Chapter I: KNOW what interest profound and gracious you have always manifested

towards the glorious efforts of the heroic youth of our regenerated athletic France, for have I not read your notices amiable and scientific of _les_ "doings" of our onze at the _jeu de Cricquette_, and still later of the murderous combat of the veritable "struggle-for-lifers" in _le scrimmage_ of your terrible contest of "Kicke-balle"? But now the valiant youth of our public seminaries have advanced still one more step, and the afternoon of last Tuesday saw, in the leafy arcades of our Bois, a true "stick-balle" fight--in one word, a _parti_ of "Le 'Ockey," played with _vrais batons_, clubs long and terrible, with cruel hooked finish, to the eye of the beholder, and the dangerous white ball, hard as iron, heavy as lead, between a 'ome team and a "side" of strangers, that would have done credit to an "Oxfor-Cambridge" battle or a fight royal, in which _Les Roverres de Peckham_ were themselves engaged.

The costume of the _'ome team_, of which I was the General, consisting, as it did, of "knickerbockerres" of pink velvet, jerseys of green and yellow satin in stripes, padded in front and behind, as a protection from _les coups de les "stickes,"_ with large feather pillows, and 'igh jack-boots, worn with the same motive, completed, together with a massive iron and wire mask, surmounted with a funereal plume, used to safeguard the head and neck, a costume at once striking and useful. The strangers were, perhaps, not quite so happily arranged, their legs being encased in chain-armour, and their bodies protected by large wicker clothes-washing-baskets; but, though this precautionary costume hampered in some respect the play of their arms, and impeded their swiftness in making "le rush," still, the hardest blow of the death-dealing "stickes" fell on them without pain, and they could meet the approach of the terrible iron-lead ball without the apprehensive tremblings of terror.

The contest, though fierce, was not of long duration, for, after the ninth goal, the iron-lead ball was driven with such furious _elan_ by the victorious side that it dashed into the middle of the spectators, and was swallowed, in the excitement, by the startled horse of an omnibus. Thereupon the Umpire, being appealed to, decided the contest terminated with victory, by three goals to nothing, to the 'ome team, and amidst the prolonged "hurrahs" of the assembled thousands, who represented all the _elite_ of the veritable 'igh and Sporting life of the best Parisian Society, the first day's _stick-balle_ fight that has now introduced "Le 'Ockey" into the arena of our rising National Athletics, came to a brilliant and inspiriting end. I beg you, _Mon cher Monsieur Punch_, be assured of my highest considerations, as I subscribe myself your very humble _serviteur_,

THE FIRST CHAMPION OF LES SPORTS.

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DEFINITIONS.

_Mater._--One who finds _mates_ for her daughters.

_Check Mate._--A husband with money.

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MRS. R. says:--"My nephew, who has just returned from a long voyage, tells me that in the Red Sea it is so hot that the gentlemen sleep on deck in their bananas."

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SIGNOR W. H. SMITHINI (_sotto voce_). "WISH I COULD HAVE KEPT 'EM ALL THREE ABREAST, JUST FOR THE LOOK OF THE THING!"]

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DON'T TRY TO TURN YOUR TANDEM AT THE TROT, PARTICULARLY IF YOUR LEADER IS OF A SOMEWHAT WILFUL DISPOSITION.]

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AFTER "THE MAY."

_A Cambridge Song of June._

OUT and alas! The "May" is o'er;
The polish of the ball-room floor
Is streaked and marred by heedless feet,
The pretty convoys in the street
Stir no more envy, nor make proud
The escort of the dainty crowd.
No more the archway dark and grim,
No more the tortuous staircase dim
Wake to a glow of living light,
When JONES'S sisters, like a flight
Of tuneful birds in plumage gay
Come into College, in the May.

The little girl in grey is gone,
Who like a silvery marsh-flower shone
What time the long and strenuous train
Of eights round Grassy pulled amain.
Gone is the musical low voice
That made the general heart rejoice,
Mazing prim scholars with her wit,
Or chattering simply, not a bit
Above the sporting schoolboy's range.
At that grave dinner, for a change,
With just as flattering a charm,
She took the formal Tutor's arm,
With sparkling eyes, that scattered light
On the dark Don's self-centred night.

Bare are the windows, flowering then,
The cynosure of lingering men,
Whence over the darkling court would float
The chorus of the College boat;
Not shouted with the tuneless zeal
Which tells how Undergraduates feel;
But by such sweet girl-voices given
As might the strictest "gates" have riven,
Drawn iron tears down Tutors' cheek,
And made Deans grant what loafers seek.

