RICHARD JEFFERIES.

Scene—The Moors. A Shooting Party at Lunch.

Sm-th (throwing himself down).Oh! I am so tired!

B-lf-r (stretching himself languidly).So am I!

Sm-th.Oh,youarealwaystired, aren't you? Look so, anyhow. Haven't been exerting yourself much, so far as I have seen, up to now.

B-lf-r.My dear fellow, you have yet to learn that hurry is not pace, and that fuss is not business.

S-l-sb-ry.Well, boys, don't squabble, but lunch. We'vealldone pretty badly, up to now, and unless we do better before sundown,—— [Sighs and sips.

Sm-th (sorrowfully).Yes, that's very true.—— [Sips and sighs.

B-lf-r.Well, I'm glad it's lunch-time anyhow, for I'm fairly baked.

Sm-th.Nip of Irish, B.?

B-lf-r.Irish be—proclaimed! Sick of the very name of Irish.Dolet's forget it for awhile, and hand me the J. J., there's a good fellow.

S-l-sb-ry (musing).Humph! Pretty pair of Sportsmen! Empty rotundity, and linked languor long drawn out. Wonder whatDizzywould have thought of such a pair of guns, especially of "his successor."Tracy TupmanemulatingMr. Winkle.

Sm-th.Eh? What? Beg pardon,S-l-sb-ry, I'mnotforty-winking.

S-l-sb-ry.Not at all, not at all. I was—ahem!—saying what aWinkle—ah—M-tth-wsis!

B-lf-r (disgustedly).Oh,M-tth-ws! Missed every bird he's tried at. Pity all burglars are not as bad shots as he. Couldn't hit a constable at ten yards.

S-l-sb-ry (drily).Not if hetried. I never feel safe at twenty. If he hasn't peppered us all round, it isn'thisfault.

Sm-th.And—ahem—G-sch-nhasn't turned outquitethe success we expected, eh? That last miss of his was rather a bad one.

S-l-sb-ry.Humph! perhaps. Still, I wish he'd brought one or two of his friends with him.

B-lf-r.Well, perhaps they'll join us later on.

S-l-sb-ry (aside).Ihopeso. Not much prospect of a decent bag if they don't, I fear. Fact is, my party this year's a failure. Scarcely a good gun among them. Finest and largest shooting-ground we've had for years, andyetwe can't make a bag. Adjoining Moor supposed to be an absolute failure, and yet the party who've taken it—on most Liberal terms I hear, and with little hope of good sport—are picking up birds like fun. Pop, pop, pop, pop! and every bang a bird. Old G. getting quite cock-a-whoop about it. Fancies he'll top us at the end of the shoot. Quite wrong, of course. Now that, at last, we've really dropped upon that rascally gang of Irish poachers who had leagued themselves together to play the mischief with our Moor, I guess we shall astonish G.'s party a trifle.Theywink at the poaching Paddies. Most unsportsmanlike conduct I ever heard of. What'll they do,now, I wonder? Still we can't afford to go on muffing and missingtoolong. Bang! There goes another. And one of our birds, too, I'll be bound. Hillo! by Jove, there'sH-rt-ngt-n, sauntering this way, and by himself, too. Something like a shot,heis, and, if he'd join us—well, well, we shall see. Looks, as usual, as though he didn't care a single tomtit for things in general, and shooting in particular. Often lets a bird go from sheer indifference, but seldom misses one from lack of skill. Sure he can't be comfortable withthatlot—indeed, he owns it. And they don't like his friendliness with us. Why can't he join us, and have done with it?

H-rt-ngt-n (approaching).Ah! there they are. And a jolly lot of Sportsmen they look. PoorS-l-sb-ry, I pity him. Ought to have swept the Moors. Birds plentiful, and lots of guns. But no shots. Doosed awkward. Know what it is to shoot with a party one doesn't get on with. Our party not the right sort now; awfully mixed—doesn't suit me a bit. G. has let in too many outsiders. If they'd rally round me now, and let me pick 'em! But the picked rallyers are so precious few, and the rest, instead of closing up to me, seem to be tailing off afterGl-dst-ne, somehow, confound 'em! OneCh-mb-rl-ndoesn't make a shooting party, even withBr-ghtthrown in. Don't want to shoot againstS-l-sb-ry, though, I'm sure. Much rather drive the birds his way. But join him!—humph!

