Chapter I

PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

Edited by J. A. HAMMERTON

Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in
itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the
masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to
"Punch," from its beginning in 1841 to the present day.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF SPORTS

* * * * *

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF SPORTS

THE HUMOURS OF CRICKET, FOOTBALL, TENNIS, POLO, CROQUET, HOCKEY, RACING, &c.

AS PICTURED BY

LINLEY SAMBOURNE, PHIL MAY,
L. RAVEN-HILL, F. H. TOWNSEND,
E. T. REED, GEORGE DU MAURIER,
CHARLES KEENE, FRANK REYNOLDS,
LEWIS BAUMER, GUNNING KING,
G. D. ARMOUR, ARTHUR HOPKINS,
EVERARD HOPKINS, J. A. SHEPHERD,
AND OTHERS.

_WITH 225 ILLUSTRATIONS_

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"

THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.

* * * * *

The Punch Library of Humour

_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages fully illustrated_

LIFE IN LONDON
COUNTRY LIFE
IN THE HIGHLANDS
SCOTTISH HUMOUR
IRISH HUMOUR
COCKNEY HUMOUR
IN SOCIETY
AFTER DINNER STORIES
IN BOHEMIA
AT THE PLAY
MR. PUNCH AT HOME
ON THE CONTINONG
RAILWAY BOOK
AT THE SEASIDE
MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
IN THE HUNTING FIELD
MR. PUNCH ON TOUR
WITH ROD AND GUN
MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
BOOK OF SPORTS
GOLF STORIES
IN WIG AND GOWN
ON THE WARPATH
BOOK OF LOVE
WITH THE CHILDREN

* * * * *

Mr. Punch is nothing if not typical of his fellow countrymen in his interest in sport. If there be any truth in the assertion that Englishmen are neglecting the more serious affairs of life in their devotion to all forms of athletic sports, Mr. Punch would seem to be determined that there shall be no lack of humour in the process; for an immense proportion of his merry pages have been occupied with the humour of sport.

Indeed, there is no kind of open-air pastime which has escaped the kindly attention of our national humorist, and the fact that he never tires of poking good-natured fun at these hobbies of his countrymen, making merry over their misadventures, indicates in some degree that, whatever our social critics may think of the national taste for outdoor games, these must have a humanising influence and make for manliness, when their devotees can thus with good grace look upon themselves in Mr. Punch's mirror, and join in the laughter at their own expense.

But it must not be assumed that Mr. Punch's attitude is one of satirical criticism; on the contrary, his sympathies are with every form of sportsmanship, and it is chiefly because his jovial knights of the pencil delight to illustrate the mishaps incidental to all games that we are entitled to look upon him as a great patron of our sports. And is not he always ready to pillory the cad and the incompetent as further proof of the soundness of his heart?

Certain volumes of this library are devoted entirely to one or other of our popular pastimes, determined mainly on their varying richness in humour, but in this "Book of Sports" we have brought together a carefully chosen selection of Mr. Punch's wittiest sayings on a variety of games and pastimes. Cricket might of itself have furnished forth a volume, Football, and Racing also; but we have sought after variety rather than repletion, and to this end even the passing craze for Ping-pong has not been ignored, as it is not the least of the merits of the Punch Library of Humour that within these volumes is enshrined a comic chronicle of the passing time.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF SPORTS

THE BRITISH "SPHERE OF INFLUENCE."--The cricket ball.

* * * * *

CRICKETERS WHO OUGHT TO BE GOOD HANDS AT PLAYING A TIE.--"The Eleven of Notts."

* * * * *

NOMENCLATURE.--The professional cricketer who makes a "duck's egg" ought surely to be dubbed a "quack."

* * * * *

A MODEL CRICKET MATCH.--One that begins with a "draw," but does not end with one.

* * * * *

EPITAPH ON A CRICKETER.--"Over!"

* * * * *

A CRICKETING PARADOX.--Any eleven can make a score.

* * * * *

LORD'S!

There's a glorious sanctum of cricket,
Away in the Wood of St. John;
No spot in creation can lick it
For the game at which Grace is the "don."
Though Melbourne may claim a "Medina,"
The "Mecca" of cricket must be
In the beautiful classic arena,
The home of the "old" M. C. C.

Home, sweet home of the M. C. C.,
Ever my fancy is turning to thee!
Up with King Willow and down with the dumps
Hark to the rattle of leather and stumps.
Oh, what a rapturous thrill it affords!
Give yourself up to the magic of "Lord's."

* * * * *

SCORING FOR DR. GRACE.--"A running commentary."

* * * * *

ALL WORK AND NO PLAY.--The umpire's part.

* * * * *

THE IRREPRESSIBLE JOKER AGAIN (ON BAIL.)--

_Q._ Where ought ducks' eggs to be most readily found? _A._ At the Oval.

[_Bail estreated._

* * * * *

_Flannelled fool_ (_rather an absent-minded beggar_). "Oh--er--_middle an' 'eg_!"]

* * * * *

ALL THE YEAR ROUND;

_Or, Keeping Up the Ball._

When September soaks the fields,
And the leaves begin to fall,
Cricket unto football yields,--
That is all!

Yes--in hot or humid weather,
At all seasons of the year,
Life is little without leather
In a sphere.

In the scrimmage, at the stumps,
'Neath the goal, behind the sticks,
Life's a ball, which Summer thumps,
Winter kicks.

Our "terrestrial ball" is round,
(Is it an idea chimerical?)
Man, by hidden instincts bound,
Loves the spherical.

In rotund, elastic bounders,
Plainly the great joy of men is,
Witness cricket, billiards, rounders,
And lawn-tennis.

* * * * *

CLASSIC TITLE FOR DR. GRACE.--"The Centurion."

* * * * *

_She._ "Oh, I'm passionately devoted to it!"

_He._ "What part of a match do you enjoy the most?"

_She._ "Oh, this part--the promenade!"]

* * * * *

THEN (1841) AND NOW (1891).]

* * * * *

TOAST FOR TAVERN LANDLORDS.--The Cricketer, who always runs up a score by his innings.

* * * * *

APPROPRIATE CRICKET GROUND.--Battersy-Park.

* * * * *

THINGS TO WHICH CRICKETING MEMBERS OF THE ANTI-GAMBLING LEAGUE ARE ADDICTED.--"Pitch" and "Toss."

* * * * *

DR. W. G. GRACE'S FAVOURITE DISH.--"Batter pudding."

* * * * *

AT THE ETON AND HARROW MATCH.--_Simperton._ What, you in light blue, Miss Gloriosa! I thought you were Harrovian to the core!

_Miss Gloriosa._ So I am, but I'm also Cambridge, and as I can't possibly afford two new dresses in one week, I decided to choose the most becoming colour!

[_And_ SIMPERTON _of the dark blue was quite satisfied with the
explanation_.

* * * * *

"FOLLOW ON!"

(_A Cricketer's_ "_Catch_" AIR--"_Come Follow_!")

_First Voice._ Come follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow on!

_Second Voice._ Why then should I follow, follow, follow, why then must I follow, follow on?

_Third Voice._ When you're eighty runs or more behind our score you follow on!

* * * * *

--"You know papa has been asked to play in the 'Fathers against the Boys' match?" "Yes, mother. But I hope the boys will win this year. If the fathers win again they'll be so beastly cocky!"]

* * * * *

[_Buys paper to see._

]

* * * * *

CRICKETER'S FAVOURITE FISH.--Slips.

* * * * *

THE COUP DE GRACE.--Leg hit for six.

* * * * *

RIDDLE MADE "ON THE GROUND."--Why are cricket matches like the backs of cheap chairs? Because they're "fixed to come off".

* * * * *

SEASONABLE FIELD SPORT.--Leather-hunting.

* * * * *

* * * * *

WET-WILLOW

A SONG OF A SLOPPY SEASON.

(_By a Washed-out Willow-Wielder._)

AIR--"_Titwillow._"

In the dull, damp pavilion a popular "Bat"
Sang "Willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!"
And I said "Oh! great slogger, pray what are you at,
Singing 'Willow, wet-willow, wet-willow'?
Is it lowness of average, batsman," I cried;
"Or a bad 'brace of ducks' that has lowered your pride?"
With a low-muttered swear-word or two he replied,
"Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!"

