THE LAST TOURNAMENT
(Of Tennis—in the North).
By a Manchester Enthusiast of Tennis-onian Tastes and Hibernian Sympathies.
["For once in a way the Northern Tournament, which has long boasted of being second only to Wimbledon, has not proved an unqualified success.... The withdrawal of Messrs. Pim and Stoker must for some time be severely felt by tournaments of first-class importance."—Bradford Observer.]
Air—"The Battle of the Baltic."
Of Tennis in the North,
Sing the—more or less—renown!
But—some champions of worth
From the netted lists are flown;
The Great Brethren from the verdant courts are gone!
Once they mustered a brave band,
Lawford long, and Lewis grand,
Whilst the Renshaws, hand o'er hand,
Smashed—and won!
Now the other—Baddeley—twins
Have it nearly their own way;
And they score repeated wins,
Though the Allens, too, can play,
And can send a swift one down the centre line.
When those twins are on the job
It is little use to lob.
Then there's Barlow,—bet your bob
He is fine!
But the might of England flush'd
In those courts of emerald sheen.
Wilfrid flew, and H. B. rush'd.—
Oh! the wearing of the Green!—
Where is Irish Pim, where Stoker, that great gun?
Though they smashed and volley'd madly,
The Hibernians murmured sadly,
"Faix! Auld Erin's beaten—Baddeley
At this fun!"
Then there's sweet Miss Dod again!
Oh, how sad it seems, and odd.
To survey the chalk-marged plain
In the absence of Miss Dod,
Who they say is wholly given up to Golf!!!
Shall the links then lick the Court?
Tennis champions run short?
And the slaves of the Scotch sport
Jeer and scoff?
True Mahoney and Miss Martin
Did their best our sport to save;
And Miss Cooper took stout part
In mixed doubles—which was brave:
But where was Mrs. Hillyard, "whom we knew?"
(As Ulysses said of him
In the Shades.) Oh, Stoker, Pim!
E'en bright Manchester looked dim
Missing you!
Still, joy, Old England, raise!
For the tidings of your might!
Yet we hope that Golfing craze
Will not come, like a big blight,
And seduce our Dods and Renshaws any more.
For to mar the sweet content
Of our Northern Tournament,
By much time on links misspent
Were a Bore!!!
"The Seeley Lecturers."—We have a wholesome dread of lecturers generally. Perhaps the more learned the lecturer, the greater the boredom to the listeners, specially if the latter be frivolously inclined. But in any case, if lectures must be, then we would rather hear a Wise lecturer than a Seeley one. On second thoughts, the only entertaining Seeley Lecturer that we know is the one at the Zoo, who discourses on, while exhibiting, the seal.
AT A FRENCH HOTEL.
"Tell him to clean your Boots, John—and mine too."
"All right. Er—Garçong, nettoyez may Bot, si voo play—et aussee mah Fam!"