ALL THE YEAR ROUND;
Or, Keeping Up the Ball.
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."
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!"
MR. PUNCH KEEPS HIS EYE ON CRICKET
Toast for Tavern Landlords.—The Cricketer, who always runs up a score by his innings.
Appropriate Cricket Ground.—Battersy-Park.
Things to which Cricketing Members of the Anti-Gambling League are Addicted.—"Pitch" and "Toss."
Dr. W. G. Grace's Favourite Dish.—"Batter pudding."
At the Eton and Harrow Match.—Simperton. What, you in light blue, Miss Gloriosa! I thought you were Harrovian to the core!
Miss Gloriosa. So I am, but I'm also Cambridge, and as I can't possibly afford two new dresses in one week, I decided to choose the most becoming colour!
[And Simperton of the dark blue was quite satisfied with the explanation.