He said "In the mud one can't score, anyhow,
Singing willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!
The people are raising a deuce of a row,
Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!
I've been waiting all day in these flannels--they're damp!--
The spectators impatiently shout, shriek, and stamp,
But a batsman, you see, cannot play with a Gamp,
Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!"

"Now I feel just as sure as I am that my name
Isn't willow, wet-willow, wet-willow,
The people will swear that I don't play the game,
Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!
My spirits are low and my scores are not high,
But day after day, we've soaked turf and grey sky,
And I sha'n't have a chance till the wickets get dry.
Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!!!"

* * * * *

CRICKET PROSPECTS

(_From Dumb-Crambo Junior's point of view._)

* * * * *

THE LADIES AT LORD'S

OLD STYLE--EARLY SIXTIES.

SCENE--_The Ground and its Accessories._

_Superior Creature._ Really very pleasant.

_Weaker Sex._ Oh! charming. So delightful having luncheon _al fresco_. The lobster salad was capital.

_S. C._ Very good. And the champagne really drinkable.

_W. S._ And our chat has been so interesting, Captain SMORLTORK.

_S. C._ So pleased. And now, what do you think of the cricket?

_W. S._ Oh! I haven't time to think of the cricket.

* * *

NEW STYLE--LATE NINETIES.

SCENE--_The Same._

_Mere Man._ Really rather nice.

_Stronger Sex._ Quite nice. Capital game, too. Up to county form. That last over was perfect bowling.

_M. M._ Yes; and the batting was well above the average.

_S. S._ Tol-lish. And really, when I come to think of it, Mr. SMORLTORK-GOSSIP, you have been also entertaining.

_M. M._ Proud and honoured! And now, what do you think about the luncheon?

_S. S._ Oh! I haven't time to think about the luncheon.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A MATCH MISCALLED.--Considering the style and number of the turn-outs on the ground, and the amount of champagne-cups consumed at Lord's during the Great Public School Cricket Encounter, suppose it were re-christened the _Drag_ and _Drinking_, instead of the _Harrow_ and _Eton_, Match?

* * * * *

AT THE VILLAGE CRICKET MATCH.--_Umpire_ (_carried away by enthusiasm on seeing the young Squire send a ball hard to leg_). Well hit, Master Arthur, well hit! (_Remembering himself._) But don't make no short runs!

* * * * *

CRICKET AT LORD'S

(_Hits by Dumb-Crambo, Jun._)

* * * * *

BAIT APPRECIATED BY BOTH CRICKETERS AND FISHERMEN.--Lobs.

* * * * *

A TIE.--("_Ladies v. Gentlemen._") The Ladies came out as they had gone in, all "Ducks."

And what did the Gentlemen make?--Love.

* * * * *

THE LADY CRICKETER

(_Directions for attaining Perfection._)

Get up a match by saying to some local subaltern that it would be such fun to have a game, and you know a girl who could give points to Grace.

Agree with the youthful warrior that the fun would be increased by allowing the men to play with broom-sticks, and left-handed, and the girls, of course, with bats, and unrestricted.

Arrange your eleven in such a fashion that you come out as captain in the most picturesque costume.

Be careful to "kill" your colleagues' appearance by an artful combination of discordant hues.

Carry out the above scheme with the assistance of a joint committee consisting of two, yourself and the local subaltern.

Arrange, at the last moment, that the men shall only send out six of their team to field.

Manage to put yourself in first, and play with confidence the initial ball.

Amidst the applause of the six fielders you will be clean bowled.

Retire gracefully, and devote the rest of the afternoon to tea and mild flirtation with the five men who have been weeded out.

* * * * *

CURIOUS CRICKET ANOMALY.

WHEN a batsman has piled up a hundred, or more,
Though five twenties he's hit, he has made but "a score."

* * * * *

CRICKET CATCHES

(_By D. Crambo, Junior._)

* * * * *

FAIR CRICKETERS

["The growing favour with which athletic exercises are being
regarded by those who are still 'the gentler sex,' is evidenced by
the rapid adoption of cricket into the roll of those games which
may be practised by ladies without the sober world being shocked.
In the course of the past Summer there have been several
matches."--_Standard._]

You may play the game of Cricket, like the men well known to fame,
And be good "all round," like some folks at that fascinating game;
You may bowl like Mr. Spofforth at the Demon's deadly pace,
You may lead a team like Harris, and may bat like Doctor Grace;
But in vain your skill and prowess--can you dare to win the day,
Although hope may spring eternal, when the Ladies come to play?

They have conquered us at Croquet, though philosophers might scoff,
And the masculine intelligence was beaten by "two off."
As a vehicle for flirting we acknowledged all its charms,
And gay soldiers fell before it, although used to war's alarms;
But they held me-thinks their cricket-bats as doughty as their swords,
And they never dreamt of Ladies at the Oval or at Lord's.

Then we turned to Roller-skating, how the God of Love must wink
As he ponders o'er the havoc wrought on many a pleasant rink;
There the Ladies, as their wont is, held indubitable sway,
As they circled like the seagull in as fair and facile way;
And we yielded, though at Prince's woman held all hearts in thrall,
For we thought of our one Empire, that of Cricket--bat and ball.

Comes the era of Lawn Tennis, when the balls spin o'er the net,
What avail the "Renshaw smashes" when the Ladies win the "sett,"
And the boldest of all volleys will be found of little use
When the women gain "advantage," their opponents at the "deuce."
So we leave the lawn to Ladies, it were graceful there to yield;
But we thought that still at Cricket we were masters of the field.

Vain the hope, for lo! the Ladies give poor Men no hour of peace.
Can we dare to "pop the question" when they front the "popping-crease"?
Though with "leg before the wicket" your short innings may be o'er,
Will the umpire be as truthful when it's "petticoat before"?
So lay down "the willow," batsmen, and, oh, bowler, leave the wicket,
Ye must yield once more to Woman, for the Ladies now play Cricket!

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

AT THE 'VARSITY CRICKET MATCH.--_Newcomer_ (_to Gent in front_). If you would kindly move your head an eighth of an inch, I think that by standing on tip-toe I might be able, between the box-seat and body of that carriage, to ascertain the colour of long leg's cap.

* * * * *

PUDDING IT PLAINLY.--Why is a promising cricketer like flour and eggs?

Because he's calculated to make a good batter.

* * * * *

The most remarkable instance of a hybrid animal is the cricket-bat.

* * * * *

THE REAL "TRIPLE ALLIANCE."--A three-figure innings at cricket.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE USEFUL CRICKETER

(_A Candid Veteran's Confession._)

I am rather a "pootlesome" bat--
I seldom, indeed, make a run;
But I'm rather the gainer by that,
For it's bad to work hard in the sun.

As a "field" I am not worth a jot,
And no one expects me to be;
My run is an adipose trot,
My "chances" I never can see.

I am never invited to bowl,
And though, p'r'aps, this seems like a slight,
In the depths of my innermost soul
I've a notion the Captain is right.

In short, I may freely admit
I am not what you'd call a great catch
But yet my initials are writ
In the book against every match!

For although--ay, and there is the rub--
I am forty and running to fat,
I have made it all right with the Club,
By presenting an Average Bat!

* * * * *

ANOTHER TITLE!! SUPPLEMENTAL GAZETTE OF BIRTHDAY HONOURS.--Dr. W. G. Grace to be Cricket-Field-Marshal.

* * * * *

_Low Church Vicar_ (_surprised at the serious observation from his volatile friend_). "Ah, my dear sir, true----"

_High Church Curate._ "Yes. Only fancy, y'know!--ninety-two, and not out!!"]

