at Mr. Crobble lost;
but he was so good-humoured, that really it was a pleasure, as Mr. Wallis
said, to "grub" at his expense.

They nick-named him Maximo Rotundo--and he well deserved the title.

"Where's Timmis?" said he, one day after he had taken a seat, and puffed
and blowed for the space of five minutes--"Cuss them stairs; they'll be
the death o' me."

I ran to summon my master.

"How are you, old fellow?" demanded Mr. Timmis; "tip us your fin."

"Queer!" replied Mr. Crobble,--tapping his breast gently with his fat
fist, and puffing out his cheeks--to indicate that his lungs were
disordered.

"What, bellows to mend?" cried my accomplished patron--"D___ me, never
say die!"

"Just come from Doctor Sprawles: says I must take exercise; no malt
liquor--nothing at breakfast--no lunch--no supper."

"Why, you'll be a skeleton--a transfer from the consolidated to the
reduced in no time," exclaimed Mr. Timmis; and his friend joined in the
laugh.

"I was a-thinking, Timmis--don't you belong to a cricketclub?"

"To be sure."

--"Of joining you."

"That's the ticket," cried Timmis--"consider yourself elected; I can
carry any thing there. I'm quite the cock of the walk, and no mistake.
Next Thursday's a field-day--I'll introduce you. Lord! you'll soon be
right as a trivet."

Mr Wallis was summoned, and the affair was soon arranged; and I had the
gratification of being present at Mr. Crobble's inauguration.

It was a broiling day, and there was a full field; but he conducted
himself manfully, notwithstanding the jokes of the club. He batted
exceedingly well, "considering," as Mr. Wallis remarked; but as for the
"runs," he was completely at fault.

He only attempted it once; but before he had advanced a yard or two, the
ball was caught; and the agile player, striking the wicket with ease,
exclaimed, amid the laughter of the spectators--"Out! so don't fatigue
yourself, I beg, sir."

And so the match was concluded, amid cheers and shouting, in which the
rotund, good-natured novice joined most heartily.

CHAPTER VIII.--The Hunter.

"Hunting may be sport, says I, but I'm blest if its pleasure."

Two days after the cricket-match, Mr. Crobble paid a visit to my master.

"Well, old fellow, d___ me me, if you ain't a trump--how's your wind?"
--kindly enquired Mr. Timmis.

"Vastly better, thank'ye; how's Wallis and the other fellows?--prime
sport that cricketing."

"Yes; but, I say, you'll never ha