I purposed to have written quite a valuable treatise on clubs, but when I dipped into the books, I either found that the serious matters would be dry-as-dust at this stage of my article, or else that it was difficult to collect information. So I shall merely emphasise the cordiality of the sides which do battle each summer. I Zingari come first to my thoughts, for not only have I the honour to wear the red, yellow, and black, but my uncle, Mr. Chandos Leigh, is one of the presiding potentates—more power to him. No longer do these wanderers figure on the card of the Canterbury Week, but it is still their festival. Theirs is the big tent, theirs the admirable theatrical performances, and theirs the true traditions of the historic Week. It is the most delightful function in county cricket to-day, just as it was formerly the greatest boon in old-time cricket. I feel that some of the graceful irresponsible matches which were contested at Prince’s in the ‘seventies still cast a pleasant reflection on the Week at the old minster town. Also, I heartily wish I Zingari could revive that one-time match _v._ Gentlemen of England at Scarborough, but the difficulty of collecting competent sides seems insurmountable. But let no one think I Zingari do not keep up their pristine value. Have they ever had a finer record than in 1902? It reads: matches played, 29; matches lost, 1, Silwood Park winning a one-day game by 46 runs. So I think the spirit of I Zingari can look very beaming when she is pleasantly embodied for the epilogue of the Kent festival. It is impossible to run over the list of clubs. Free Foresters, of course, recurs to memory—cheery, bright, with a military leaven, under the admirable guardianship of Mr. E. Rutter. Their annual volume yields an admirable statement of bustling, hard-fought cricket on many welcome swards where reporters do not scribble nor the public give heed. Amateur cricket owes a great debt to them, and also to the Incogniti, in which the present governor of Jamaica has taken such keen interest. With varying sides, but unvarying good-fellowship, these pilgrims of cricket show how many withstand the attractions of golf, and prefer to drive the leather rather than the Haskell. Each University has one club noteworthy to the community at large. Cambridge boasts the Quidnuncs, the cap of which is so familiar in county matches, because hardly any old blue seems to wear his ‘Varsity colours. Against Yorkshire at Lord’s in August 1902, four of the Middlesex side wore those colours of dark blue with the narrow blue stripe, these being Messrs. Cyril Foley, C. M. Wells, R. N. and J. Douglas. Though it is limited to fifteen members in residence at Cambridge, practically everybody who is tried for the eleven appears to outsiders to be entitled to wear the caps, though no undergraduate in his first year is eligible.