TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE.
Some pages of this work have been moved from the original sequence to enable the contents to continue without interruption. The page numbering remains unaltered.

MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF SPORTS

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.

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.

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

WITH 225 ILLUSTRATIONS
PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"

THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.

The Punch Library of Humour

Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages fully illustrated

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

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

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

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

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

MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF SPORTS

"The British "Sphere of Influence."—The cricket ball.

Cricketers who ought to be Good Hands at Playing a Tie.—"The Eleven of Notts."

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

A Model Cricket Match.—One that begins with a "draw," but does not end with one.

Epitaph on a Cricketer.—"Over!"

A Cricketing Paradox.—Any eleven can make a score.

LORD'S!

There's a glorious sanctum of cricket,

Away in the Wood of St. John;

No spot in creation can lick it

For the game at which Grace is the "don."

Though Melbourne may claim a "Medina,"

The "Mecca" of cricket must be

In the beautiful classic arena,

The home of the "old" M. C. C.

Home, sweet home of the M. C. C.,

Ever my fancy is turning to thee!

Up with King Willow and down with the dumps

Hark to the rattle of leather and stumps.

Oh, what a rapturous thrill it affords!

Give yourself up to the magic of "Lord's."

Scoring for Dr. Grace.—"A running commentary."

All Work and no Play.—The umpire's part.

The Irrepressible Joker Again (on bail.)—

Q. Where ought ducks' eggs to be most readily found? A. At the Oval.

[Bail estreated.

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.

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.

"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!

"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!"

"'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.

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.)

MARROW-BONE CLUB

A DOMESTIC FIXTURE

A RISING PLAYER

A PROMISING YOUNG BOWLER

TRIAL MATCHES

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.

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.)

A PATIENT INNINGS

A CUT IN FRONT OF POINT

OVER!

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.)

A FORWARD STYLE

OUT WITH A BEAUTIFUL BAILER

COLLARING THE BOWLING

A PROMINENT PLAYER

SENT BACK WITH A SHOOTER

A DIFFICULT WICKET

FAIR CRICKETERS

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

You may play the game of Cricket, like the men well known to fame,

And be good "all round," like some folks at that fascinating game;

You may bowl like Mr. Spofforth at the Demon's deadly pace,

You may lead a team like Harris, and may bat like Doctor Grace;

But in vain your skill and prowess—can you dare to win the day,

Although hope may spring eternal, when the Ladies come to play?

They have conquered us at Croquet, though philosophers might scoff,

And the masculine intelligence was beaten by "two off."

As a vehicle for flirting we acknowledged all its charms,

And gay soldiers fell before it, although used to war's alarms;

But they held me-thinks their cricket-bats as doughty as their swords,

And they never dreamt of Ladies at the Oval or at Lord's.

Then we turned to Roller-skating, how the God of Love must wink

As he ponders o'er the havoc wrought on many a pleasant rink;

There the Ladies, as their wont is, held indubitable sway,

As they circled like the seagull in as fair and facile way;

And we yielded, though at Prince's woman held all hearts in thrall,

For we thought of our one Empire, that of Cricket—bat and ball.

Comes the era of Lawn Tennis, when the balls spin o'er the net,

What avail the "Renshaw smashes" when the Ladies win the "sett,"

And the boldest of all volleys will be found of little use

When the women gain "advantage," their opponents at the "deuce."

So we leave the lawn to Ladies, it were graceful there to yield;

But we thought that still at Cricket we were masters of the field.

THE LAST BALL OF THE SEASON

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.

"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!"

Vain the hope, for lo! the Ladies give poor Men no hour of peace.

Can we dare to "pop the question" when they front the "popping-crease"?

Though with "leg before the wicket" your short innings may be o'er,

Will the umpire be as truthful when it's "petticoat before"?

So lay down "the willow," batsmen, and, oh, bowler, leave the wicket,

Ye must yield once more to Woman, for the Ladies now play Cricket!

At the 'Varsity Cricket Match.—Newcomer (to Gent in front). If you would kindly move your head an eighth of an inch, I think that by standing on tip-toe I might be able, between the box-seat and body of that carriage, to ascertain the colour of long leg's cap.

Pudding it Plainly.—Why is a promising cricketer like flour and eggs?

Because he's calculated to make a good batter.

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

The Real "Triple Alliance."—A three-figure innings at cricket.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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!!"

EATIN' v. HARROW

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.

SUGGESTION FOR THE CRICKET SEASON
The new pneumatic leg guard. (Mr. Punch's patent.)

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!

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.

WINNING THE TOSS

FOLLOWING ON, AND OPENING WITH A WIDE

EXCELLENT FIELDING

LONG STOP

BOWLING HIS OFF STUMP

CAUGHT AT THE WICKET

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?

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.">[

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!"

"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.

BOWLING STARTED WITH A MAIDEN

A CUT FOR THREE

A DRIVE TO THE OFF FOR A COUPLE

CAUGHT AT SLIP

TAKEN AT POINT

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."

Two Sides to a Question.--Major Podmore. "Congratulate you, dear boy!" Disappointed Cricketer. "What do you mean? Bowled first ball--never got a run!" Major Podmore. "Quite so, dear boy. But in this hot weather--80° in the shade--so much better, if you can, to take things coolly!"

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.

LONG LEG AND SHORT LEG

SHORT MID OFF

CUTTING FOR FOUR

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

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!

"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.

STUMPED

CAUGHT OUT

RUN OUT

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 2s. 6d. 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.

PITCHING THE WICKET

A MAIDEN OVER——?

A DRIVE TO THE PAVILION

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.

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!"

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!

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.

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.

"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."

OUR VILLAGE CRICKET CLUB
II

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

OUR VILLAGE CRICKET CLUB
III

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——

OUR VILLAGE CRICKET CLUB
IV

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."

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.)

Lucy Mildmay (who is fond of technical terms). "By the way—a—are they playing 'Rugby' or 'Association'?"

"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!

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GENUINE ENTHUSIASM

Sweet Name for Young Ladies playing Croquet.—Hammerdryads.

The Poet of Croquet.—Mallet.

LAWN-TENNIS COSTUME
(Designed by Mr. Punch.)

"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!"

"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!"

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?"

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!"

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!"

"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!"

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!)

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!"