* * * * *

"LE CRICQUETTE"

_How he will be played--shortly._

_Offices of the Athletic Congress, Paris._

MONSIEUR,

I am overwhelmed with my gratitude to you and to the generous
dignitaries the Chancellors of your Universities, the Heads of your
great Public Seminaries, and the Principal of your renowned
Mary-le-bone College Club for the information they have given me
concerning "Le Criquette," your unique National game, and I thank
you in the name of my Committee for your present of
implements--_les wickettes_, _le boule de canon_, _les gros bois_
(the batsman's weapons), _le cuirasse pour les jambes de
Longstoppe_, and other necessaries for the dangers of the contest
that you have so kindly forwarded for our inspection. But most of
all are we indebted to you for sending over a 'ome team of your
brave professionals to play the match against our Parisian
"_onze_," for you rightly conjectured that by our experience of the
formidable game in action, we should be able to judge of its risks
and dangers, and after mature investigation be able so to revise
and ameliorate the manner of its playing as to bring it into
harmony with the taste and feeling of the athletic ambition of the
rising generation of our young France.

A Match has taken place, as you will see by "Le Score" subjoined,
which I enclose for your inspection. It was not without its fruits.
It disclosed to us, as you will remark by referring to "Le Score,"
very practically the dangerous, and I must add, the murderous
capabilities that "Le Cricquette" manifestly possesses. Our
Revising Committee has already the matter in hand, and when their
report is fully drawn up, I shall have much satisfaction in
forwarding it to you. Meantime, I must say that the substitution of
a light large ball of silk, or some other soft material for the
deadly "_boule de canon_" as used by your countrymen, has been
decided upon as absolutely necessary to deprive the game of
barbarism, and harmonise it with the instincts which Modern and
Republican France associates with the pursuit of a harmless
pastime. _Les wickettes_, as being too small for the Bowlsman to
reach them, should be raised to six feet high, and the Umpire, a
grave anomaly in a game cherished by a liberty-loving people,
should be instantly suppressed. The "overre," too, should consist
of sixteen balls. But this and many other matters are under the
consideration of the Committee. I now subjoin "Le Score" I
mentioned; a brief perusal of it will show you what excellent
grounds the Committee have for making the humanising alterations at
which I have hinted.

ALL FRANCE v. AN ENGLISH 'OME-TEAM.

ALL FRANCE.

M. DE BOISSY (struck with murderous force on the front of his
forehead by the _boule de canon_, and obliged to retire),
b. JONES-JOHNSON....0

M. NAUDIN (hit on his fingers, which are pinched blue with the
_boule de canon_, and incapacitated), b. JONES-JOHNSON....0

Le Marquis de CAROUSEL (receives a blow from the _boule de canon_
on the front bone of his leg, and is compelled to relinquish the
contest), b. JONES-JOHNSON....0

M. BUSSON (receives a severe contusion of the cheek-bone from the
_boule de canon_, which is delivered with murderous intent by a
swift "round-and bowlsman"), b. JONES-JOHNSON....0

Le Général GREX (hits his three _wickettes_ into the air, in a
daring attempt to stop the _boule de canon_ with his batsman's
club), b. JONES-JOHNSON....0

Le Duc de SEPTFACES (has his _pince-nez_ shattered to atoms by the
_boule de canon_, and, being unable to see, withdraws from the
"innings"), b. JONES-JOHNSON....0

M. CARILLON, M. le docteur GIROFLÉ, le Professeur d'Equitation (all
the three being given, in turn, "out, legs in front of the
_wickette_," leave the ground to arrange a duel with the Umpire),
b. JONES-JOHNSON....0

M. de MONTMORENCY (on reaching the _wickette_ and seeing the
terrible approach of the _boule de canon_, has a shivering fit
which obliges him to sit down), b. JONES-JOHNSON....0

M. JOLIBOIS, coming in last, triumphantly avoids the "overre," and
is, in consequence, _not out_....0

THE ENGLISH 'OME TEAM.

JONES-JOHNSON, not out 3276
BROWN-SMITH, not out 3055

So the game stood at the end of the fifth day, when, spite all the
efforts of "All France," even the putting on of three "Bowlsmen" at
once, it was found impossible to take even one of the "'Ome-team"
_wickettes_. Yet the contest was maintained by the "Outside" with
a wonderful heroism and _élan_, for though by degrees, in nobly
attempting to stop the flight of the _boule de canon_ as it sped on
its murderous course, driven by the furious and savage blows of the
batsmen in all directions over the field, the fieldsmen, one by
one, struck in the arms, legs, head and back, began to grow feeble
under their unceasing blows and contusions, still one and all from
the "Long-leg-off" to the indomitable "Longstoppe," faced the
dangers of their situation with a proud smile, indicative of the
noble calm of an admirable spirit. So, Monsieur, the game, which
was not finished, and which, in consequence, the Umpire, with a
chivalrous generosity, announced as "drawn," came to its
conclusion. You will understand, from the perusal of the above, the
direction in which my Committee will be likely to modify the rules
of the game, and simplify the apparatus for playing it, so as to
give your "Cricquette" a chance of finding itself permanently
acclimatised in this country.

Accept, Monsieur, the assurance of my most distinguished
consideration,

THE SECRETARY OF THE PARIS ATHLETIC CONGRESS.

* * * * *

_Or Many-Centuried Marvel of the Modern_ (_Cricket_) _World, in his high-soaring, top-scoring, Summer-day Flight._ (_Dr. William Gilbert Grace._)

As champion him the whole world hails,
Lords! How he smites and thumps!
It takes a week to reach the bails
When he's before the stumps.

"_Chevy Chase_" (_revised_).]

* * * * *

_Stumpy Oxonian._ "Ours in miniatu-are! Ours in miniatu-are!!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

Running after "another four!" at cricket, amidst derisive shouts of "Now then, butter-fingers!"--"Oh! Oh"--"Throw it in! Look sharp!"--"Quick! In with it!" &c. &c.]

* * * * *

The new pneumatic leg guard. (_Mr. Punch's_ patent.)]

* * * * *

_Public School Boy_ (_to General Sir George, G.C.B., G.S.I., V.C., &c., &c., &c._). I say, Grandpapa,--a--would you mind just putting on your hat _a little straighter_? Here comes _Codgers_--he's awfully particular--and he's the _captain of our eleven, you know_!"]

* * * * *

_Laura_ (_who wishes to master the mysteries of Cricket_). "But then, Emily, what happens if the bowler gets out before the batter?"

[_Emily gives it up!_

* * * * *

* * * * *

SMALL BOY CRICKET.--_Father._ Well, and how did you get on? _Small Boy._ Oh, I kept wicket and caught one out. It came off his foot. _Father._ But that wouldn't be out. _Small Boy._ Oh, yes, it was. The umpire gave it out. You see, it hit him "below the elbow."

* * * * *

TO CRICKETERS.--What would you give a thirsty batsman? Why, a _full pitcher_.

* * * * *

CRICKETING AND FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.--We hear that a distinguished member of the Cricketing Eleven of All England is going to be married. It is said that the object of his affections is a Beautiful Catch.

* * * * *

WICKET JOKES

_By Dumb-Crambo Junior._

* * * * *

"Garn! The treasurer goes in before the bloomin' seckertary!"]

* * * * *

THE CRY OF THE CRICKETER

(_In a Pluvial Autumn._)

Rain, rain, go away,
Come again before next May!
The driving shower and chilling raw gust
Are most inopportune in August.
Rain has a chance to reign, remember,
Till early summer from September.
Why come and spoil cricket's last pages,
Our wickets--and our averages?

* * * * *

["Sir Edward Watkin proposes to construct a railway passing through
Lord's Cricket Ground."]

]

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

KING CRICKET

The canny Scot may talk a lot
Of golf and its attraction,
And "putt" and "tee" for him may be
A source of satisfaction;
While maidens meek with rapture speak
Of croquet's fascination,
Tho' I suspect 'twere more correct
To call their game "flirtation."
But cricket's the thing for Summer and Spring!
Three cheers for cricket, of all games the king!
The man who boats his time devotes
To rowing or to sailing,
In shine or rain he has to train,
With energy unfailing.
A tennis set finds favour yet
With merry men and matrons.
In lazy souls the game of bowls
Is not without its patrons.
A day that's fine I do opine
Is much to be desired;
An "even pitch" I ask for, which
Is certainly required;
Then add to that a "steady bat,"
A bowler "on the wicket,"
A "field" that's "smart," then we can start
The noble game of cricket.

* * * * *

CRICKET

_Drawn with a stump by Dumb-Crambo Junior._

* * * * *

THE LADY CRICKETER'S GUIDE

BOWLING.

