Part 3

"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._

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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.

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

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THE POET OF CROQUET.--Mallet.

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LAWN-TENNIS LOBS

(_Served by Dumb-Crambo Junior._)

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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.

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MORE LAWN TENNIS LOBS

(_Served by Dumb-Crambo Junior._)

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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"!

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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.

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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'!_"

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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.

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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.

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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.

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MOTTO FOR AN IMPECUNIOUS FOOTBALL CLUB.--"More kicks than halfpence."

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"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."