Fallen skater.SHAKSPEARE ILLUSTRATED"I am down again!"—Cymbeline, Act V., Sc. 5.
SHAKSPEARE ILLUSTRATED"I am down again!"—Cymbeline, Act V., Sc. 5.
Farewell to thee, Cricket,Thy last match is o'er;Thy bat, ball, and wicketAre needed no more.To thy sister we turn,For her coming we pray;Her worshippers burnFor the heat of the fray.Hail! Goddess of battle,Yet hated of Ma(r)s,How ceaseless their tattleOf tumbles and scars!Such warnings are vain,For thy rites we prepare,Youth is yearning againIn thy perils to share.Broken limbs and black eyesMay, perchance, be our lot;But grant goals and tiesAnd we care not a jot.Too sacred to nameWith thy posts, ball, and field,There is no winter gameTo which thou canst yield.
Farewell to thee, Cricket,Thy last match is o'er;Thy bat, ball, and wicketAre needed no more.To thy sister we turn,For her coming we pray;Her worshippers burnFor the heat of the fray.
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 tattleOf tumbles and scars!Such warnings are vain,For thy rites we prepare,Youth is yearning againIn thy perils to share.
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 eyesMay, perchance, be our lot;But grant goals and tiesAnd we care not a jot.Too sacred to nameWith thy posts, ball, and field,There is no winter gameTo which thou canst yield.
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.
Motto for an Impecunious Football Club.—"More kicks than halfpence."
Dinosaurs and people skatingPREHISTORIC PEEPSDuring a considerable portion of the year the skating was excellent, and was much enjoyed by all classes.
PREHISTORIC PEEPS
During a considerable portion of the year the skating was excellent, and was much enjoyed by all classes.
Tiny man, large lady.Little Jones(to lady who has just collided with him). "I-I-I-I beg your pardon! I-I-I hope I haven't hurt you!"
Little Jones(to lady who has just collided with him). "I-I-I-I beg your pardon! I-I-I hope I haven't hurt you!"
Persons skating.GENUINE ENTHUSIASM(A Thaw Picture.)What matter an inch or two of surface-water, if the ice be still sound underneath!
GENUINE ENTHUSIASM(A Thaw Picture.)
What matter an inch or two of surface-water, if the ice be still sound underneath!
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."
I have examined the apparatus for the play you have so kindly sent over,—the great leathern bag of wind which is kicked, "lesGoalpoles," and the regulations for the playing of the game, and have seen your fifteen professional County "kicksmen" engage,—I shudder as I recall the terrible sight,—in a contest, horrible, murderous, and demoniacal, with an equal number of my unhappy compatriots, alas! in their enthusiasm andélan, ignorant of the deadly struggle that awaited them in the game in which they were about innocently to join. To witness the savage rush of your professional kicksmen was terrifying, and when, in displaying "le scrimmage, they scattered, with the kicks of their legs, my fainting compatriots, who fell lamed and wounded in all directions, I said to myself, this "Foote-Balle" is not a pastime, it is an encounter of wild beasts, "un vrai carnage," fit to be played, not by civilised sporting gentlemen, but by cannibals.
But let me explain that it is not the kick to which I object, for is notle coup de piedthe national defence of France? Indeed, in your own fist contest in "Le Boxe-Match," is not to deliver a kick in the jaw of your antagonist considered a meritoriouscoup, showing great skill in the boxe-man? And do not our owngarçons de collègekick aconfrèrewhen he is "down," and point to the circumstance with a legitimate pride and satisfaction? No, it is notle coup de piedwhich makes horrible "Le Foote-Balle," but the conspiracy organised of the kicksmen—Les Demidos(the 'alf-backs),Les En Avants(the Forwards), and the "Goal-keepers"—all to kick the leathern bag of wind at once, and so produce a murderousmêléein which arms, legs, ribs, thighs, necks, and spines are all broken together, and may be heardsimultaneously cracking by any of the terror-struck but helpless spectators who are watching the ghastly contest.
Viewing the game under this aspect, you will not be surprised to hear that my Committee have, as they did in dealing with "Le Cricquette," revised the rules and regulations for the playing of your "Foote-Balle," so as to suit it to the tastes and requirements of the rising generation of our Modern France. I cannot at present furnish you with full details of the suggested modifications, but I may inform you that it has been unanimously decided that the "Balle," which is to be of "some light, airy, floating material, and three times its present size," is not to be touched by the foot atall, but struck lightly by the palm of the hand, and thus wafted harmlessly, with a smart smack, over the heads of the combatants.