1. Should you desire to bowl leg-breaks, close the right eye.

2. Off-breaks are obtained by closing the left eye.

3. To bowl straight, close both.

BATTING.

1. Don't be afraid to leave the "popping" crease--there is another at the other end.

2. County cricketers use the curved side of the bat for driving.

3. A "leg glance" is not football.

4. When "over" is called, don't cross the wicket.

FIELDING.

1. Stop the ball with your feet. If you are unable to find it, step on one side.

2. To catch a ball, sit down gracefully and wait.

3. When throwing in from the country, aim half-way up the pitch; you may then hit one of the wickets--which one I don't know.

_Postscript._

The spirit in which the game should be played is best shown by the following extract from the _Leicester Daily Mercury_:--

BARROW LADIES _v._ THRUSSINGTON LADIES.

"Barrow went in first, but were dismissed for sixteen. Only three
Thrussington ladies batted, owing to the Barrow team refusing to
field, because the umpire gave Miss Reid in for an appeal for run
out."

* * * * *

WHAT is the companion game to Parlour Croquet? Cricket on the Hearth.

* * * * *

EPITAPH ON AN OLD CRICKETER'S TOMBSTONE.--"Out at 70."

* * * * *

OPERATIC SONG FOR A CRICKETER.--"_Batti, Batti!_"

* * * * *

SENTIMENT FOR A CRICKET CLUB DINNER.--May the British Umpire rule the wide world over.

* * * * *

CRICKET HITS

_By Dumb-Crambo, off his own bat._

* * * * *

THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES.--_Middlesex_ v. _Sussex_.

* * * * *

CRICKET MATCH TO COME OFF.--The Teetotallers' Eleven _v._ The Licensed Victuallers'.

* * * * *

STUMP ORATIONS.--Speeches at cricket-club dinners.

* * * * *

OUR VILLAGE ELEVEN

Except at lunch, I cannot say
With truth that we are stayers;
Yet, though on village greens we play,
We're far from common players.

The mason blocks with careful eye;
We dub him "Old Stonewall."
The blacksmith hammers hard and high,
And the spreading chestnuts fall.

Sheer terror strikes our enemies
When comes the postman's knock,
Whereas his slow deliveries
Would suit the veriest crock.

The butcher prides himself on chops;
His leg-cuts are a joke;
But when he lambs the slow long-hops
There's beef behind his stroke.

The grocer seldom cracks his egg:
He cannot catch; he butters.
The gardener mows each ball to leg,
And trundles daisy-cutters.

Our tailor's cut is world-renowned;
The coachman's drives are rare;
He'll either cart you from the ground
Or go home with a pair.

The village constable is stout,
Yet tries short runs to win;
They say he's run more people out
Than ever he ran in.

The curate (captain) every match
Bowls piffle doomed to slaughter,
But still is thought a splendid catch--
By the vicar's elderly daughter.

The watchmaker winds up the side,
But fails to time his pulls;
By now he must be well supplied
With pairs of spectacles.

Our umpire's fair; he says "Not Out,"
Or "Out," just as he thinks;
And gives the benefit of the doubt
To all who stand him drinks.

No beatings (beatings are the rule)
Can make our pride diminish;
Last week we downed the Blind Boys' School
After a glorious finish!

* * * * *

The Great Cricket Match. "England _v._ Australia." Umpires, the two wombats.]

* * * * *

COCKNEY MOTTO FOR A FEEBLE CRICKETER.--"Take 'Art of GRACE!"

* * * * *

GOOD NEWS AFTER THE LAST CRICKET MATCH.--Rest for the wicket.

* * * * *

CRICKET HITS

_By Dumb-Crambo, off his own bat._

* * * * *

AT THE GENTLEMEN V. PLAYERS RETURN MATCH.--_New Yorker._ Say, can I get a square meal here?

_Waiter_ (_with dignity_). This, sir, is the Oval 2_s._ 6_d._ Luncheon.

* * * * *

DRAMATIC DUET

_Sharp Person_ (_asks, singing_). In what hand should a cricketer write?

_Dull Person_ (_answers, also singing_). I don't quite understand.

_Sharp Person_ (_annoyed_). Shall I repeat--

_Sharper Person_ (_briskly sings_). Oh no! I see't,
He'll write in a _bowl'd round hand_.

[_Exit_ SHARP PERSON L.H. SHARPER PERSON _dances off_ R.H. DULL
PERSON _is left thinking_.

* * * * *

A HUNDRED UP

_Tommy_ (_reading daily paper_). What's a centenarian, Bill?

_Bill_ (_promptly_). A cricketer, of course, who makes a hundred runs.

_Tommy._ You don't say so. _I_ thought he was called a centurion.

* * * * *

A well-known cricketer was expecting an interesting family event. Suddenly the nurse rushed into his smoking-room. "Well, nurse?" he said, "what is it?" "Two fine byes," announced the nurse.

* * * * *

CRICKET HITS

_By Dumb-Crambo, off his own bat._

* * * * *

TO BE SEEN FOR NOTHING.--The play of the features.

* * * * *

MOTTO FOR BRITISH CRICKETERS.--Strike only at the ball!

* * * * *

A FEW QUESTIONS ON CRICKET

_Q._ What is "fielding"?

_A._ The author of _Tom Jones_.

_Q._ How do you stop a ball?

_A._ By putting out the lights.

_Q._ When does a party change sides?

_A._ When he's in bed, and got the fidgets.

_Q._ What do you call "a long slip"?

_A._ A hundred songs for a halfpenny.

_Q._ How much is game?

_A._ It depends whether it's in season.

* * * * *

FANCY our dear old lady's horror when she heard that last week, at Lord's, a cricketer had bowled a maiden over. "Poor thing!" exclaimed Mrs. R., "I hope she was picked up again quickly, and wasn't much hurt."

* * * * *

PHILOSOPHY AT THE POPPING CREASE

"The glorious uncertainty?" why, to be sure,
That it _must_ be the slowest should see at a glance,
For cricket, as long as the sport shall endure,
_Must_ be in its nature a mere game of chance,
"'Tis all pitch and toss"; one can show it is so;--
'T isn't science or strength rules its losses or winnings.
Half depends on the "pitch"--of the wickets, you know,
The rest on the "toss"--for first innings.

* * * * *

_Umpire_ (_drawing out watch_). "Well, he's been in ten minutes now--Hout!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

CON. FOR A CRICKETER

Miss Nelly sits cool in the cricketer's booth
And watches the game, about which, in good sooth,
Her curious interest ne'er ceases.
She now wants to know of the flannel-clad youth,
However the wickets can well be kept smooth,
When she hears they are always _in creases_!

* * * * *

MILTONIC MEDITATION (_by a looker-on at lawn-tennis_).--"They also _serve_ who only stand and wait."

* * * * *

APPROPRIATE TO THE SEASON.--_Q._ What is double as good a game as Fives?--_A._ (_evident_) Tennis.

* * * * *

GOING TO THE DEUCE.--Getting thirty to forty at lawn-tennis.

* * * * *

SUGGESTION TO PROVINCIAL LAWN-TENNIS CLUB.--Why not give lawn-tennis balls in costume during the winter?

* * * * *

MOST APPROPRIATE ATTIRE.--A "grass-lawn" tennis costume.

* * * * *

THE GAME FOR RACKETY BISHOPS.--Lawn-tennis.

* * * * *

_Miss Dowdesley_ (_of Far-West Kensingtonia_). "I'm sure I should, only----" (_immersed in her own dreams_)--"We don't know any!"]

* * * * *

OUR VILLAGE CRICKET CLUB

I

At our opening match, Spinner, the demon left-hander, was again in great form. His masterly skill in placing the field, and his sound knowledge of the game, really won the match for us.

II

III

IV

* * * * *

A TRILL FOR TENNIS

Now lawn-tennis is beginning, and we'll set the balls a-spinning
O'er the net and on the greensward with a very careful aim;
You must work, as I'm a sinner, if you wish to prove a winner,
For we're getting scientific at this fascinating game.