S-l-sb-ry (hailing).Hillo,H-rt-ngt-n, old man, how are you? All alone? Where's your party?

H-rt-ngt-n.Oh! they're along behind there, somewhere. How areyougetting on?

S-l-sb-ry.Oh, pre-e-t-ty well—considering. Hardly got our hands in yet,—some of us (significantly). Birds a bit shy, too. But we shall get among them presently, and then!—(sotto voce). I say old fellow, why don't you join us—after lunch?Capitalshooting-ground, but, ahem!—some of our fellows aleetlewild, and one or two regular cockneys. I wan't a real good gun or two badly, and then we should be safe for a splendid bag. (Aloud.) Come, old fellow, what do you say?

H-rt-ngt-n.Tha-a-nks. Awfully kind, I'm sure. But—ah—fact is, I'm just waiting to see if my Party's coming up. [Left waiting.

RAILWAY STATION PUZZLERAILWAY STATION PUZZLE. TO FIND A SEAT.

Loverof Nature, whom her lovers love,Those who were dear to thee to them are dear:The world's hard way to lift their lives aboveIs a clear duty, welcome as 'tis clear.And if for every page of pure delight,Those fine and faithful fingers wrought for all,There came the slenderest gift, the poorest mite,More lightly on those stricken hearts might fall,The weight of sore bereavement, hard to bear,E'en when, as here, all men its sorrow share.

Loverof Nature, whom her lovers love,

Those who were dear to thee to them are dear:

The world's hard way to lift their lives above

Is a clear duty, welcome as 'tis clear.

And if for every page of pure delight,

Those fine and faithful fingers wrought for all,

There came the slenderest gift, the poorest mite,

More lightly on those stricken hearts might fall,

The weight of sore bereavement, hard to bear,

E'en when, as here, all men its sorrow share.

Ogres in Dairyland.—Everybody has heard of Fairy Rings, which have a sweetly Arcadian sound. But "DairyRings" do not savour of Arcadia, save, perchance, in the sense suggested by the stock quotation, "Arcades ambo—blackguards both." The function of "Dairy Rings," it seems, is artificially and injuriously to keep up the cost of produce. Not until they are broken up will people really get "Milk Below"—monopoly prices.

(By a Radical.)

Mr. Chamberlain(in the debate on the Lords' Amendments to the Land Bill) said, "he had never regarded the House of Lords as the special representatives of the community, that he would very much have preferred that an Amendment in the interests of the community should have proceeded from another quarter, that they were Commons' House of Parliament, and that it was they who had to look after the interests of the community, and not the House of Lords." (Opposition Cheers.)

Hooray!This is rather more like the oldJoe,Whom as pet of the Peers his old friends hardly know.Does "cushioned ease" tire him already,—so soon?Is "gentlemen" chumship no longer a boon?Can zeal for the Union no longer determine,The Birmingham champion to back up the ermine?This snub to the Peers is decidedly handsome,We'll soon haveJoetalking once more about "ransom."Oh! Spalding was splendid, and Bridgeton was brave,AndGrosvenor'sdefeat made the Unionists rave;Tom Sayersne'er landed his foe such a "oner,"AsSalisburyhad at the hands of ourBrunner;But neither the news of Gladstonian gain,OfTrevelyan'sreturn, or the tantrums ofCaine,To Radical bosoms such a rapture affords,As BrummagemJoeonce more smiting the Lords!

Hooray!This is rather more like the oldJoe,

Whom as pet of the Peers his old friends hardly know.

Does "cushioned ease" tire him already,—so soon?

Is "gentlemen" chumship no longer a boon?

Can zeal for the Union no longer determine,

The Birmingham champion to back up the ermine?

