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Title: Mr. Punch's Book of Sport - The Humour of Cricket, Football, Tennis, Polo, Croquet, - Hockey, Racing, &c
Author: Various
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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    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

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Boy_ (_reassuringly_). "It's all right, miss, I'm only
looking for our cricket-ball!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF SPORTS

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

[Illustration]

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

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF SPORTS

[Illustration]

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!

[Illustration]

    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._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Hairdresser_ (_about to part customer`s hair_). "Centre,
sir?"

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

       *       *       *       *       *

ALL THE YEAR ROUND;

_Or, Keeping Up the Ball._

[Illustration: A straight tip and a new sensation.]

    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."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _He._ "You're fond of cricket, then?"

_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!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MR. PUNCH KEEPS HIS EYE ON CRICKET

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."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

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!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "TRAIN UP YOUR PARENTS THE WAY THEY SHOULD GO."

--"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!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "'Collapse of Essex.' Dear, dear! I wonder if my property
at Ilford is safe?"

                                                   [_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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS. (_A cricket match._) "How's that,
umpire?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

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._)

[Illustration: MARROW-BONE CLUB]

[Illustration: A DOMESTIC FIXTURE]

[Illustration: A RISING PLAYER]

[Illustration: A PROMISING YOUNG BOWLER]

[Illustration: TRIAL MATCHES]

[Illustration: BATTER AND BAWL]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Fair Batter (ætat. 18). "Now, just look here, Algy
Jones--none of your patronage! You dare to bowl to me with your left
hand again, and I'll box your ears!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

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._)

[Illustration: A PATIENT INNINGS]

[Illustration: A CUT IN FRONT OF POINT]

[Illustration: OVER!]

[Illustration: LAST MAN. HIS USUAL FORM]

       *       *       *       *       *

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._)

[Illustration: A FORWARD STYLE]

[Illustration: OUT WITH A BEAUTIFUL BAILER]

[Illustration: COLLARING THE BOWLING]

[Illustration: A PROMINENT PLAYER]

[Illustration: SENT BACK WITH A SHOOTER]

[Illustration: A DIFFICULT WICKET]

       *       *       *       *       *

FAIR CRICKETERS

[Illustration]

    ["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!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE LAST BALL OF THE SEASON]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: UNINVITED.--We had bowled out their best men, and should
have won the match, but somebody came on the ground with a confounded
hyæna-coloured bull-terrier, who ran after the ball, and wouldn't give
it up.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "BOOTS AND CHAMBERMAID."--_Robin_ (_the morning after the
cricket supper_). "What does this 'B' and 'C' mean, Dick?" _Richard_
(_with a headache_). "O, brandy an' soda, of course. Ring 'em both,
there's a good fellow!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR VILLAGE CRICKET CLUB.--We had thirty seconds left
before the time for drawing stumps. Our two last men were in, and we
wanted one run to tie and two to win. It was the most exciting finish on
record.]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Muscular High Church Curate._ "Wonderful things 'Grace'
does!"

_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._

[Illustration: CRICK-IT]

    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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE "LEVIATHAN BAT."

_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_).]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CAUGHT AT LORD'S.--_Cambridge Swell._ "Aw, Public
Schools' match! Aw, nevar was at one before! Not so bad!"

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EATIN' _v._ HARROW]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DELIGHTFUL OUT-DOOR EXERCISE IN WARM WEATHER

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.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SUGGESTION FOR THE CRICKET SEASON

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FORM

_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!_

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EATIN' BOY AT LORD'S]

       *       *       *       *       *

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._

[Illustration: WINNING THE TOSS]

[Illustration: FOLLOWING ON, AND OPENING WITH A WIDE]

[Illustration: EXCELLENT FIELDING]

[Illustration: LONG STOP]

[Illustration: BOWLING HIS OFF STUMP]

[Illustration: CAUGHT AT THE WICKET]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PRECEDENCE AT BATTERSEA

"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?