You must know when it is folly to attempt a clever "volley,"
Or to give the ball when "serving" it an aggravating twist;
Though a neatly-made backhander may arouse a rival's dander,
You'll remember when you try it that it's very often missed.

Though your play thrown in the shade is by the prowess of the ladies,
You must take your beating kindly with a smile upon your face;
And 'twill often be the duty of some tennis-playing beauty
To console you by remarking that defeat is not disgrace.

For you doubtless find flirtation at this pleasant occupation
Is as easy as at croquet; when you're "serving" by _her_ side,
You can hint your tender feeling, all your state of mind revealing,
And, when winning "sets" together, you may find you've won a bride.

So we'll don the flannel jacket, and take out the trusty racket,
And though other folks slay pigeons, we'll forswear that cruel sport,
And through summer seek a haven on the sward so smoothly shaven,
With the whitened lines _en règle_ for a neat lawn-tennis court.

* * * * *

THE PLACE FOR LAWN-TENNIS.--"_Way down in Tennessee._"

* * * * *

_Eva_ (_for the benefit of Maud, who is not so well-informed_). "--and those upright sticks you see are the _wickets_. Harrow's in at one end, and Eton's in at the other, you know!"]

* * * * *

A POLONAISE

"_Nemo me on pony lacessit._"

Mad bards, I hear, have gaily trolled
The boundless joys of cricket;
Have praised the bowler and the bowled
And keeper of the wicket.
I cannot join their merry song--
_Non valeo sed volo_--
But really I can come out strong,
Whene'er I sing of Polo!

Let golfophiles delight to air
Their putter-niblick learning;
And, scarlet-coated, swipe and swear
When summer sun is burning!
Let _artful cards_ sit up and pass
Their nights in playing bolo;
But let me gambol--o'er the grass--
And make my game at Polo!

On chequered chess-boards students gaze
O'er futile moves oft grieving;
With knights content to pass their days,
And constant checks receiving.
'Mid kings and queens I have no place,
_Espiscopari nolo_--
I'd rather o'er the greensward race,
And find no check in Polo!

Then let me have my supple steed--
Good-tempered, uncomplaining--
So sure of foot, so rare in speed,
In perfect polo training.
And let me toast in rare old port,
In Heidsieck or Barolo,
In shady-gaff or something short--
The keen delights of Polo!

* * * * *

MOTTO FOR CROQUET.--"She Stoops to Conquer."

* * * * *

IN-DOOR AMUSEMENT FOR OLD PEOPLE.--The game of croakey.

* * * * *

HOW TO LEARN TO LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.--Play at croquet.

* * * * *

FOR THE DRAWING-ROOM (_When there's a dead silence._)--My first is a bird; my second's a letter of the alphabet: my whole is some game.

_Explanation._ Crow. K. (_Croquet._)

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

A PLAYER who sprained his wrist at lawn-tennis explained that "he had been trying a regular _wrenchaw_, and did it effectually."

* * * * *

SPORTIVE SONG

AN OLD CROQUET-PLAYER RUMINATES

I like to see a game revive
Like flower refreshed by rain,
And so I say, "May croquet thrive,
And may it live again!"
It brings back thoughts of long ago,
And memories most sweet,
When Amy loved her feet to show
In shoes too small, but neat.

I think I can see Amy now,
Her vengeful arm upraised
To croquet me to where a cow
Unheeding chewed and grazed.
And Amy's prowess with the ball
Reminds me that her style
Was not so taking after all
As Fanny's skill _plus_ smile.

Yes! Fanny had a winsome laugh,
That round her mouth would wreath,
And make me wonder if her chaff
Was shaped to show her teeth.
They were so pretty, just like pearls
Set fast in carmine case;
Still in the match between the girls
Selina won the race.

Selina had such lustrous eyes
Of real sapphire blue,
They seemed one's soul to mesmerise,
And looked one through and through.
Yet Agnes I cannot forget,
She brought me joy with pain.
I would that we had never met----
"Your stroke!" That voice! My Jane!

* * * * *

* * * * *

CROQUET

O feeblest game, how strange if you should rise
To favour, _vice_ tennis superseded!
And yet beneath such glowing summer skies
When wildest energy is invalided,
Mere hitting balls through little hoops
Seems work enough. One merely stoops,
And lounges round; no other toil is needed.

Upon a breezy lawn beneath the shade
Of rustling trees that hide the sky so sunny,
I'll play, no steady game as would be played
By solemn, earnest folks as though for money--
For love is better. Simply stoop,
And hit the ball. It's through the hoop!
My partner smiles; she seems to think it funny.

My pretty partner, whose bright, laughing eyes
Gaze at me while I aim another blow; lo,
I've missed because I looked at her! With sighs
I murmur an apologetic solo.
The proudest athlete here might stoop,
To hit a ball just through a hoop,
And say the game--with her--beats golf and polo.

* * * * *

"Good match, old fellow?"

"Oh, yes; awfully jolly!"

"What did you do?"

"I 'ad a hover of Jackson; the first ball 'it me on the 'and, the second 'ad me on the knee; the third was in my eye; and the fourth bowled me out!"

[_Jolly game._

]

* * * * *

ADVICE TO YOUNG CROQUET-PLAYERS

1. Always take your own mallet to a garden party. This will impress everyone with the idea that you are a fine player. Or an alternative plan is to play with one provided by your host, and then throughout the game to attribute every bad stroke to the fact that you have not your own implement with you.

2. Use as many technical terms as you can, eking them out with a few borrowed from golf. Thus it will always impress your partner if you say that you are "stimied," especially as she won't know what it means. But a carefully-nurtured reputation may be destroyed at once if you confuse "roquet" with "croquet," so be very careful that you get these words right.

3. Aim for at least three minutes before striking the ball, and appear overcome with amazement when you miss. If you have done so many times in succession, it may be well to remark on the unevenness of the ground. If you hit a ball by mistake always pretend that you aimed at it.

4. It is a great point to give your partner advice in a loud and authoritative tone--it doesn't matter in the least whether it is feasible or not. Something like the following, said very quickly, always sounds well:--"Hit one red, take two off him and make your hoop; send two red towards me and get into position." In a game of croquet there is always one on each side who gives advice, and one who receives (and disregards) it. All the lookers-on naturally regard the former as the finer player, therefore begin giving advice on your partner's first stroke. If she happens to be a good player this may annoy her, but that is no consequence.

5. Remember that "a mallet's length from the boundary" varies considerably. If you play next, it means three yards, if your opponent does so, it means three inches. So, too, with the other "rules," which no one really knows. When in an awkward position, the best course is to invent a new rule on the spur of the moment, and to allege (which will be perfectly true) that "it has just been introduced."

6. Much may be done by giving your ball a gentle kick when the backs of the other players happen to be turned. Many an apparently hopeless game has been saved by this method. Leave your conscience behind when you come to a croquet-party.

* * * * *

SWEET NAME FOR YOUNG LADIES PLAYING CROQUET.--Hammerdryads.

* * * * *

THE POET OF CROQUET.--Mallet.

* * * * *

(_Designed by Mr. Punch._)]

* * * * *

"I say, uncle, that was young Baldock that went by,--Wilmington Baldock, you know----!"

"Who the dickens is _he_?"

"What! haven't you heard of him? Hang it! he's making himself a very first-rate position in the _lawn-tennis_ world, I can _tell_ you!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Auntie._ "Archie, run up to the house, and fetch my racket. There's a dear!"

_Archie_ (_preparing to depart_). "All right. But I say, auntie, don't let anybody take my seat, will you?"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Proud Mother._ "Did you _ever_ see anybody so light and slender as dear Algernon, Jack?"

_Uncle Jack_ (_at thirty-five_). "Oh, you mustn't trouble about _that_, Maria. I was _exactly_ his build at eighteen!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

If space is limited, there is no reason why one shouldn't play with one's next-door neighbours, over the garden wall. (One needn't visit them, you know!)]

* * * * *

_Mrs. Klipper_ (_who doesn't understand lawn-tennis_). "Indeed! Well, I should never have thought it!"]

* * * * *

_He._ "H'm--hah--rather rough-hewn, I think. Can't say I admire that loud-laughing, strong-voiced, robust kind of man. Now that's a fine-looking woman he's talking to!"