This snub to the Peers is decidedly handsome,

We'll soon haveJoetalking once more about "ransom."

Oh! Spalding was splendid, and Bridgeton was brave,

AndGrosvenor'sdefeat made the Unionists rave;

Tom Sayersne'er landed his foe such a "oner,"

AsSalisburyhad at the hands of ourBrunner;

But neither the news of Gladstonian gain,

OfTrevelyan'sreturn, or the tantrums ofCaine,

To Radical bosoms such a rapture affords,

As BrummagemJoeonce more smiting the Lords!

Con. for the Connubially Inclined.—What is the difference between an accepted and a rejected offer of marriage? The first leads to the Matrimonial Knot; the second is the Matrimonial Not.

Mr. Caine, who is tired Party knots of unravelling,Is off, so 'tis said, round the world to be travelling.Let's hope that much clearing of temper and brainMay result from this new sort of "Wanderings ofCain(e)".

Mr. Caine, who is tired Party knots of unravelling,

Is off, so 'tis said, round the world to be travelling.

Let's hope that much clearing of temper and brain

May result from this new sort of "Wanderings ofCain(e)".

IN THE CAUSE OF ARTIN THE CAUSE OF ART.Patron."When are yer goin' to start my Wife's Picture and mine? 'Cause, when the 'Ouse is up we're a goin'——"Artist."Oh, I'll get the Canvases at once, and——"Patron (millionnaire)."Canvas! 'Ang it!—none o' yer Canvas for me! Price is no objec'! I can afford to pay for something better than Canvas!!" [Tableau!]

Patron."When are yer goin' to start my Wife's Picture and mine? 'Cause, when the 'Ouse is up we're a goin'——"

Artist."Oh, I'll get the Canvases at once, and——"

Patron (millionnaire)."Canvas! 'Ang it!—none o' yer Canvas for me! Price is no objec'! I can afford to pay for something better than Canvas!!" [Tableau!]

Start for Isle of Wight.—Market for Pictures so depressed, can only afford a fortnight away from Town this Summer. Never mind! Intend to have a high old time while it lasts. Shall travel over the whole Island—Cowes, Ryde, Ventnor, Shanklin, Alum Bay, and the Needles. Travelling suggests that I'm my own "traveller"—in the Oil and Colour line! Mustn't mention this joke to my aristocratic customers, however.

On the Way Down.—Read in my favourite newspaper—"Art is a fanciful and captious mistress, exacting many sacrifices from her servants, and not infrequently putting them to considerable inconvenience." Sounds unpleasant. Wish people wouldn't write like this. True, perhaps, but not edifying. Writer goes on to say of Artists that "Respectability is arrayed in arms against them, because their ways are not as those of its smug and unimaginative votaries." (Rather a good hit that—"smug and unimaginative;"—writer not such a fool as I thought.) "Mrs.Grundysniffs at them with righteous scorn, because their appearance, bearing, and habits, are not measurable by the standards of propriety." (I should hope not, indeed!) "The subaltern administrators of the law regard them with suspicion"—Humbug! Throw paper down in disgust. Never been interfered with by a policeman in my life. What is there inmeto excite suspicion, I should like to know? Should write to Author of that article, and tell him he's an ass, only can't afford to waste a stamp just now.

Southampton.—Go on board boat for Ryde. Curious. Three men following me about everywhere! On stepping on to Ryde pier, they make a pounce on me. Ask to see my luggage. It seems they are "subaltern administrators of the law," disguised. I refuse to give up my keys; in order to mollify them, make a joke, and tell them "they can't Ryde the high horse here." Only reply they make is to break my bag open. Very objectionable. Crowd evidently think I'm a London thief, and hoot at me.

Ask Detectives if they think I look like a Dynamiter? They say nothing, and wink. Seem to look on my question as a "leading," or rather a misleading, one. Thank Heaven! There's nothing suspicious in my Gladstone bag. But, as these are Government emissaries, perhaps the mere possession of a "Gladstone" bag is considered to connect me in some mysterious way with Parnellism, and so with crime. Is there such a thing as a "Salisbury" bag? Wish I'd got one if there is. Perhaps it would be a good move to tell them I'm a Unionist. They reply (gruffly) "they don't want none of my gab," and thattheyintend to find out what I am precious quick.