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LORD'S IN DANGER. THE M. C. C. GO OUT TO MEET THE ENEMY

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

]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR OPENING MATCH.--"I say, Bill, you've got that pad on
the wrong leg." "Yus, I know. I thought as I were goin' in t' other
end!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "CRICKETING INTELLIGENCE."--_Sporting Old Parson_ (_to
professional player_). "why is a ball like that called a 'yorker,' sir?"
_Professional Player._ "a 'yorker,' sir? oh, when the ball's pitched
right up to the block----" _Sporting Parson._ "yes, yes--I didn't ask
you what a 'yorker' was"--(_with dignity_)--"I know that as well as you
do. But why is it called a 'yorker'?" _Professional Player._ "Well, I
can't say, sir. I don't know what else you could call it!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

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._

[Illustration: BOWLING STARTED WITH A MAIDEN]

[Illustration: A CUT FOR THREE]

[Illustration: A DRIVE TO THE OFF FOR A COUPLE]

[Illustration: CAUGHT AT SLIP]

[Illustration: TAKEN AT POINT]

[Illustration: WIDE BAWL AND BUY]

       *       *       *       *       *

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._

[Illustration: LONG LEG AND SHORT LEG]

[Illustration: SHORT MID OFF]

[Illustration: CUTTING FOR FOUR]

[Illustration: A CLEAN BOWL]

       *       *       *       *       *

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

[Illustration: TOM BOWLING]

    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!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "ANIMAL SPIRITS"

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._

[Illustration: STUMPED]

[Illustration: CAUGHT OUT]

[Illustration: RUN OUT]

[Illustration: DRAWING THE STUMPS]

       *       *       *       *       *

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._

[Illustration: PITCHING THE WICKET]

[Illustration: A MAIDEN OVER----?]

[Illustration: A DRIVE TO THE PAVILION]

[Illustration: HOLDING A CATCH]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Bowler_ (_his sixth appeal for an obvious leg-before_).
"'Ow's that?"

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR VILLAGE CRICKET CLUB.--Tom Huggins, of the local fire
brigade, umpires for the visiting team in an emergency. Laden, as is
usual, with their wealth, watches, etc., he hears the fire-bell, and
obeys duty's call without loss of time!]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE LIMITATIONS OF FAME.--"And what are you?" "Oh, I'm
the wicket-keeper." "Then why aren't you busy taking the gate-money?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Miss Delamode_ (_of Belgravia_). "Well, dear, I must be
off. Don't you love Lord's?"

_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.

[Illustration: "About three feet nine to the right, please,
Colonel--that is to say, your right. That's it. Back a little, just
where the buff Orpington's feeding. Thanks."]

II

[Illustration: "You, Mr. Stewart, by this thistle. Just to save the
one, you know."]

III

[Illustration: His ruses were magnificent. When the Squire came in,
Spinner (who had previously held a private consultation with the other
bowler) shouted, "You won't want a fine leg for this man. Put him deep
and square." And then----]

IV

[Illustration: The Squire was neatly taken first ball off a glance at
fine leg by Spinner himself, who had crossed over (exactly as arranged)
from his place at slip.]

       *       *       *       *       *

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._"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A SKETCH AT LORD'S

_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._)

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Lucy Mildmay_ (_who is fond of technical terms_). "By
the way--a--are they playing '_Rugby_' or '_Association_'?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "OUT! FIRST BALL! A CATCH!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

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!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Bowler._ "How's that?" _Umpire._ "Wasn't looking. But if
'e does it again, 'e's out!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CRICKET--THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE

"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

[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

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."

[Illustration: GENUINE ENTHUSIASM]

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.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

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

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE POET OF CROQUET.--Mallet.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LAWN-TENNIS COSTUME

(_Designed by Mr. Punch._)]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "NOUVELLES COUCHES SOCIALES!"

"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!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "SPORTING."--_Cabby_ (_on the rank at the top of our
square_.) "Beg your pardon, miss!--'takin' the liberty--but--'ow does
the game stand now, miss? 'Cause me and this 'ere 'ansom's gota dollar
on it!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE

_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?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BARBAROUS TECHNICALITIES OF LAWN-TENNIS.--_Woolwich
Cadet_ (_suddenly, to his poor grandmother, who has had army on the
brain ever since he passed his exam._). "The service is awfully severe,
by Jove! Look at Colonel Pendragon--he invariably _shoots or hangs_!"
_His Poor Grandmother._ "Good Heavens, Algy! I hope you won't be in
_his_ regiment!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: COMFORTING

_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!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "DONKEYS HAVE EARS."--_Emily_ (_playing at lawn-tennis
with the new curate_). "What's the game, now, Mr. Miniver?" _Curate._
"Forty--Love." _Irreverent Gardener_ (_overhearing_). "Did y'ever hear
such imperence! 'Love,' indeed! And him not been in the parish above a
week! Just like them parsons!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LAWN-TENNIS UNDER DIFFICULTIES--"PLAY!"