_She._ "Well--er--somewhat _effeminate_, you know. Confess I don't admire _effeminate_ women!"]

* * * * *

LAWN-TENNIS LOBS

(_Served by Dumb-Crambo Junior._)

* * * * *

THE SPORT OF THE FUTURE

["The lawns that were erstwhile cumbered with tennis nets now
bristle with croquet hoops, and the sedate mallet has driven out
the frisky racquet."--_The World._]

Welcome, Reason, on the scene,
Milder influences reviving!
Far too long have pastimes been
Senseless, useless, arduous striving,
Brutalising men of strength,
Dangerous to those who lack it:
Lo! it speaks their doom at length--
The decadence of the racket.

Purged from customs fierce and rude
Soon shall sports become more gentle,
(As the grosser kinds of food
Yield the palm to bean and lentil),
Roller skates long since are "off,"
Tennis is no longer O.K.,
Rivals threaten even golf
As the fashion sets for croquet.

Hence, then, cricket, young and vain,
Football, fraught with brutal bustle,
You at Reason's light shall wane--
Modern upstart cult of muscle;
So may purer tastes begin
All our fiercer games refining,
Till, when spelicans come in,
_I_ may get a chance of shining.

* * * * *

MORE LAWN TENNIS LOBS

(_Served by Dumb-Crambo Junior._)

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Jones_ (_who thinks himself another Renshaw, and doesn't care to play with a scratch lot_). "A--thanks--no! I'd _rather_ not!"

_Smith._ "Oh, they're frightful duffers, _all_ of them! You'll stand a very fair chance! _Do!_"]

* * * * *

[_Sighs deeply._

]

* * * * *

_Lilian and Claribel._ "It was out, _wasn't_ it, Captain Standish?"

_Adeline and Eleanore._ "Oh, it _wasn't_ out, Captain Standish, was it?"]

* * * * *

_She._ "Would you mind putting my lawn tennis shoes in your pockets, Mr. Green?"

_He._ "I'm afraid my pockets are hardly big enough, Miss Gladys; but I shall be delighted to _carry_ them for you!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

.

* * * * *

[_Her only excuse is that she hails from a great football county._

]

* * * * *

_Excited Drummer._ "Vat! He iss your only ball? Ach, donner und blitzen! he haf proke insides my only drum! You pay ze drum, you haf ze ball!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

The above represents the game of "All against All," as played by Brown, Miss Jones, and the Major.]

* * * * *

EJACULATIONS

_On being asked to play Croquet, A.D. 1894._

["It is impossible to visit any part of the country without
realising the fact that the long-discredited game of Croquet is
fast coming into vogue again.... This is partly owing to the
abolition of 'tight croqueting.'"--_Pall Mall Gazette._]

Eh? What? Why? How?
Are we back in the Sixties again?
I am rubbing my eyes--is it _then_, or now?
I'm a _Rip Van Winkle_, it's plain!

Hoop, Ball, Stick, Cage?
Eh, fetch them all out once more?
Why, look, they're begrimed and cracked with age,
And their playing days are o'er!

Well--yes--here goes
For a primitive chaste delight!
Let us soberly, solemnly beat our foes,
For Croquet's no longer "tight"!

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Eligible Bachelor._ "Shall I follow you up, Annie; or leave myself for Lizzie?"]

* * * * *

]

* * * * *

THE WOOING

[The sporting instinct is now so keen among girls that a man who
gallantly moderates his hitting in mixed hockey is merely regarded
as an _incapable slacker_ by his fair opponents.]

When first I played hockey with Kitty,
I was right off my usual game,
For she looked so bewitchingly pretty
When straight for the circle she came;
As a rule I'm not backward, or chary,
Of hitting and harassing too,
But who can be rough with a fairy--
Not I--so I let her go through.

She scored, and we couldn't get equal;
The others all thought me a fool,
And Kitty herself, in the sequel,
Grew most unexpectedly cool.
They gave us a licking, as stated,
I was sick at the sight of the ball,
She thought me a lot over-rated,
And wondered they played me at all.

But she frankly approved Percy Waters,
Who uses his stick like a flail,
And always impartially slaughters
Both sexes, the strong and the frail;
A mutual friendliness followed,
I watched its career with dismay--
Next match-day my feelings I swallowed.
And hit in my orthodox way.

I caught her a crunch on the knuckle,
A clip on the knee and the cheek,
She said, with a rapturous chuckle,
"I see--you weren't trying last week."
Such conduct its cruelty loses
When it brings consolation to both,
For after she'd counted her bruises
That evening we plighted our troth.

* * * * *

[_Mr. Pipps (who is a complete novice at the game) contemplates instant
flight. He was just on the point of proposing, too._

]

* * * * *

(_From an old Print._)]

* * * * *

THE PURSUIT OF BEAUTY

I saw an aged, aged man
One morning near the Row,
Who sat, dejected and forlorn,
Till it was time to go.
It made me quite depressed and bad
To see a man so wholly sad--
I went and told him so.

I asked him why he sat and stared
At all the passers-by,
And why on ladies young and fair
He turned his watery eye.
He looked at me without a word,
And then--it really was absurd--
The man began to cry.

But when his rugged sobs were stayed--
It made my heart rejoice--
He said that of the young and fair
He sought to make a choice.
He was an artist, it appeared--
I might have guessed it by his beard,
Or by his gurgling voice.

His aim in life was to procure
A model fit to paint
As "Beauty on a Pedestal,"
Or "Figure of a Saint."
But every woman seemed to be
As crooked as a willow tree--
His metaphors were quaint.

"And have you not observed," he asked,
"That all the girls you meet
Have either 'Hockey elbows' or
Ungainly 'Cycling feet'?
Their backs are bent, their faces red,
From 'Cricket stoop,' or 'Football head.'"
He spoke to me with heat.

"But have you never found," I said,
"Some girl without a fault?
Are all the women in the world
Misshapen, lame or halt?"
He gazed at me with eyes aglow,
And, though the tears had ceased to flow,
His beard was fringed with salt.

"There was a day, I mind it well,
A lady passed me by
In whose physique my searching glance
No blemish could descry.
I followed her at headlong pace,
But when I saw her, face to face,
_She had the 'Billiard eye'!_"

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

MIXED HOCKEY

You came down the field like a shaft from a bow
The vision remains with me yet.
I hastened to check you: the sequel you know:
Alas! we unluckily met.
You rushed at the ball, whirled your stick like a flail,
And you hit with the vigour of two:
A knight in his armour had surely turned pale,
If he had played hockey with you.

They gathered me up, and they took me to bed:
They called for a doctor and lint:
With ice in a bag they enveloped my head;
My arm they enclosed in a splint.
My ankles are swelled to a terrible size;
My shins are a wonderful blue;
I have lain here a cripple, unable to rise,
Since the day I played hockey with you.

Yet still, in the cloud hanging o'er me so black,
A silvery lining I spy:
A man who's unhappily laid on his back
Can yet have a solace. May I?
An angel is woman in moments of pain,
Sang Scott: clever poet, _he_ knew:
It may, I perceive, be distinctly a gain
To have fallen at hockey with you.

For if you'll but nurse me (Come quickly, come now),
If you'll but administer balm,
And press at my bidding my feverish brow
With a cool but affectionate palm;
If you'll sit by my side, it is possible, quite,
That I may be induced to review
With a feeling more nearly akin to delight
That day I played hockey with you.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Miss Hopper cannot understand how it is she is always put "in goal." But really the explanation is so simple. There's no room for a ball to get past her.]

* * * * *

* * * * *

One of the inferior sex who volunteered to umpire soon discovered his office was no sinecure.]

* * * * *

[_Bully for little Timpkins!_

]

* * * * *

"Seen two men with bags of paper pass this way?"--"No!" "Did they tell you to say no?"--"Yes."]

* * * * *

* * * * *

For the promotion of "Hockey on the Ice."]

* * * * *

AN IDYL ON THE ICE

Fur-apparelled for the skating,
Comes the pond's acknowledged Belle:
I am duly there in waiting,
For I'll lose no time in stating
That I love the lady well.

Then to don her skates, and surely
Mine the task to fit them tight,
Strap and fasten them securely,
While she offers me, demurely,
First the left foot then the right.