At Police Station.—(To which I've been taken, through a howling mob!) Bag opened. Several things appear to excite suspicion. Palette inspected carefully. If it hadn't been for bad success of my last humorous remark, should tell my captors that "I've nopalatefor conspiracy." My box of brushes regarded as highly questionable. Suggests obvious sporting-riddle—Why do they think I've been in at the death (of somebody or other?)—Answer:because I've got the brush!Bottle of Chinese White at once impounded. Considered to contain "an explosive composition," it seems. Detectives convey it carefully to middle of large field, and bury it, until ColonelMajendiecan come down from Town. What, however, is regarded as greatest proof of my nefarious tendencies is a picture of London Bridge in my portfolio. Detective asks triumphantly—"What made you draw that there bridge if you ain't a Fenian, now?" I reply "it's only a pot-boiler." Answer considered so very incriminating that I am immediately handcuffed and put in a cell. Never realised before what a very "fanciful and captious mistress," Art is, or what idiots "the subaltern administrators of the law" are capable of making of themselves.

Three Days Later.—Liberated! Am told it was "all a mistake." Chinese White bottle proved not to contain anything dangerous to human life. Pot-boiler restored me, slightly soiled. No excuses or apologies made—sent away with a "free pardon!" And this is England! Ah, they manage some things better in France!

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

cartoon

House of Lords, Monday, August 15.—Some ordinary business on Agenda, but importance dwarfed by imposing demonstration made byWemyss. Session really coming to a close.Wemysshas done his share of speech-making. According toDenmanhas appropriated more than fair share. Nevertheless, he finds in Mid-August quite an accumulation of odds and ends omitted from speeches prepared during last two years. If he doesn't work them off this Session will be out of date by next. That no insuperable objection to delivering speech in House of Lords; still, freshness and appropriateness not altogether without weight. How shall he dispose of the accumulated treasure? Thought once of publishing it in single Volume, call it "Jubilee Thoughts, by Earl ofWemyss;" or "Peerless Wit and Wisdom, by a Peer." Found publishers not anxious to undertake proposal. Jubilee, they said, beginning to pall, too many books about of Wit and Wisdom. Happy thought! Why not throw the scraps into form of speech, and favour House of Lords with it? Some of the topics little ancient and continuity of thought difficult to simulate; but propose to "call attention to Socialistic legislation during the Sessions of 1886 and 1887." That will cover everything.

So arranged, and to-night, as soon as immaterial business disposed of,Wemyssrose, and began his speech. Audience of eighteen, to begin with. Gradually diminished, till there remained, for fifth and final peroration, only four. Was a tremendous speech—bloodcurdling, convincing, and delivered with much animation. Never was a nation in such peril. Before Great Britain lay only Black Night and Despair.

Might have been expected that, whenWemysssat down, there would have been eager competition for precedence to take up the thread of debate so solemnly launched. But he'd overdone it. So terrified the few Peers present, that none could speak. Looked at each other with fitful, fearful glances. One by one they rose, and tremblingly tottered out.Wemyssleft in solitary possession of House, filled only with echoes of his fearsome jeremiad. Thus closed this memorable one-speech debate.Lord Chancellorretaining presence of mind sufficient to adjourn the House,Wemysspicked up his notes, and went forth, probably to prepare for his own flight from the doomed country.

Business done.—In Commons, Mines Bill in Committee.

Columbus, M. P.Columbus, M. P.

House of Commons, Tuesday.—John Mannersin his place to-night. Everyone glad to see him back again; Liberals, Conservatives, Dissentients, Unionists, whatever we be, all unite in saying a friendly word toJohnon his convalescence.

Another arrival greeted with more mixed feelings.Brunner, flushed by his great victory in Northwich, comes up to be sworn in. Tremendous cheering on Liberal side. Dead silence among Ministerialists. Old Morality gazes up at glass roof with preoccupied air; thoughts far away from Westminster or Northwich either.Caine, looking on from Bar, turns his back, and marches forth.