As to costume, the game is to be played in white satin bed-room slippers, with (as a protection in the event, spite every possible precaution, of "le scrimmage" arising) feather pillows strapped over the knees and chest. It is calculated by our Committee that the savage proclivities of the game, as fostered by the terrible rules of your murderous "Rugby Association," will be thus, in some measure, counteracted.
Hoping soon to hear from you on the subject of yourCourses d'Eau, as I shall doubtless have some suggestions to make in reference to the conduct of your aquatic contests, receive, Monsieur, the assurance of my most distinguished consideration,
The Secretary to the Congress.
Exactly the same, though not so in name,Are dancing and football "pros."For both money make and salaries takeFor supporting the ball with their toes.
Exactly the same, though not so in name,Are dancing and football "pros."For both money make and salaries takeFor supporting the ball with their toes.
Exactly the same, though not so in name,
Are dancing and football "pros."
For both money make and salaries take
For supporting the ball with their toes.
Man looking at another who has fallen in water."Oh, I say, they're gone for a rope or something. Awfully sorry, you know, I can't come any nearer, but I'll stay here and talk to you."
"Oh, I say, they're gone for a rope or something. Awfully sorry, you know, I can't come any nearer, but I'll stay here and talk to you."
Man asking two others about a load slung between them .Nemesis.--Inquisitive Old Gentleman."Who's won?"First Football Player."We've lost!"Inquisitive Old Gentleman."What have you got in that bag?"Second Football Player."The umpire!"
Nemesis.--Inquisitive Old Gentleman."Who's won?"
First Football Player."We've lost!"
Inquisitive Old Gentleman."What have you got in that bag?"
Second Football Player."The umpire!"
(Reported by Dumb-Crambo Junior.)
Lady applying make up.OBTAINING A ROUGE
OBTAINING A ROUGE
Man mounted backwards on a horse,ENDS WERE CHANGED
ENDS WERE CHANGED
Shoemaker threatiening boy.THE "LAST" BULLY
THE "LAST" BULLY
Men with a clock which has wound down.EXHIBITING A FINE RUN DOWN
EXHIBITING A FINE RUN DOWN
Two buskersPLAYING UP
PLAYING UP
Man ejected from apartment.FAILED TO LODGE, ALTHOUGH KICKED BEHIND SEVERAL TIMES
FAILED TO LODGE, ALTHOUGH KICKED BEHIND SEVERAL TIMES
Boy walking on top of a wall with bull below.WALKED WITH A BULLY UP AND DOWN THE WALL
WALKED WITH A BULLY UP AND DOWN THE WALL
Boys at drinks counter.THE GAME RESULTED IN A DRAW
THE GAME RESULTED IN A DRAW
Giant goalkeeper.How the goal-keeper appears to the opposing forward, who is about to shoot.
How the goal-keeper appears to the opposing forward, who is about to shoot.
Tiny goalkeeper.And how the goal-keeperfeelswhen the opposing forward is about to shoot.
And how the goal-keeperfeelswhen the opposing forward is about to shoot.
(Special Report by Dumb-Crambo Junior.)
Man reading poster for pedicure.CORNER
CORNER
Windswept man.FLYING MAN
FLYING MAN
Boy leaning against a postbox.POST AND BACK UP POST
POST AND BACK UP POST
Back view of disparate boys.LONG BEHIND AND SHORT BEHIND
LONG BEHIND AND SHORT BEHIND
Two men eating pickled onions.OLD EAT-ONIONS
OLD EAT-ONIONS
Boy threatening another.THE USUAL BULLY
THE USUAL BULLY
Boy thrown from horse.AFTER THE KICK-OFF JAMES EFFECTED A FINE RUN,
AFTER THE KICK-OFF JAMES EFFECTED A FINE RUN,
Law courtWHICH HE FINISHED UP BY SENDING THE BALL JUST OVER THE CROSS BAR
WHICH HE FINISHED UP BY SENDING THE BALL JUST OVER THE CROSS BAR
Railway worker shouting change trains.CHANGE WAS ANNOUNCED
CHANGE WAS ANNOUNCED
Woman on chair afraid of mouse.A SCRIM-AGE
A SCRIM-AGE
Man rousing another from sleep.TIME WAS THEN CALLED
TIME WAS THEN CALLED
Actor being made up.THEY MADE ONE ROUGE
THEY MADE ONE ROUGE
An Athletic Father's Lament.