Off she circles, swiftly flying
To the pond's extremest verge;
Then returning, and replying
With disdain to all my sighing,
And the love I dare not urge.

Vainly do I follow after,
She's surrounded in a trice,
Other men have come and chaffed her,
And the echo of her laughter
Comes across the ringing ice.

Still I've hope, a hope that never
In my patient heart is dead;
Though fate for a time might sever,
Though she skated on for ever,
I would follow where she fled.

* * * * *

"I am down again!"--_Cymbeline_, Act V., Sc. 5.]

* * * * *

TO FOOTBALL

Farewell to thee, Cricket,
Thy last match is o'er;
Thy bat, ball, and wicket
Are needed no more.
To thy sister we turn,
For her coming we pray;
Her worshippers burn
For the heat of the fray.

Hail! Goddess of battle,
Yet hated of Ma(r)s,
How ceaseless their tattle
Of tumbles and scars!
Such warnings are vain,
For thy rites we prepare,
Youth is yearning again
In thy perils to share.

Broken limbs and black eyes
May, perchance, be our lot;
But grant goals and ties
And we care not a jot.
Too sacred to name
With thy posts, ball, and field,
There is no winter game
To which thou canst yield.

* * * * *

MOTTO FOR AN IMPECUNIOUS FOOTBALL CLUB.--"More kicks than halfpence."

* * * * *

During a considerable portion of the year the skating was excellent, and was much enjoyed by all classes.]

* * * * *

* * * * *

(_A Thaw Picture._)

What matter an inch or two of surface-water, if the ice be still sound underneath!]

* * * * *

"LE FOOTE-BALLE"

_Offices of the Athletic Convention, Paris._

MONSIEUR,--Having already expressed my views as to the capabilities possessed by "Le Cricquette" for becoming a national game worthy the attention of the young sporting gentlemen of our modern France, I now turn me to the consideration of your "Foote-Balle."

I have examined the apparatus for the play you have so kindly sent over,--the great leathern bag of wind which is kicked, "_les_ Goalpoles", and the regulations for the playing of the game, and have seen your fifteen professional County "kicksmen" engage,--I shudder as I recall the terrible sight,--in a contest, horrible, murderous, and demoniacal, with an equal number of my unhappy compatriots, alas! in their enthusiasm and _élan_, ignorant of the deadly struggle that awaited them in the game in which they were about innocently to join. To witness the savage rush of your professional kicksmen was terrifying, and when, in displaying "_le scrimmage_", they scattered, with the kicks of their legs, my fainting compatriots, who fell lamed and wounded in all directions, I said to myself, this "Foote-Balle" is not a pastime, it is an encounter of wild beasts, "_un vrai carnage_," fit to be played, not by civilised sporting gentlemen, but by cannibals.

But let me explain that it is not the kick to which I object, for is not _le coup de pied_ the national defence of France? Indeed, in your own fist contest in "Le Boxe-Match," is not to deliver a kick in the jaw of your antagonist considered a meritorious _coup_, showing great skill in the boxeman? And do not our own _garçons de collège_ kick a _confrère_ when he is "down," and point to the circumstance with a legitimate pride and satisfaction? No, it is not _le coup de pied_ which makes horrible "Le Foote-Balle," but the conspiracy organised of the kicksmen--_Les Demidos_ (the 'alf-backs), _Les En Avants_ (the Forwards), and the "Goal-keepers"--all to kick the leathern bag of wind at once, and so produce a murderous _mêlée_ in which arms, legs, ribs, thighs, necks, and spines are all broken together, and may be heard simultaneously cracking by any of the terror-struck but helpless spectators who are watching the ghastly contest.

Viewing the game under this aspect, you will not be surprised to hear that my Committee have, as they did in dealing with "Le Cricquette," revised the rules and regulations for the playing of your "Foote-Balle," so as to suit it to the tastes and requirements of the rising generation of our Modern France. I cannot at present furnish you with full details of the suggested modifications, but I may inform you that it has been unanimously decided that the "Balle," which is to be of "some light, airy, floating material, and three times its present size," is not to be touched by the foot at all, but struck lightly by the palm of the hand, and thus wafted harmlessly, with a smart smack, over the heads of the combatants.

As to costume, the game is to be played in white satin bed-room slippers, with (as a protection in the event, spite every possible precaution, of "_le scrimmage_" arising) feather pillows strapped over the knees and chest. It is calculated by our Committee that the savage proclivities of the game, as fostered by the terrible rules of your murderous "Rugby Association," will be thus, in some measure, counteracted.

Hoping soon to hear from you on the subject of your _Courses d'Eau_, as I shall doubtless have some suggestions to make in reference to the conduct of your aquatic contests, receive, Monsieur, the assurance of my most distinguished consideration,

THE SECRETARY TO THE CONGRESS.

* * * * *

* * * * *

First Football Player. "We've lost!"

Inquisitive Old Gentleman. "What have you got in that bag?"

Second Football Player. "The umpire!"]

* * * * *

PROFESSIONALS OF THE FLOOR AND FIELD.

Exactly the same, though not so in name,
Are dancing and football "pros."
For both money make and salaries take
For supporting the ball with their toes.

* * * * *

ETON FOOTBALL

(_Special Report by Dumb-Crambo Junior._)

* * * * *

* * * * *

THAT FOOT-BALL

_An Athletic Father's Lament._

What was it made me cricket snub,
And force my seven sons to sub-
sidize a local "Rugby" Club?
That Foot-ball!

Yet, what first drew from me a sigh,
When Tom, my eldest, missed a "try,"
But got instead a broken thigh?
That Foot-ball!

What in my second, stalwart Jack,
Caused some inside machine to crack,
And kept him ten months on his back--?
That Foot-ball!

What brought my third, unhappy Ted,
To fade and sink, and keep his bed,
And finally go off his head?--
That Foot-ball!

My fourth and fifth, poor John and Jim,
What made the sight of one so dim?
What made the other lack a limb?
That Foot-ball!

Then Frank, my sixth, who cannot touch
The ground unaided by a crutch,
Alas! of what had he too much?
That Foot-ball!

The seventh ends the mournful line,
Poor Stephen with his fractured spine,
A debt owe these good sons of mine,
That Foot-ball!

And as we pass the street-boys cry,
"Look at them cripples!" I but sigh,
"You're right, my friends. But would you fly
A lot like ours; oh, do not try
That Foot-ball!"

* * * * *

_Miss Dulcie_ (_meditatively_). "Do you play football much, uncle?"]

* * * * *

ETON FOOTBALL

(_By Dumb-Crambo Junior._)

* * * * *

Football. "The Zambesi Scorchers."]

* * * * *

FOOT-BALL À LA MODE

[Hardly a week passes without our hearing of one or more dangerous
accidents at football.]

A manly game it is, I think,
Although in private be it spoken,
While at a scrimmage I don't shrink,
That bones may be too often broken.
I snapped my clavicle last week,
Just like the rib of an umbrella;
And sprained my ankle, not to speak
Of something wrong with my _patella_.

Last season, too, my leg I broke,
And lay at home an idle dreamer,
It's not considered quite a joke
To contemplate a broken _femur_.
And when, despite the doctor's hints,
Again at foot-ball I had tussles,
I found myself once more in splints,
With damaged gastronomic muscles.

Some three times every week my head,
Is cut, contused, or sorely shaken;
My friends expect me brought home dead,
But up to now I've saved my bacon.
But what are broken bones, my boys,
Compared with noble recreation?
The scrimmages and all the joys
Of Rugby or Association!

* * * * *

_She_ (_plaintively--to famous Rugby half-back_). "_Would_ it get you very much out of practice if we were to dance 'socker' a little."]

* * * * *

OPEN LETTER TO A PAIR OF FOOTBALL BOOTS

(_With acknowledgments to Mr. C. B. Fry in the "Daily Express"_)

DEAR OLD PALS,--I want to speak to you seriously and as man to man, because you're not mere dead hide, are you? No, no, you are intelligent, sentient soles, and to be treated as such by every player.

Ah! booties, booties, you little beauties, what a lot you mean to us, don't you? and how hardly we use you.