And listening oarsmen softly swore
To pull as men ne'er pulled before,
And, let the next boat do its worst,
To make to-morrow's bump, or burst.

Out, and alas! May follows May,
And other little girls in grey,
With hair as bright and eyes as blue,
Will hold the torch, pass'd on by you,
And none the bygone years recall;
For even this May's College pride
Will be as dead as flowers that died
At some forgotten festival.

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RATHER SHIFTY.--"The Members of the Metropolitan Police Force," the Memorial stated, as quoted in the _Times_ of June 13, urged the Government to concede, among other demands, this, which sounds peculiar:--

"Duty to consist of eight hours (in one shift) out of _every_
twenty-four."

The words in brackets are a puzzle. Is "shift" a misprint for "shirt"? Is a Policeman now compelled to wear more than one of these in every twenty-four hours? Is it flannel or linen? We confess that we do not understand this, which we may fairly designate as "The Washerwoman's Clause."

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PEREGRINUS JOCOSUS writes thus:--"Sir,--I was visiting Tintern Abbey. Admission is by a gateway, close to which is an instruction to ring the bell. How much simpler and pleasanter if the proprietor had written up, 'Tinternabbeylate!'--Yours, much pleased, P. J."

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ON ARMY EXAMS.--As long as Examinations are what they are, cramming is a necessity. Therefore, _Mr. Punch_ has only one retort to present objections to cramming, and that is--"Stuff!"

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RECKING THE REDE LECTURE.

"His paramount aim was to make the world better by the
humanising influences of literature."--_Professor Jebb on
Erasmus._

FRIEND of COLET and of MORE,
Genial wit and learned scholar,
Never pedant, prig, or bore.
Dulness and the Mighty Dollar
Rule too much our world of books;
Slang, sensation, crass stupidity;
Talk of "oof" and prate of "spooks,"
Sciolism, sheer aridity;
Smartness, which is folly decked
In true humour's cast-off raiment,
Clap-trap which has never recked
Aught save chance of praise and payment;
These our literature infest,
No ERASMUS now arising,
Style to purge and taste to test
In the way of "humanising."
Could you but come back to us,
How you'd flay sensation-mongers,
Gird at gush, and flout at fuss,
Chasten morbid thirsts and hungers:
Puncture philosophic sham,
"Blugginess," the coarse erotic;
Show up callow Cockney "cram,"
Logic shallow, thought chaotic;
Lash our later Euphuism,
And the pseudo-Ciceronian;
Rottenness of "Realism,"
Battening in its bogs Serbonian.
Thanks, O philosophic JEBB!
In this age of advertising,
Literature, at a low ebb,
Needs a little "humanising."

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"ON, STANLEY!"--The officer whom the explorer did not take with him was his left TENNANT.

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* * * * *

[CORNELIA, daughter of SCIPIO AFRICANUS, and wife of SEMPRONIUS GRACCHUS, when a lady displayed her jewels to her, pointed to her two sons, exclaiming, "These are _my_ jewels!"] ]

"THESE ARE MY JEWELS."

TIMOUR-MAMMON'S triumph's full
In this grace-abandoned creature.
Look at her! A tawdry trull,
Blear of eye and blurred of feature
From the cult of her god--Drink!
HEROD'S cruel self might shrink
From a--Mother, calculating
On her children's loss, awaiting
With impatience their last breath,
And the devilish gains of Death.

Such as she, her cronies cry,
Are "In luck when children die!"
Luck! The luck of willing loss.
Children dead bring in the dross.
Little SARAH'S pale and sickly;
Death is near, but comes not quickly,
Art may hasten his slow tread.
Blows, exposure, hunger, pain,
Are auxiliaries of gain,
Gain that comes "when SARAH's dead,"
When to death her "friends" have done her.
"We have got four pounds upon her,"
Babbles little SARAH'S brother,
Echoing the modern Mother.
WEMYSS the wise advises "thrift,"
As the only thing to lift
Labour from the Sweater's slough.
Laws, he swears, are wholly vain;
Thought may scheme, and Love may strain
Fruitlessly to raise the brow
Of the poor above the slime
Of starvation, suffering, crime.
Thrift's the thing! Well, here is thrift!
Children,--they are fortune's gift.
Motherhood to rear them strives?
Not so; it _insures their lives_!
Burial Insurance comes
As a boon unto the slums.
The insurance love may fix
At five pounds, or even six;
A child's funeral costs a pound,
And the balance means--drinks round!

