To break the monotony of personal reminiscence, I shall recall some of the games which prevailed in my youth. When the April showers and the dog days come year after year at their appointed times, we are satisfied with the explanation that they are following the order of nature. When in their seasons the robins build their nests, and the blackbirds gather in flocks preparatory to their autumn flight, we are content with the statement that they are guided by instinct. But we have no answer to the question—why we boys, as if in obedience to a mysterious edict issued by a secret council, each year simultaneously in all our towns brought from their winter quarters our alleys and taws, and snapped our marbles on every available sidewalk. After the marble fever had run, like measles, a certain number of days, the scene suddenly changed, and driving hoop was the order of the day. The hoop was not one of those toy hoops we see in these days, galvanized iron rings, with an attachment to push them with, but the genuine hoop from an oil cask, one from the bilge for the larger boys, and one from the chine for the smaller ones. When we gathered at twilight, and either in single or double file, made the circuit of the town, we made the welkin ring literally to beat the band. After the hoop came, as now, the ball games, skip, one old cat, two old cat, hit or miss, and round ball. We made our own balls, winding yarn over a core of India rubber, until the right size was reached, and then working a loop stitch all around it with good, hard, tightly spun twine. Attempts were occasionally made to play ball in the streets, but the by-laws of the town forbidding it were rigidly enforced. There were four gangs of boys, the North street gang, which played in the Jackson field in the rear of North street; the Court street gang, which played in Captain Joseph Bartlett’s field, where the easterly end of Russell street and the adjoining buildings are; the Summer street gang, which played in Cow Hill Valley, and the “tother side gang,” which played on Training Green, sometimes to the detriment of neighboring windows. While the days were longest the street games were next in order, hare and hounds, prison bar, leap frog, Tom Tiddler’s ground, Red Lion in his den, I spy, hide and seek, nine holes, back side in the way, and follow the leader. Over hill and dale, Through bush, through briar, Over park and dale, Through flood, through fire. Wherever the leader went we must follow, over fences, off stone walls, in and out of houses, astonishing families, and if the boot of the head of the family was in order, coming out a little more expeditiously than we went in. The members of the North street gang, to which I belonged, were besides myself and brother, Augustus H. Tribble, the Collingwood boys, John J. Russell, Richard W. Bagnall, Lewis Weston, the Jackson boys, Thomas Cotton, Charles Cotton, George Maynard, George Gooding and Charles T. May.