succulent menu. No, give us some big pies, cold chickens, a fine sirloin of English beef, and a round of brawn, washed down by good ale and luscious shandygaff. That is all that cricketers want, and kings only fare worse. If the county folk drive over in the afternoon the host is afforded an opportunity of providing an enjoyable diversion for his neighbours. It is quite true that lots of men, unless they know that they will be extremely well done, infinitely prefer to be put up at a hotel in the nearest town. But that is partially because of their bachelor shyness, and partially because they fear they will