What was it made me cricket snub,And force my seven sons to sub-sidize a local "Rugby" Club?That Foot-ball!Yet, what first drew from me a sigh,When Tom, my eldest, missed a "try,"But got instead a broken thigh?That Foot-ball!What in my second, stalwart Jack,Caused some inside machine to crack,And kept him ten months on his back—?That Foot-ball!What brought my third, unhappy Ted,To fade and sink, and keep his bed,And finally go off his head?—That Foot-ball!My fourth and fifth, poor John and Jim,What made the sight of one so dim?What made the other lack a limb?That Foot-ball!Then Frank, my sixth, who cannot touchThe ground unaided by a crutch,Alas! of what had he too much?That Foot-ball!The seventh ends the mournful line,Poor Stephen with his fractured spine,A debt owe these good sons of mine,That Foot-ball!And as we pass the street-boys cry,"Look at them cripples!" I but sigh,"You're right, my friends. But would you flyA lot like ours; oh, do not tryThat Foot-ball!"
What was it made me cricket snub,And force my seven sons to sub-sidize a local "Rugby" Club?That Foot-ball!
What was it made me cricket snub,
And force my seven sons to sub-
sidize a local "Rugby" Club?
That Foot-ball!
Yet, what first drew from me a sigh,When Tom, my eldest, missed a "try,"But got instead a broken thigh?That Foot-ball!
Yet, what first drew from me a sigh,
When Tom, my eldest, missed a "try,"
But got instead a broken thigh?
That Foot-ball!
What in my second, stalwart Jack,Caused some inside machine to crack,And kept him ten months on his back—?That Foot-ball!
What in my second, stalwart Jack,
Caused some inside machine to crack,
And kept him ten months on his back—?
That Foot-ball!
What brought my third, unhappy Ted,To fade and sink, and keep his bed,And finally go off his head?—That Foot-ball!
What brought my third, unhappy Ted,
To fade and sink, and keep his bed,
And finally go off his head?—
That Foot-ball!
My fourth and fifth, poor John and Jim,What made the sight of one so dim?What made the other lack a limb?That Foot-ball!
My fourth and fifth, poor John and Jim,
What made the sight of one so dim?
What made the other lack a limb?
That Foot-ball!
Then Frank, my sixth, who cannot touchThe ground unaided by a crutch,Alas! of what had he too much?That Foot-ball!
Then Frank, my sixth, who cannot touch
The ground unaided by a crutch,
Alas! of what had he too much?
That Foot-ball!
The seventh ends the mournful line,Poor Stephen with his fractured spine,A debt owe these good sons of mine,That Foot-ball!
The seventh ends the mournful line,
Poor Stephen with his fractured spine,
A debt owe these good sons of mine,
That Foot-ball!
And as we pass the street-boys cry,"Look at them cripples!" I but sigh,"You're right, my friends. But would you flyA lot like ours; oh, do not tryThat Foot-ball!"
And as we pass the street-boys cry,
"Look at them cripples!" I but sigh,
"You're right, my friends. But would you fly
A lot like ours; oh, do not try
That Foot-ball!"
Bald headed man talking to a boy and girl.Uncle Dick."Ah yes, cricket is a fine game, no doubt—a very fine game. But football now! That's the game to make your hair curl!"Miss Dulcie(meditatively). "Do you play football much, uncle?"
Uncle Dick."Ah yes, cricket is a fine game, no doubt—a very fine game. But football now! That's the game to make your hair curl!"
Miss Dulcie(meditatively). "Do you play football much, uncle?"
(By Dumb-Crambo Junior.)
Boy shooting at cat and fowl.MIXED WALL "GAME"
MIXED WALL "GAME"
Boys' looking at lady.FOUR SHIES TO LOVE
FOUR SHIES TO LOVE
Two demonic figures playing rugby football.THE "DEMONS" TOOK PART IN THE GAME.—Newspaper Report
THE "DEMONS" TOOK PART IN THE GAME.—Newspaper Report
Boy fighting two bullies.FURKING OUT THEBAWLFROM THE BULLIES
FURKING OUT THEBAWLFROM THE BULLIES
Cartoon team of animalsANIMAL SPIRITSFootball. "The Zambesi Scorchers."