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!)]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Stout Gentleman_ (_whose play had been conspicuously
bad_). "I'm such a wretched feeder, you see, Mrs. Klipper--a wretched
feeder! Always was!"

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _She._ "What a fine looking man Mr. O'Brien is!"

_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._)

[Illustration: GENTLEMEN'S DOUBLES]

[Illustration: SMART SERVICE]

[Illustration: LADIES SINGLES]

[Illustration: BACK PLAY]

[Illustration: A SPLENDID RALLY]

[Illustration: SMOTHERING THE BAWL]

[Illustration: DEUCE!]

[Illustration: TWO SETS TO ONE]

[Illustration: PLAYING UP TO THE NET]

[Illustration: LOVE GAME]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

[Illustration: LINE BALL]

[Illustration: OUT OF COURT]

       *       *       *       *       *

MORE LAWN TENNIS LOBS

(_Served by Dumb-Crambo Junior._)

[Illustration: A LET]

[Illustration: 'VAUNT-AGE]

[Illustration: SERVING CAUGHT]

[Illustration: SCREW AND TWISTER]

[Illustration: THE "WRENCHER (RENSHAW) SMASH"]

[Illustration: SMART RETURNS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: GOLDEN MEMORIES.--"I wonder why Mr. Poppstein serves with
three balls?" "Old associations, I suppose."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Smith._ "Let me put your name down for this tournament?"

_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!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PROFESSIONAL JEALOUSY.--_Miss Matilda_ (_referring to her
new lawn tennis shoes, black, with india-rubber soles_). "The worst of
it is, they _draw_ the feet so!" _Our Artist_ (_an ingenuous and
captivating youth_). "Ah, they _may_ draw the feet; but they'll _never
do justice to yours_, Miss Matilda!"

                                                        [_Sighs deeply._

]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: TRIALS OF THE UMPIRE AT A LADIES' DOUBLE

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID

_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!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Excited Young Lady._ "Father, directly this set is over
get introduced to the little man by the fireplace, and make him come to
our party on Tuesday. _Her Father._ "Certainly, my dear, if you wish it.
But--er--he's rather a scrubby little person, isn't he?" _Excited Young
Lady._ "Father, do you know _who_ he is? They tell me he is the amateur
champion of Peckham! I don't suppose he'll play; but if you can get him
just to look in, that will be _something_!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A NICE QUIET GAME FOR THE HOME.--This is only a little
game of "Ping-pong" in progress, and some of the balls are missing!]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PING-PONG IN THE STONE AGE]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: The first time Captain F. tried to play that pony he
picked up so cheaply, he found it true to the description given of it by
the late owner, who guaranteed it _not in the least afraid of the
stick_].

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A LONG SHOT. (_Before the commencement of the polo
match_).--_Young Lady_ (_making her first acquaintance with the game_).
"Oh, I wish you would begin. I'm so anxious to see the sweet ponie kick
the ball about!"

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

]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR LOCAL POLO MATCH

_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!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "If you have any raw ponies, always play them in big
matches; it gets them accustomed to the crowd, and the band, and
things."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AT HURLINGHAM.--_Captain Smith_ (_who is showing his
cousins polo for the first time_). "Well, what do you think of it?"
_Millicent._ "Oh, we think it is a _ripping_ game. It must be such
_awfully_ good practice for croquet!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE POSSIBILITIES OF CROQUET

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"!

