Part 2

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.

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_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!_

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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."

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TO CRICKETERS.--What would you give a thirsty batsman? Why, a _full pitcher_.

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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.

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WICKET JOKES

_By Dumb-Crambo Junior._

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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?

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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.

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CRICKET

_Drawn with a stump by Dumb-Crambo Junior._

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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."

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WHAT is the companion game to Parlour Croquet? Cricket on the Hearth.

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EPITAPH ON AN OLD CRICKETER'S TOMBSTONE.--"Out at 70."

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OPERATIC SONG FOR A CRICKETER.--"_Batti, Batti!_"

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SENTIMENT FOR A CRICKET CLUB DINNER.--May the British Umpire rule the wide world over.

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CRICKET HITS

_By Dumb-Crambo, off his own bat._

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THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES.--_Middlesex_ v. _Sussex_.

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CRICKET MATCH TO COME OFF.--The Teetotallers' Eleven _v._ The Licensed Victuallers'.

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STUMP ORATIONS.--Speeches at cricket-club dinners.

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OUR VILLAGE ELEVEN

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!

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COCKNEY MOTTO FOR A FEEBLE CRICKETER.--"Take 'Art of GRACE!"

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GOOD NEWS AFTER THE LAST CRICKET MATCH.--Rest for the wicket.

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CRICKET HITS

_By Dumb-Crambo, off his own bat._

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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.

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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_.

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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.

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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.

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CRICKET HITS

_By Dumb-Crambo, off his own bat._

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TO BE SEEN FOR NOTHING.--The play of the features.

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MOTTO FOR BRITISH CRICKETERS.--Strike only at the ball!

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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.

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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."

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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.

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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_!

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MILTONIC MEDITATION (_by a looker-on at lawn-tennis_).--"They also _serve_ who only stand and wait."

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APPROPRIATE TO THE SEASON.--_Q._ What is double as good a game as Fives?--_A._ (_evident_) Tennis.

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GOING TO THE DEUCE.--Getting thirty to forty at lawn-tennis.

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SUGGESTION TO PROVINCIAL LAWN-TENNIS CLUB.--Why not give lawn-tennis balls in costume during the winter?

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MOST APPROPRIATE ATTIRE.--A "grass-lawn" tennis costume.

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THE GAME FOR RACKETY BISHOPS.--Lawn-tennis.

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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.

II

III

IV

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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.

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THE PLACE FOR LAWN-TENNIS.--"_Way down in Tennessee._"

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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!

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MOTTO FOR CROQUET.--"She Stoops to Conquer."

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IN-DOOR AMUSEMENT FOR OLD PEOPLE.--The game of croakey.

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HOW TO LEARN TO LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.--Play at croquet.

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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._)

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A PLAYER who sprained his wrist at lawn-tennis explained that "he had been trying a regular _wrenchaw_, and did it effectually."

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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!

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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.

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