ANIMAL SPIRITSFootball. "The Zambesi Scorchers."
[Hardly a week passes without our hearing of one or more dangerous accidents at football.]
A manly game it is, I think,Although in private be it spoken,While at a scrimmage I don't shrink,That bones may be too often broken.I snapped my clavicle last week,Just like the rib of an umbrella;And sprained my ankle, not to speakOf something wrong with mypatella.Last season, too, my leg I broke,And lay at home an idle dreamer,It's not considered quite a jokeTo contemplate a brokenfemur.And when, despite the doctor's hints,Again at foot-ball I had tussles,I found myself once more in splints,With damaged gastronomic muscles.Some three times every week my head,Is cut, contused, or sorely shaken;My friends expect me brought home dead,But up to now I've saved my bacon.But what are broken bones, my boys,Compared with noble recreation?The scrimmages and all the joysOf Rugby or Association!
A manly game it is, I think,Although in private be it spoken,While at a scrimmage I don't shrink,That bones may be too often broken.I snapped my clavicle last week,Just like the rib of an umbrella;And sprained my ankle, not to speakOf something wrong with mypatella.
A manly game it is, I think,
Although in private be it spoken,
While at a scrimmage I don't shrink,
That bones may be too often broken.
I snapped my clavicle last week,
Just like the rib of an umbrella;
And sprained my ankle, not to speak
Of something wrong with mypatella.
Last season, too, my leg I broke,And lay at home an idle dreamer,It's not considered quite a jokeTo contemplate a brokenfemur.And when, despite the doctor's hints,Again at foot-ball I had tussles,I found myself once more in splints,With damaged gastronomic muscles.
Last season, too, my leg I broke,
And lay at home an idle dreamer,
It's not considered quite a joke
To contemplate a brokenfemur.
And when, despite the doctor's hints,
Again at foot-ball I had tussles,
I found myself once more in splints,
With damaged gastronomic muscles.
Some three times every week my head,Is cut, contused, or sorely shaken;My friends expect me brought home dead,But up to now I've saved my bacon.But what are broken bones, my boys,Compared with noble recreation?The scrimmages and all the joysOf Rugby or Association!
Some three times every week my head,
Is cut, contused, or sorely shaken;
My friends expect me brought home dead,
But up to now I've saved my bacon.
But what are broken bones, my boys,
Compared with noble recreation?
The scrimmages and all the joys
Of Rugby or Association!
Lady suffering from violent dancing.ASSOCIATIONV.RUGBYShe(plaintively—to famous Rugby half-back). "Wouldit get you very much out of practice if we were to dance 'socker' a little."
ASSOCIATIONV.RUGBY
She(plaintively—to famous Rugby half-back). "Wouldit get you very much out of practice if we were to dance 'socker' a little."
(With acknowledgments to Mr. C. B. Fry in the "Daily Express")
Dear old Pals,—I want to speak to you seriously and as man to man, because you're not mere dead hide, are you? No, no, you are intelligent, sentient soles, and to be treated as such by every player.
Ah! booties, booties, you little beauties, what a lot you mean to us, don't you? and how hardly we use you.
I've known men to take you off after a game, hurl you—as Jove hurled his thunderbolts—into a corner of the pav. and there leave you till you are next required.
Ah! old men, that's not right, is it? How would we great machines of bone, muscle, and nerve-centre (ah! those nerve-centres, what tricky things they are!), how would we be for the next match if we were treated like that? Pretty stiff and stale, eh, old booties?
Now, look here, when we come in after a hard,slogging game, our bodies and the grey matter in our brains thoroughly exhausted, immediately we've had our bath, our rub-down, and our cup of steaming hot Hercubos (I find Hercubos the finest thing to keep fit on during a hard season) we must turn our attention to you, booties.
First, out from our little bag must come our piece of clean, sweet selvyt. With it all that nasty black slime that gets into your pores and makes you crack must be wiped off. Now, before a good blazing fire of coal—not coke, mind, the fumes of a coke fire pale and de-oxygenate the red corpuscles of our blood, you know—we must carefully warm you till you are ripe to receive a real good dousing of our Porpo (I find Porpo the finest thing for keeping boots soft and pliable).
