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418 that Palairet's strokes are easy and unforced. Most of his runs come from off-drives. His treatment of good-length balls on or outside the off-stump is masterly. The left leg goes well across, body, arms, and bat swing easily to meet the ball close by the leg, and extra-cover scarcely sees the ball as it shoots to the boundary between himself and cover. The value of these off-strokes, now that the off-theory is universally adopted by bowlers, can readily be appreciated. Palairet has not cultivated strokes on the leg-side to the same extent as those on the off, probably because his style was formed in early boyhood by home practice with such accurate bowlers as Attewell and Martin. Much of his perfection of style is the result of a very careful education. His methods were irreproachable before he went to school, and he has improved every year he has played. At one time he showed an inclination to go in for pure hitting, but he gave it up in favour of a forward style. He is nevertheless an exceptionally fine hitter, and plants as many balls as any one into the churchyard that adjoins the Taunton ground. His hits fly like good golf drives. Nothing in cricket could be finer than some of his partnerships with Mr H. T. Hewett. Pure style at one end, sheer force at the other, and a century or two on the board with no figures beneath. No wonder the West-countrymen like the cricket at Taunton. For even if Mr Palairet fails to give them their money's worth, there is Mr S. M. J. Woods coming in later on to upset all apple-carts.

Mr Woods can upset anything, and looks the part. To begin with, he is a giant. He seems big and strong in his clothes, but when stripped, his physique is even more striking. The power in his huge thighs, long back, and knotted shoulders is colossal. He does not bowl as fast as he used, nor quite as well. "I have to pretend I'm bowling now," he says. But he is a pretty good bowler still for all that, and will help the Gentlemen to get the Players out at Lord's for many years to come. If his bowling las deteriorated a bit, his batting has improved to a corresponding extent. He maintains he was always as good a bat as now, but did not have a chance. "They condemned me to be a bowler," he complains. Who "they" may be is a mystery, for he is captain of his own side. Mr S. M. J. Woods has a particular liking for the Surrey bowlers, generally managing to carve about eighty runs out of Lockwood's and Richardson's best stuff It is always a solemn moment at the Oval when "Great-heart," swelling with courage and pursing his lips into that child-like smile, comes from the pavilion to set right the failure of half his side. There