I've known men to take you off after a game, hurl you--as Jove hurled his thunderbolts--into a corner of the pav. and there leave you till you are next required.

Ah! old men, that's not right, is it? How would we great machines of bone, muscle, and nerve-centre (ah! those nerve-centres, what tricky things they are!), how would we be for the next match if we were treated like that? Pretty stiff and stale, eh, old booties?

Now, look here, when we come in after a hard, slogging game, our bodies and the grey matter in our brains thoroughly exhausted, immediately we've had our bath, our rub-down, and our cup of steaming hot Hercubos (I find Hercubos the finest thing to keep fit on during a hard season) we must turn our attention to you, booties.

First, out from our little bag must come our piece of clean, sweet selvyt. With it all that nasty black slime that gets into your pores and makes you crack must be wiped off. Now, before a good blazing fire of coal--not coke, mind, the fumes of a coke fire pale and de-oxygenate the red corpuscles of our blood, you know--we must carefully warm you till you are ripe to receive a real good dousing of our Porpo (I find Porpo the finest thing for keeping boots soft and pliable).

Finally, with a white silk handkerchief we must give you a soft polishing, and there you are, sweet and trim against our next match. Every morning you may be sure we will, like Boreas, drive away the clouds of dust that collect on you.

And then there are the laces to attend to. Oh, yes, your laces are like our nerve-fibres, the little threads that keep the whole big body taut and sound. They, too, must have a good rubbing of Porpo and a rest if they need it.

Ah! and won't you repay our trouble, booties, when next we slip you on? How tightly you will clasp us just above the tubercles of our tibiæ, how firmly you will grip our pliant toes, how you will help us to send the ball swishing--low and swift--into the well-tarred net!

Good-night, booties.

* * * * *

THE "BALL OF THE SEASON."--Foot-ball.

* * * * *

APPROPRIATE FOOTBALL FIXTURE FOR THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER.--A match against Guy's.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Togswell (in the washing room at the office, proceeding to dress for the De Browncy's dinner-party)._ "Hullo! What the dooce"--(_pulling out, in dismay, from black bag, a pair of blue flannel tights, a pink striped jersey, and a spiked canvas shoe_).--"Confound it! Yes!--I must have taken that fellow's bag who said he was going to the athletic sports this afternoon, and he's got mine with my dress clothes!!"]

* * * * *

A DERBY DIALOGUE

SCENE--_In Town._ JONES _meets_ BROWN.

_Jones._ Going to Epsom?

_Brown._ No, I think not. Fact is, the place gets duller year by year. The train has knocked the fun out of the road.

_Jones._ Such a waste of time. Why go in a crowd to see some horses race, when you can read all about it in the evening papers?

_Brown._ Just so. No fun. No excitement. And the Downs are wretched if it rains or snows.

_Jones._ Certainly. The luncheon, too, is all very well; but, after all, it spoils one's dinner.

_Brown._ Distinctly. And champagne at two o'clock is premature.

_Jones._ And lobster-salad undoubtedly indigestible. So it's much better not to go to the Derby--in spite of the luncheon.

_Brown._ Yes,--in spite of the luncheon.

(_Two hours pass. Scene changes to Epsom._)

_Jones._ Hullo! You here?

_Brown._ Hullo! And if it comes to that, you here, too?

_Jones._ Well, I really found so little doing in town that I thought I might be here as well as anywhere else.

_Brown._ Just my case. Not that there's much to see or do. Silly as usual.

_Jones._ Quite. Always said the Derby was a fraud. But I am afraid, my dear fellow, I must hurry away, as I have got to get back to my party for luncheon.

_Brown._ So have I.

[Exeunt severally.

* * * * *

MAXIM FOR THE DERBY DAY

There's many a slip
'Twixt the race and the tip.

* * * * *

"Why do you call him a good jockey! He never rides a winner." "That just proves it. He can finish last on the best horse in the race!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

(_Why not give them a few lessons in the science of book-making?_)

_Mr. Professor._ "And now, ladies, having closed our book on the favourite, and the betting being seven to three bar one, I will show you how to work out the odds against the double event."]

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

HOW TO WIN THE DERBY

(_By one who has all but done it._)

Take great care in purchasing a really good colt. Don't let expense stand in your way, but be sure you get for money money's worth.

Obtain the most experienced trainer in the market, and confide your colt to his care. But, at the same time, let him have the advantage of your personal encouragement and the opinion of those of your sporting friends upon whose judgment you can place reliance.

When the day of the great race draws near, secure the most reliable jockey and every other advantage that you can obtain for your valuable animal.

Then, having taken every precaution to win the Derby, why--win it!

* * * * *

* * * * *

Going in for a sweep.]

* * * * *

ON THE COURSE.--_Angelina._ What do they mean, dear, by the Outside Ring?

_Edwin._ Oh! that's the place where we always back outsiders. A splendid institution!

[_So it was, till Edwin fell among gentlemen from Wales._

* * * * *

AT THE CLOSE OF THE RACING SEASON.--_Owner (to friend, pointing to disappointing colt)._ There he is, as well bred as any horse in the world, but can't win a race. Now what's to be done with him?

_Friend (suddenly inspired)._ Harness the beast in front of a motor-car. He'll _have_ to travel, then.

* * * * *

REAL AUTUMN HANDY-CAP.--A deerstalker.

* * * * *

_Milly (at her first race-meeting)._ "Oh, no, uncle, I'm all right. George told me to back it 'both ways.'"]

* * * * *

_Trainer (to G. R., who has taken a chance mount)._ "So glad you turned up. This horse is such a rocky jumper you know, I can't get a professional to ride him."]

* * * * *

VERY RACY.--_Q._ When a parent gives his son the "straight tip" about a race, what vegetable does he recall to one's mind?

_A._ Pa ('s)-snip, of course.

* * * * *

Judging from their countenances, which of these two, who have just returned from a race meeting, has "made a bit"?]

* * * * *

SCENE--_A little race meeting, under local rules and management._

_Starter._ "'Ere's a pretty mess! Two runners--the favourite won't start--and if I let the other win, the crowd 'll just about murder me!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_The Joys of a Gentleman Rider._

_Voice from the Crowd._ "Now, then, guv'nor, take care you don't get sunburnt!"]

* * * * *

RACY SKETCHES

(_By D. Crambo, Junior_)

AND

* * * * *

_Jockey._ "Yes, m'Lord, but I couldn't very well leave the horse behind."]

* * * * *

AT NEWMARKET.--_Lady Plongère (to Sir Charles Hamidoot)._ Oh! Sir Charles, please put me a tenner each way on the favourite.

_Sir Charles._ But will you repay me the money laid out?

_Lady P. (sweetly)._ Of course I will, if I win.

[_Sir C. forgets to execute the commission._

* * * * *

_Jockey (whose horse has broken down)._ "Thought you said it was as good as a walk over?"

_Trainer_. "Well, ain't you _walkin_' over?"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

Even the "Derby" had its primeval counterpart.]

* * * * *

_Barber._ "Couldn't think of taking it, sir. Just won £500 on the Hascot Cup!"]

* * * * *

She won the sweep!]

* * * * *

AMUSEMENTS FOR ASCOT

(_Provided for the better sex_)

After taking infinite trouble to secure a dream of a dress, to wait expectantly to see whether it will rain or keep up.

After arriving on the course to find one's only duchess monopolised by the Buckingham-Browns, to dismay of all semi-outsiders.

Between the races to notice one's hated rivals in the sacred enclosure, to which one has no admittance.

At luncheon, to contrast the men of this year who have remained at home with those of last season who are now at the front.

And--perhaps safest of all--to leave the doubts and fears, the heart-burnings and disappointment of the meeting to others, and to learn all about Ascot by reading the papers.

* * * * *

(_A Derby Problem._)

_Ostler_ (_on the Downs, after the races_). "Don't you even remember 'is colour, guv'nor?"]

* * * * *

THE PREVAILING PASSION.--_Father_ (_reading newspaper_). I see another Rugby man has been appointed Archbishop of Canterbury. That's the third Rugby man in succession.

_Son_ (_a football enthusiast_). Well, I think it is time one of the Association had a turn.

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.