Here's the luck of loss, a luck
Care may hasten. Blows are struck,
Raiment stinted, food denied,
Hunger and exposure tried;
Infants overlain--by chance!
Is it not a Moloch dance?
Modern Motherhood, plus Drink,
Beats old MOAB, will not shrink
From child-sacrifice to win,
Not a false god's smile, but Gin!
Children are possessions, truly,
To be sold, and paid for, duly,
Pledged like other property,
Bringing interest--when they die.

Modern CORNELIA! That is she,
With a semi-drunken glee
Aping, all unconsciously,
The proud Roman mother's vaunt.
"See _my_ jewels! What I want--
Dress, and drink, and selfish ease,
I can win at will--through these."
What was it little BOBBY said?
"We'll get four pounds when SARAH's dead!"

Golden-tongued PETERBOROUGH, flay
The harpies with your burning breath;
And you, brave WAUGH, assist to stay
This plague of fiends who thrive on death.
Cut short the course of callous crime
Of this CORNELIA of our time!

* * * * *

VOCES POPULI.

AT THE HORSE SHOW.

TIME--_About 3.30. Leaping Competition about to begin. The Competitors are ranged in a line at the upper end of the Hall, while the attendants place the hedges in position. Amongst the Spectators in the Area are--a Saturnine Stableman from the country; a Cockney Groom; a Morbid Man; a Man who is apparently under the impression that he is the only person gifted with sight; a Critic who is extremely severe upon other people's seats; a Judge of Horseflesh; and Two Women who can't see as well as they could wish._

_The Descriptive Man_. They've got both the fences up now, d'ye see? There's the judges going to start the jumping; each rider's got a ticket with his number on his back. See? The first man's horse don't seem to care about jumping this afternoon--see how he's dancing about. Now he's going at it--there, he's cleared it! Now he'll have to jump the next one!

[_Keeps up a running fire of these instructive and valuable observations throughout the proceedings._

_The Judge of Horseflesh._ Rare good shoulders that one has.

_The Severe Critic (taking the remark to apply to the horse's rider)._ H'm, yes--rather--pity he sticks his elbows out quite so much, though.

[_His Friend regards him in silent astonishment._

_Another Competitor clears a fence, but exhibits a considerable amount of daylight._

_The Saturnine Stableman (encouragingly)._ You'll 'ev to set back a bit next journey, Guv'nor!

_The Cockney Groom._ 'Orses 'ud jump better if the fences was a bit 'igher.

_The S. S._ They'll be plenty 'oigh enough fur some on 'em.

_The Severe Critic._ Ugly seat that fellow has--all anyhow when the horse jumps.

_Judge of Horseflesh._ Has he? I didn't notice--I was looking at the horse. [_Severe Critic feels snubbed._

_The S. S. (soothingly, as the Competitor with the loose seat comes round again)._ That's not good, Guv'nor!

_The Cockney Groom._ 'Ere's a little bit o' fashion coming down next--why, there's quite a boy on his back.

_The S. S._ 'E won't be on 'im long if he don't look out. Cup an' ball _I_ call it!

_The Morbid Man._ I suppose there's always a accident o' some sort before they've finished.

_First Woman._ Oh, don't, for goodness sake, talk like that--I'm sure _I_ don't want to see nothing 'appen.

_Second Woman._ Well, you may make your mind easy--for you won't see nothing here; you _would_ have it this was the best place to come to!

_First Woman._ I only said there was no sense in paying extra for the balcony, when you can go in the area for nothing.

_Second Woman (snorting)._ Area, indeed! It might be a good deal airier than what it is, I'm sure--I shall melt if I stay here much longer.

_The Morbid Man._ There's one thing about being so close to the jump as this--if the 'orse jumps sideways--as 'osses will do every now and then--he'll be right in among us before we know where we are, and then there'll be a pretty how-de-do!

_Second Woman (to her Friend)._ Oh, come away, do--it's bad enough to see nothing, let alone having a great 'orse coming down atop of us, and me coming out in my best bonnet, too--come away!

[_They leave._

_The Descriptive Man._ Now they're going to make 'em do some in-and-out jumping, see? they're putting the fences close together--that'll puzzle some of them--ah, he's over both of 'em; very clean that one jumps! Over again! He's got to do it all twice, you see.

_The Judge of Horseflesh._ Temperate horse, that chestnut.

