few shots were as slow as could be thrown, and were caught, of course. We then moved off to about thirty feet from the flags, and placing the ball on the lower angle, let fly straight at the mark. Our friend’s hands did not stop it, but his stomach did. Closing up to about twenty feet, we threw a moderately swift ball, which struck the ground a few feet in front of notre ami, and suddenly bouncing up, hit him under the chin with such force as to make him yell with pain. We never knew a better hand-ball catcher than the above experimenter, but he is now thoroughly convinced, that hand-ball catching and goal-keeping are two very different arts.
Many crack players dread the responsibilities and dangers of goal-keeping. We have seen veteran fielders shrink up like the mimosa sensitiva at the very approach of a swift ball, which a trained goal-keeper would no more mind than a pea. A man may even stop balls well enough out on the field, but put him at goal, and confidence gives way to trepidation. Not only does he find himself a target within a limit for the swiftest of shots; but dreads the responsibility at his back, the fear of