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CHARLES KEENESQUE CROQUET PERIOD. 1866]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN OBJECTIONABLE OLD MAN.--_Young Ladies._ "Going to make
a flower-bed here, Smithers? Why, it'll quite spoil our croquet ground!"
_Gardener._ "Well, that's yer Pa's orders, Miss! He'll hev' it laid out
for 'orticultur', not for 'usbandry'".]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SWEET DELUSION.--_Chorus of Young Ladies_ (_speaking
technically_). "No _spooning_, Mr. Lovel! No _spooning_ allowed _here_!"
_Miss Tabitha_ (_with the long curls_). "Those naughty, _n-n-naughty_
girls! I suppose they allude to you and me, Mr. Lovel. But, lor'! never
mind them!--_I_ don't."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SO READY!--_Snooks_ (_coming out conversationally_). "I
think that every woman who is not out-and-out plain considers herself a
beauty." _Miss Rinkle._ "Does that include _me_?" _Snooks._ "Oh, of
course not!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE MOMENTOUS QUESTION

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: [According to _Country Life_, Croquet, which was revived
last summer, is likely to increase in popularity this year. A splendid
opportunity to revive the pastime and the costumes of the early sixties
at the same time.]

]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN ALARMING THREAT.--_Miss Dora_ (_debating her stroke_).
"I have a great mind to knock you into the bushes Mr. Pipps!"

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

]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LADIES AT HOCKEY

(_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'!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Di got me to play hockey. Never again!]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "Our great hockey match was in full swing, when a horrid
cow, from the adjoining meadow, strolled on the ground. Play was by
general consent postponed."]

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Major Bunker_ (_who has been persuaded to join in a game
of hockey for the first time, absent-mindedly preparing to drive_).
"Fore."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR LADIES' HOCKEY CLUB

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.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Extract from Mabel's Correspondence._--"We had a scratch
game with the 'Black and Blue' club yesterday, but had an awful job to
get any men. Enid's brother and a friend of his turned up at the last
moment; but they didn't do much except call 'offside' or 'foul' every
other minute, and they were both as nervous as cats!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR LADIES' HOCKEY CLUB

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HARE AND HOUNDS--AND MAY THEIR SHADOWS NEVER GROW
LESS.--_Mrs. Miniver._ "How exhausted they look, poor fellows! Fancy
doing that sort of thing for mere pleasure!" _Little Timpkins_ (_his
bosom swelling with national pride_). "Ah, but it's all through doing
that sort of thing for _mere pleasure_, mind you, that we English
are--_what we are_!"

                                           [_Bully for little Timpkins!_

]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HARE AND HOUNDS--AND DONKEY

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HAPPY THOUGHT.--The good old game of "Hare and Hounds,"
or "Paper-Chase," is still played in the northern suburbs of London
during the winter. Why should not young ladies be the hares?]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A MEETING OF THE "BANDY" ASSOCIATION

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SHAKSPEARE ILLUSTRATED

"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."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Little Jones_ (_to lady who has just collided with
him_). "I-I-I-I beg your pardon! I-I-I hope I haven't hurt you!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: GENUINE ENTHUSIASM

(_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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "Oh, I say, they're gone for a rope or something. Awfully
sorry, you know, I can't come any nearer, but I'll stay here and talk to
you."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Nemesis.--Inquisitive Old Gentleman. "Who's won?"

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._)

[Illustration: CORNER]

[Illustration: FLYING MAN]

[Illustration: POST AND BACK UP POST]

[Illustration: LONG BEHIND AND SHORT BEHIND]

[Illustration: OLD EAT-ONIONS]

[Illustration: THE USUAL BULLY]

[Illustration: AFTER THE KICK-OFF JAMES EFFECTED A FINE RUN,]

[Illustration: WHICH HE FINISHED UP BY SENDING THE BALL JUST OVER THE
CROSS BAR]

[Illustration: CHANGE WAS ANNOUNCED]

[Illustration: A SCRIM-AGE]

[Illustration: TIME WAS THEN CALLED]

[Illustration: THEY MADE ONE ROUGE]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: How the goal-keeper appears to the opposing forward, who
is about to shoot.]

[Illustration: And how the goal-keeper _feels_ when the opposing forward
is about to shoot.]

       *       *       *       *       *

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!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Uncle Dick._ "Ah yes, cricket is a fine game, no
doubt--a very fine game. But football now! That's the game to make your
hair curl!"]