Finally, with a white silk handkerchief we must give you a soft polishing, and there you are, sweet and trim against our next match. Every morning you may be sure we will, like Boreas, drive away the clouds of dust that collect on you.
And then there are the laces to attend to. Oh, yes, your laces are like our nerve-fibres, the little threads that keep the whole big body taut andsound. They, too, must have a good rubbing of Porpo and a rest if they need it.
Ah! and won't you repay our trouble, booties, when next we slip you on? How tightly you will clasp us just above the tubercles of our tibiæ, how firmly you will grip our pliant toes, how you will help us to send the ball swishing—low and swift—into the well-tarred net!
Good-night, booties.
The "Ball of the Season."—Foot-ball.
Appropriate Football Fixture for the Fifth of November.—A match against Guy's.
Rough play in football match"The Shinner Quartette;" or, Musical Football.
"The Shinner Quartette;" or, Musical Football.
Roman football match.Researches in Ancient Sports.Football match. Romulus Roversv. Nero Half-Backs.
Researches in Ancient Sports.
Football match. Romulus Roversv. Nero Half-Backs.
Prehistoric football match.Prehistoric Peeps.The annual football match between the Old Red Sandstone Rovers and the Pliocene Wanderers was immensely and deservedly popular!!
Prehistoric Peeps.
The annual football match between the Old Red Sandstone Rovers and the Pliocene Wanderers was immensely and deservedly popular!!
Man showing damaged hat.Sunday Football."Just look what your boys have done to my hat, Mrs. Jones!""Oh, the dears! Oh, Iamso sorry! Now, Tom and Harry, say how sorryyouare, and Mr. Lambourne won't mind!"
Sunday Football.
"Just look what your boys have done to my hat, Mrs. Jones!"
"Oh, the dears! Oh, Iamso sorry! Now, Tom and Harry, say how sorryyouare, and Mr. Lambourne won't mind!"
Men discussing women."Socker"on the Brain.Harry."Smart sort that on the right—forward."Tom(a devoted "footer"). "Right forward? Oh! no good forward; but looks like making a fair 'half-back'!"
"Socker"on the Brain.
Harry."Smart sort that on the right—forward."
Tom(a devoted "footer"). "Right forward? Oh! no good forward; but looks like making a fair 'half-back'!"
Man changing his clothes.EXCHANGE!Togswell (in the washing room at the office, proceeding to dress for the De Browncy's dinner-party)."Hullo! What the dooce"—(pulling out, in dismay, from black bag, a pair of blue flannel tights, a pink striped jersey, and a spiked canvas shoe).—"Confound it! Yes!—I must have taken that fellow's bag who said he was going to the athletic sports this afternoon, and he's got mine with my dress clothes!!"
EXCHANGE!
Togswell (in the washing room at the office, proceeding to dress for the De Browncy's dinner-party)."Hullo! What the dooce"—(pulling out, in dismay, from black bag, a pair of blue flannel tights, a pink striped jersey, and a spiked canvas shoe).—"Confound it! Yes!—I must have taken that fellow's bag who said he was going to the athletic sports this afternoon, and he's got mine with my dress clothes!!"
Scene—In Town.JonesmeetsBrown.
Bookmaker calling odds.
Jones.Going to Epsom?
Brown.No, I think not. Fact is, the place gets duller year by year. The train has knocked the fun out of the road.
Jones.Such a waste of time. Why go in a crowd to see some horses race, when you can read all about it in the evening papers?
Brown.Just so. No fun. No excitement. And the Downs are wretched if it rains or snows.
Jones.Certainly. The luncheon, too, is all very well; but, after all, it spoils one's dinner.
Brown.Distinctly. And champagne at two o'clock is premature.
Jones.And lobster-salad undoubtedly indigestible.So it's much better not to go to the Derby—in spite of the luncheon.
Brown.Yes,—in spite of the luncheon.
Jockey in riding colours.
(Two hours pass. Scene changes to Epsom.)
Jones.Hullo! You here?
Brown.Hullo! And if it comes to that, you here, too?
Jones.Well, I really found so little doing in town that I thought I might be here as well as anywhere else.
