Looking at that wicket and brooding on the awful array of batsmen Hickory was bringing, and what the result must be if they only got in first, I was tempted of the devil. The turf was soft with dew. I had merely to press my heel once into that billiard-table to nip some of their prospective centuries in the bud. And who shall say whether human frailty had prevailed against the wiles of evil had it not remembered that Hickory were not _obliged_ to go in first. I went home to breakfast trying to restrain my excess of “fitness.” For cricket is cussedness incarnate. You rise in the morning like a giant refreshed: your blood is jumping, the ball looks as big as a balloon, and you have a go at one you ought to let alone, and spoon it up to cover. Excess of “fitness” gets more wickets than Lohmann ever took. I was in the middle of the _Sportsman_ and my fourth egg when William appeared with a countenance of tragedy. “I can’t find it, sir; it’s clean gone!” he said. “Not the bat with the wrapping at the bottom?” I gasped, turning pale. “No, sir; worse than that,” he said. “Speak!” I cried; “what is it?” “Your cap,” he said. “The one you made the 82, the 61, and 67 not out in.” “What, the Authentics! It must be found, or I don’t go in to-day. Couldn’t get a run without that cap.” The sweat stood on my brow. “It’s my belief, sir,” said William darkly, “that this here’s a bit O’ Hickory. They knows how, like W. G., its always one particular cap you gets your runs in, and they’ve had it took according.” This was very nice of William. His tact was charming. But the idea of my facing Hickory without my lucky cap was as monstrous as the captain going out to toss without his George II. shilling. “William,” I said, “if you have to take the carpets up and have the chimneys swept, that cap must be found.” William returned disconsolately to his search, whilst I fell into a train of dismal speculation. Falling to the _Sportsman_ in despair my eye fell on a few items of a cheerful and peculiar interest:-- “KENT _v._ NOTTS.--Rev. E. J. H. Elphinstone, c Jones, b Attewell, 172; J. P. Carteret, b Dixon, 103. “This brilliant pair of amateurs completely collared the Notts attack at Canterbury yesterday, and in the course of two hours and a quarter helped themselves to 254 for the second wicket. “MIDDLESEX _v._ YORKSHIRE.--A. H. Trentham, run out, 97.