"Another blessing in disguise," says he. "I think now I'll go off to Japan, and see how they're getting on with their projected Parliamentary Institutions. Might get some hints for forming our National Party."

cartoonT. B-rt.

Crimes Bill on again. Committee pegging away far into tomorrow. A good business-like debate, but a little dull. Minority of between seventy and eighty industriously tried to carry Amendments moved byBurtand others. Majority, varying between 120 and 140, thinking matter over in privacy of smoke-room, news-room, and terrace, come up with minds fully made up on points of detail, and always vote with Ministers.Burt, beaten again and again, comes back to scratch, looking, towards half-past two in the morning, a little broken down, but still full of fight.

Business done.—Mines Bill.

Thursday.—House of Lords deserves well of its country. Is setting Commons example it will do well to follow. On Monday, as noted,Wemyssmade long speech, and, no one rising to follow in debate, House forthwith adjourned. Same thing happened on Tuesday whenDenmanintroduced beneficent proposals for limiting speeches. Met with success beyond his wildest expectations. Had asked that duration of speeches might be strictly limited. Lords with one accord forthwith accepted principle. Applied it so strictly that, asLord Chancellorin his epigrammatic way put it, "speeches were limited to silence." In fact no one spoke at all.Denmanhad debate all to himself, and House adjourned. So pleased with this arrangement that it was carried a step further to-night. Only one speech was made. Was delivered from Woolsack. So brief may be quotedverbatim:—

"House will now adjourn," saidLord Chancellor.

That was all, and noble Lords dispersed.

"Most pleasant, informing and useful sitting we've had for many Sessions," saidBuckinghamtoChandos.

"Allons!" saidStrathedentoCampbell, "let us go and visit those foolish Commons who waste their time in much speaking."

Commons crowded and animated. Evidently no prospect here of foregoing speech-making. Sixty-eight questions on paper to begin with.George Campbell, his mind athirst for information, wanted to know from President of Board of Trade what was the meaning of "allotment."Ritchie, with elbow leaning negligently on box, and legs crossed, mockingly referred the ingenuous Knight toJohnson's Dictionary. Curiously reminiscent ofMephistophelesbanteringFaust, wasRitchieas he looked across atCampbell.

Old Morality announced abandonment of various Government measures, dropping tear over each. Emotion became monotonous towards tenth tear, and Opposition rudely laughed. But Old Morality had his revenge later. Quite a long time since he has "pounced." But as midnight drew on, and little progress made, began to grow desperate.Chamberlainsuddenly turned upon his allies, attacked them in rattling speech. Even voted against them when Division called. Government majority went down from customary hundred to alarming forty-two. Then Old Morality, goaded to madness, "pounced" right and left.Harcourtstirred upGoschenwith long pole;Balfouryawned ostentatiously whenDillonconvicted him of ignorance of Irish affairs;Parnellpounded away;T. W. Russellwithdrew from alliance with Government;Tim Healychuckled;Joseph Gillisalternately jeered and groaned. But Old Morality came out victor. Whenever lull occurred he moved Closure, and so presently wound up sitting.

Mephistopheles, M. P.Mephistopheles, M. P.

Business done.—Split between "Dissentient Liberals" and Government.

Friday.—House not so full to-night. Rumour about that there was something to fore in Lords. Members migrated thither. Only a few Peers present. Markiss rose, and in matter-of-fact tone, as if offering observation on state of weather, announced Proclamation of National League. Fifteen Peers present successfully controlled emotion, and passed on to ordinary business. Commons, penned in Gallery above, and crowded at Bar below, rushed to own House,carrying news with them. Arrived just in time to hearHanburyquestion Government on quite other subject.Hanbury'shawk eye had discovered in the Estimates vote for salary of Master of Hawks. Wanted to know who he was, what he did for a living, and how many hawks he might have to deal with in course of year. Frank and somewhat startling disclosure from Treasury Bench. The existence of Master of Hawks admitted; regular payment of his salary confessed. Only hitch was that there were no hawks. Still, there have been hawks in time ofStuarts. An impecunious nobleman had obtained office, with reversion to eldest son; and so, through the ages, unsuspecting taxpayer had subscribed salary. House so ashamed to discover its remissness as custodian of Public purse, that, by common consent, subject dropped. But silent resolution taken that noble Hawk-master shall have drawn his salary for last time.

