In cricket you either hit a ball as hard as you like or you merely stop; that at any rate is the case when you first go in, and when you are nervous. We don't want to plagiarize, although a rubber-cored cricket ball is a nice idea. In a long hole of over four hundred yards, the golfer need not bother his head about strength for the first two strokes; he has to hit both these as hard as he can-there is no nice calculation of less or more. Our strength is supplying the more individual pool tables as you will see in our POOL TABLE GALLERY. It is advisable that nobody should stand behind a man's club when he hits the ball, but even this, I feel convinced, a man can get accustomed to, if he will only apply his mind to it. When shooting the eight ball, whoever is shooting must declare what pocket it will go into, either by pointing or saying which pocket. That's a ball, Caudle, that's gone through many a wife's heart, to say nothing of her children. I lived in "converted" ones-old houses officiating as dâk-bungalows-where nothing was in its proper place and there wasn't even a fowl for dinner.

When I arrived, there was a fitful, undecided rain on the face of the land, accompanied by a restless wind, and every gust made a noise like the rattling of dry bones in the stiff toddy-palms outside. There are, in this land, ghosts who take the form of fat, cold, pobby corpses, and hide in trees near the roadside till a traveller passes. There were no lamps-only candles in long glass shades. Then came the ratub-a curious meal, half native and half English in composition-with the old man babbling behind my chair about dead and gone masters and the wind-blown candles playing shadow-bo-peep with the bed and the mosquito-curtains. The butler, who was nearly bent double with old age, said so. I had seen a steel engraving of him at the head of a double volume of Memoirs a month before, and I felt ancient beyond telling. They are generally very old, always dirty, while the butler is as ancient as the bungalow.

He gave me the name of a well-known man who has been buried for more than a quarter of a century, and showed me an ancient daguerreotype of that man in his prehistoric youth. It was my good luck to meet all sorts of men, from sober-travelling missionaries and deserters flying from British Regiments, to drunken loafers who threw whiskey bottles at all who passed; and my still greater good fortune just to escape a maternity case. The winning and losing carambola game, which predates all three of its predecessor games-the winning game, the losing game, and the carambola game (an early variant of straight rail)-is now commonly referred to as just "billiards" in the UK, where it originated, and many former British colonies. Most collisions between billiard balls don’t happen in a straight line. The table cloth in the game also facilitates faster movement of the balls during the game.

This game is played on cloth covered, what is billiards but pocket-less tables. Billiards, sometimes called carom billiards, is among one of the cue sports which refer to games played with cue sticks on tables without pockets. A World Professional Billiard and Snooker Association (WPBSA) division, World Billiards organizes the World Billiards Championship, an international cue sports competition in the English billiards discipline. The title, which has been competing for (though sporadically) since 1870, is one of the oldest sporting world championships in various forms and typically as a single competition. But to answer their call is death in this world and the next. We will call the bungalow Katmal dâk-bungalow. These wander along the pathways at dusk, or hide in the crops near a village, and call seductively. I lived in dâk-bungalows where the last entry in the visitors'-book was fifteen months old and where they slashed off the curry-kid's head with a sword. There are said to be two at Simla, not counting the woman who blows the bellows at Syree dâk-bungalow on the Old Road; Mussoorie has a house haunted of a very lively Thing; a White Lady is supposed to do night-watchman round a house in Lahore; Dalhousie says that one of her houses "repeats" on autumn evenings all the incidents of a horrible horse-and-precipice accident; Murree has a merry ghost, and now that she has been swept by cholera, will have room for some sorrowful ones; there are Officers' Quarters in Mian Mir whose doors open without reason, and whose furniture is guaranteed to creak, not with the heat of June but with the weight of Invisibles who come to lounge in the chairs; Peshawar possesses houses that none will willingly rent; and there is something-not fever-wrong with a big bungalow in Allahabad.