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

       *       *       *       *       *

ETON FOOTBALL

(_By Dumb-Crambo Junior._)

[Illustration: MIXED WALL "GAME"]

[Illustration: FOUR SHIES TO LOVE]

[Illustration: THE "DEMONS" TOOK PART IN THE GAME.--_Newspaper Report_]

[Illustration: FURKING OUT THE _BAWL_ FROM THE BULLIES]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ANIMAL SPIRITS

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!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ASSOCIATION _V._ RUGBY

_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.

[Illustration: "The Shinner Quartette;" or, Musical Football.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: RESEARCHES IN ANCIENT SPORTS.--Football match. Romulus
Rovers _v_. Nero Half-Backs.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS.--The annual football match between the
Old Red Sandstone Rovers and the Pliocene Wanderers was immensely and
deservedly popular!!]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SUNDAY FOOTBALL.--"Just look what your boys have done to
my hat, Mrs. Jones!" "Oh, the dears! Oh, I _am_ so sorry! Now, Tom and
Harry, say how sorry _you_ are, and Mr. Lambourne won't mind!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "SOCKER" ON THE BRAIN.--_Harry._ "Smart sort that on the
right--forward." _Tom_ (_a devoted "footer"_). "Right forward? Oh! no
good forward; but looks like making a fair 'half-back'!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EXCHANGE!

_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.

[Illustration]

_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.

[Illustration]

(_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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "LAST, BUT NOT LEAST"

"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!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: IN SEARCH OF A "CERTAINTY."--_Cautious Gambler._ "Four to
one be blowed! I want a chaunce of gettin' a bit for my money."
_Bookmaker._ "Tell you what you want. You ought to join a burial
society. Sure to get somethin' out o' that!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN ECHO FROM EPSOM.--"Wot's the matter, Chawley?"
"Matter! See that hinnercent babby there? 'E's got 'is pockets full o'
tin tacks!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR GIRLS?

(_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."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: COLD COMFORT.--Scene--_Badly beaten horse walking in with
crowd. First Sporting Gent (to second ditto, who has plunged
disastrously on his advice)._ "Told yer he was a foregorne conclusion
for this race, did I? Well, and what more d'yer want? Ain't he jolly
well the conclusion of it?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DERBY DAY. DOWN THE ROAD.--Matches that strike upon the
box.]

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW TO WIN THE DERBY

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

[Illustration]

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!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AT THE POST.--_First Gentleman Rider._ "Who is the swell
on the lame horse?" _Second Gentleman Rider._ "Oh--forget his name--he's
the son of the great furniture man, don'tcherknow." _First Gentleman
Rider._ "Goes as if he had a caster off, eh?"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ASCOT WEEK RACING NOTE

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Uncle._ "Ah, Milly, I'm afraid you've lost your money
over that one. He's gone the wrong way!"

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE JOYS OF A GENTLEMAN RIDER

_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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EASY PROBLEM PICTURE. "NAME THE WINNER!"

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: RESPICE FINEM

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!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HIS FIRST BOOK. (_At a Provincial Race
Meeting_).--_Novice._ "Look here, I've taken ten to one against
_Blueglass_, and I've given twelve to one against him! What do I stand
to win?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE HUNT STEEPLE-CHASE SEASON

_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_)

[Illustration: SIRE (SIGHER)]

AND

[Illustration: DAM!]

[Illustration: MAIDEN ALLOWANCE]

[Illustration: SETTLING AT THE CLUBS]

[Illustration: AN OBJECTION ON THE GROUND OF "BORING"]

[Illustration: WINNING BY A CLEVER HEAD]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Owner._ "Why didn't you ride as I told you? Didn't I
tell you to force the pace early and come away at the corner?"

_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._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HEARD AT NEWMARKET

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A MOTOR-HORSE STEEPLE-CHASE]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS

Even the "Derby" had its primeval counterpart.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Brown._ "Confound it! Done again! I lose on every race.
(_To barber._) Here's your shilling."

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

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SPORTING EVENT--A RECORD

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.

[Illustration]

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.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "NON EST INVENTUS"

(_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.

[Illustration]

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





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