Brown.Just my case. Not that there's much to see or do. Silly as usual.
Jones.Quite. Always said the Derby was a fraud. But I am afraid, my dear fellow, I must hurry away, as I have got to get back to my party for luncheon.
Brown.So have I.
[Exeunt severally.
MAXIM FOR THE DERBY DAY
There's many a slip'Twixt the race and the tip.
There's many a slip'Twixt the race and the tip.
There's many a slip
'Twixt the race and the tip.
Jockey discussing another."LAST, BUT NOT LEAST""Why do you call him a good jockey! He never rides a winner." "That just proves it. He can finish last on the best horse in the race!"
"LAST, BUT NOT LEAST"
"Why do you call him a good jockey! He never rides a winner." "That just proves it. He can finish last on the best horse in the race!"
Man talking to bookmaker.In Search of a "Certainty."Cautious Gambler."Four to one be blowed! I want a chaunce of gettin' a bit for my money."Bookmaker."Tell you what you want. You ought to join a burial society. Sure to get somethin' out o' that!"
In Search of a "Certainty."
Cautious Gambler."Four to one be blowed! I want a chaunce of gettin' a bit for my money."
Bookmaker."Tell you what you want. You ought to join a burial society. Sure to get somethin' out o' that!"
Two pickpockets talking.An Echo from Epsom."Wot's the matter, Chawley?""Matter! See that hinnercent babby there? 'E's got 'is pockets full o' tin tacks!"
An Echo from Epsom.
"Wot's the matter, Chawley?"
"Matter! See that hinnercent babby there? 'E's got 'is pockets full o' tin tacks!"
Mam lecturing group of ladies.WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR GIRLS?(Why not give them a few lessons in the science of book-making?)Mr. Professor."And now, ladies, having closed our book on the favourite, and the betting being seven to three bar one, I will show you how to work out the odds against the double event."
WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR GIRLS?
(Why not give them a few lessons in the science of book-making?)
Mr. Professor."And now, ladies, having closed our book on the favourite, and the betting being seven to three bar one, I will show you how to work out the odds against the double event."
Men discussing horse.Cold Comfort.Scene—Badly beaten horse walking in with crowd.First Sporting Gent (to second ditto, who has plunged disastrously on his advice)."Told yer he was a foregorne conclusion for this race, did I? Well, and what more d'yer want? Ain't he jolly well the conclusion of it?"
Cold Comfort.Scene—Badly beaten horse walking in with crowd.
First Sporting Gent (to second ditto, who has plunged disastrously on his advice)."Told yer he was a foregorne conclusion for this race, did I? Well, and what more d'yer want? Ain't he jolly well the conclusion of it?"
Donkey cart alongside coach and four.Derby Day. Down the Road.—Matches that strike upon the box.
Derby Day. Down the Road.—Matches that strike upon the box.
(By one who has all but done it.)
Jockey on hobby horse,
Take great care in purchasing a really good colt. Don't let expense stand in your way, but be sure you get for money money's worth.
Obtain the most experienced trainer in the market, and confide your colt to his care. But, at the same time, let him have the advantage of your personal encouragement and the opinion of those of your sporting friends upon whose judgment you can place reliance.
When the day of the great race draws near, secure the most reliable jockey and every other advantage that you can obtain for your valuable animal.
Then, having taken every precaution to win the Derby, why—win it!
Two riders discussing another.At the Post.First Gentleman Rider."Who is the swell on the lame horse?"Second Gentleman Rider."Oh—forget his name—he's the son of the great furniture man, don'tcherknow."First Gentleman Rider."Goes as if he had a caster off, eh?"
At the Post.
First Gentleman Rider."Who is the swell on the lame horse?"
Second Gentleman Rider."Oh—forget his name—he's the son of the great furniture man, don'tcherknow."
First Gentleman Rider."Goes as if he had a caster off, eh?"
Sailor fighting a chimney sweep.ASCOT WEEK RACING NOTEGoing in for a sweep.
ASCOT WEEK RACING NOTEGoing in for a sweep.
On the Course.
Angelina.What do they mean, dear, by the Outside Ring?
Edwin.Oh! that's the place where we always back outsiders. A splendid institution!
[So it was, till Edwin fell among gentlemen from Wales.
At the Close of the Racing Season.