_The Severe Critic._ Is he, though?--but I suppose they _have_ to be here, eh? Not allowed champagne or whiskey or anything before they go in--like they are on a racecourse?

_The J. of H._ No, they insist on every horse taking the pledge before they'll enter him.

_The Descriptive Man._ Each of 'em's had a turn at the in-and-out jump now. What's coming next? Oh, the five-barred gate--they're going over that now, and the stone wall--see them putting the bricks on top? That's to _raise_ it.

_The Morbid Man._ None of 'em been off yet; but (_hopefully_) there'll be a nasty fall or two over this business--there's been many a neck broke over a lower gate than that.

_A Competitor clears the gate easily, holding the reins casually in his right hand._

_The J. of H._ That man can ride.

_The Severe Critic._ Pretty well--not what I call _business_, though--going over a gate with one hand, like that.

_The J. of H._ Didn't know you were such an authority.

_The S. C. (modestly)._ Oh, I can tell when a fellow has a good seat. I used to ride a good deal at one time. Don't get the chance much now--worse luck!

_The J. of H._ Well, I can give you a chance, as it happens. (Severe Critic _accepts with enthusiasm, and the inward reflection that the chance is much less likely to come off than he is himself_.) You wait till the show is over, and they let the horses in for exercise. I know a man who's got a cob here--regular little devil to go--bucks a bit at times--but you won't mind that. I'll take you round to the stall, and get my friend to let you try him on the tan. How will that do you, eh?

_The Severe Critic (almost speechless with gratitude)._ Oh--er--it would do me right enough--capital! That is--it would, if I hadn't an appointment, and had my riding things on, and wasn't feeling rather out of sorts, and hadn't promised to go home and take my wife in the Park, and it's her birthday, too, and, then, I've long made it a rule never to mount a strange horse, and--er--so you understand how it is, don't you?

_The J. of H._ Quite, my dear fellow. (_As, for that matter, he has done from the first._)

_The Cockney Groom (alluding to a man who is riding at the gate)._ 'Ere's a rough 'un this bloke's on! (_Horse rises at gate; his rider shouts, "Hoo, over!" and the gate falls amidst general derision._) Over? Ah, I should just think it was over!

_The Saturnine Stableman (as horseman passes)._ Yer needn't ha' "Hoo"'d for that much!

[_The Small Boy, precariously perched on an immense animal, follows; his horse, becoming unmanageable, declines the gate, and leaps the hurdle at the side._

_The S. S._ Ah, you're a _artful_ lad, you are--thought you'd take it where it was easiest, eh?--you'll 'ev to goo back and try agen, you will.

_Chorus of Sympathetic Bystanders._ Take him at it again, boy; you're all right!... Hold him in tighter, my lad.... Let out your reins a bit! Lor, they didn't ought to let a boy like that ride.... He ain't no more 'old on that big 'orse than if he was a fly on him!... Keep his 'ed straighter next time.... Enough to try a boy's nerve! &c., &c.

[_The Boy takes the horse back, and eventually clears the gate amidst immense and well-deserved applause._

_The Morbid Man (disappointed)._ Well, I fully expected to see 'im took off on a shutter.

_The Descriptive Man._ It's the water-jump next--see; that's it in the middle; there's the water, underneath the hedge; they'll have to clear the 'ole of that--or else fall in and get a wetting. They've taken all the horses round to the other entrance--they'll come in from that side directly.

[_One of the Judges holds up his stick as a signal; wild shouts of "Hoy-hoy! Whorr-oosh!" from within, as a Competitor dashes out and clears hedge and ditch by a foot or two. Deafening applause. A second horseman rides at it, and lands--if the word is allowable--neatly in the water. Roars of laughter as he scrambles out._

_The Morbid Man._ Call that a brook! It ain't a couple of inches deep--it's more mud than water! No fear (_he means, "no hope"_) of any on 'em getting a ducking over that!

[_And so it turns out; the horses take the jump with more or less success, but without a single saddle being vacated. The Judges award a red and blue rosette to the riders of the best and second horses respectively, and the proceedings terminate for the afternoon amidst demonstrations of hearty satisfaction from all but_ The Morbid Man, _who had expected there would have been "more to see._"

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--> NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

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Transcriber's Note:

Sundry missing or damaged punctuation has been repaired.

Page 289: The caron ^ denotes a following superscript: "formula: x ([Greek: pi] + y^{n^th}) = y + x - [Greek: pi]/x".

Page 291: 'Matinee' corrected to 'Matinee': "Miss Blank will make her first appearance in Juliet at a Matinee".

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