Owner (to friend, pointing to disappointing colt).There he is, as well bred as any horse in the world, but can't win a race. Now what's to be done with him?
Friend (suddenly inspired).Harness the beast in front of a motor-car. He'llhaveto travel, then.
Real Autumn Handy-Cap.—A deerstalker.
Uncle talking to neice.Uncle."Ah, Milly, I'm afraid you've lost your money over that one. He's gone the wrong way!"Milly (at her first race-meeting)."Oh, no, uncle, I'm all right. George told me to back it 'both ways.'"
Uncle."Ah, Milly, I'm afraid you've lost your money over that one. He's gone the wrong way!"
Milly (at her first race-meeting)."Oh, no, uncle, I'm all right. George told me to back it 'both ways.'"
Trainer talking to jockey.THE JOYS OF A GENTLEMAN RIDERTrainer (to G. R., who has taken a chance mount)."So glad you turned up. This horse is such a rocky jumper you know, I can't get a professional to ride him."
THE JOYS OF A GENTLEMAN RIDER
Trainer (to G. R., who has taken a chance mount)."So glad you turned up. This horse is such a rocky jumper you know, I can't get a professional to ride him."
Very Racy.—Q.When a parent gives his son the "straight tip" about a race, what vegetable does he recall to one's mind?
A.Pa ('s)-snip, of course.
Two men talking
EASY PROBLEM PICTURE. "NAME THE WINNER!"
Judging from their countenances, which of these two, who have just returned from a race meeting, has "made a bit"?
Man deep in thought.RESPICE FINEMScene—A little race meeting, under local rules and management.Starter."'Ere's a pretty mess! Two runners—the favourite won't start—and if I let the other win, the crowd 'll just about murder me!"
RESPICE FINEMScene—A little race meeting, under local rules and management.
Starter."'Ere's a pretty mess! Two runners—the favourite won't start—and if I let the other win, the crowd 'll just about murder me!"
Group of menHis First Book.(At a Provincial Race Meeting).Novice."Look here, I've taken ten to one againstBlueglass, and I've given twelve to one against him! What do I stand to win?"
His First Book.(At a Provincial Race Meeting).
Novice."Look here, I've taken ten to one againstBlueglass, and I've given twelve to one against him! What do I stand to win?"
Horse race in progress.THE HUNT STEEPLE-CHASE SEASONThe Joys of a Gentleman Rider.Voice from the Crowd."Now, then, guv'nor, take care you don't get sunburnt!"
THE HUNT STEEPLE-CHASE SEASONThe Joys of a Gentleman Rider.
Voice from the Crowd."Now, then, guv'nor, take care you don't get sunburnt!"
(By D. Crambo, Junior)
Man serenading.SIRE (SIGHER)
SIRE (SIGHER)
AND
Water being thrown over serenader.DAM!
DAM!
Man refusing to increase daughter's allowance.MAIDEN ALLOWANCE
MAIDEN ALLOWANCE
Man attacking another.SETTLING AT THE CLUBS
SETTLING AT THE CLUBS
Two men talking.AN OBJECTION ON THE GROUND OF "BORING"
AN OBJECTION ON THE GROUND OF "BORING"
Prize giving scene.WINNING BY A CLEVER HEAD
WINNING BY A CLEVER HEAD
Horse owner talking to jockeyOwner."Why didn't you ride as I told you? Didn't I tell you to force the pace early and come away at the corner?"Jockey."Yes, m'Lord, but I couldn't very well leave the horse behind."
Owner."Why didn't you ride as I told you? Didn't I tell you to force the pace early and come away at the corner?"
Jockey."Yes, m'Lord, but I couldn't very well leave the horse behind."
At Newmarket.
Lady Plongère (to Sir Charles Hamidoot).Oh! Sir Charles, please put me a tenner each way on the favourite.
Sir Charles.But will you repay me the money laid out?
Lady P. (sweetly).Of course I will, if I win.
[Sir C. forgets to execute the commission.
Jockey talking to trainer.HEARD AT NEWMARKETJockey (whose horse has broken down)."Thought you said it was as good as a walk over?"Trainer. "Well, ain't youwalkin' over?"
HEARD AT NEWMARKET
Jockey (whose horse has broken down)."Thought you said it was as good as a walk over?"
Trainer. "Well, ain't youwalkin' over?"