ThenBalfourconfirmed statement made in other House about Proclamation of National League. Announcement received, on the whole, in grim silence, also not without its portent. House then took up Allotments Bill, with which it wrestled in business fashion for rest of sitting.

Business done.—National League Proclaimed.

(Shakspeare adapted to "The Times.")

"Oppression hath made up this League."

King John, Act iii., Scene 1.

Angelo... LordS-l-sb-ry.Escalus...B-lf-r.

Escalus.Every leader it hath writ hath disvouched other.

Angelo.In most uneven and distracted manner. Its actions show much like to madness: pray heaven its wisdom be not tainted. Yet can we own ourselves beaten, and redeliver our authority?

Esc.I guess not.

Ang.And why should we proclaim it a few days before our departure, that if any crave redress of injustice, they must not exhibit their discontent in the street?

Esc.It shows its reason for that: to have a despatch of complaints; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand against us.

Ang.Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed!

A Tale of Arabi.—The recent unsuccessful effort to secure the release ofArabi Pasha, recalls the trial of that unfortunate Egyptian when he was so ably defended by a distinguished member of the British Bar. On that occasion, to put it Broadley, he was more of a patriot than a criminal.

"Eclipsefirst, the rest nowhere," is a celebrated racing record. The disappointed astronomers of Europe, last Friday, modified themot—"Eclipse nowhere" is the common burden of their reports.

Motto for Agriculturists.—Set a parasite (the Chalcis fly to wit) to catch a parasite (the Hessian ditto).

By Our Own Cricket Enthusiast.

"The four Counties in whose doings the interest of the Cricketing public is centred, were all hard at work yesterday. [Friday, August 19.] Yorkshire doing very badly against Surrey at the Oval, and Nottinghamshire showing to considerable disadvantage with Lancashire at Old Trafford."—Daily News.

Oh, don't talk to me of the close of the Session, or who's to be Premier, perchance, in the next one;Those questions, no doubt, may excite party spouters, but there is a far more important and vext one.The Cricketing Season draws fast to a close; the rain's come at last with inopportune bounty.And there is a question eclipsing all others,—which,whichfor this year will be Premier County?It's narrowing down,—oh, it's narrowing down, and it grows more soul-harrowing every minute,For Surrey and Lancashire, Yorkshire and Notts are the only four Counties a man can call "in it."Trent-Bridge is astir with a fever of fidgets, the Tykes are all hurry, and worry, and flurry,Old Trafford is all upon thorns, and, by Jove, what excitement there is at the Oval in Surrey!HornbyandHawkecannot sleep of a night, and their nerves into coolness in vain strive to tutor;GladstoneandSalisbury'srivalry's child's-play compared with the ditto ofSherwinandShuter.Plague upon Jupiter Pluvius!Whydid he not hang aloof just a week or two longer?Oh, don't talk to me of your turnips and things,—what are they to the question which team is the stronger?Glorious season for Cricket all round, as is proved by the lots of Leviathan scoring,And now, hang it all, at the very identical point when it comes to the pinch, it is pouring.Cockshies all chance, every average crabs, this detestable deluge. Slow wickets and sticky.Muck even the greatArthur Shrewsbury'splay, and makeWalter Read'schance of top-average dicky,Arthur'stwo centuriesplussixty-seven, falls off to a pitiful seven-and-twenty,AndBarlowandBriggshave it all their own way; three "ducks" in one innings—of Notts men—seems plenty.Look at poor Yorkshire again!Martin Hawkedid his best to choose right, but caked wicketsplusLohmann,Are far too long odds e'en forUlyettandHall; and who can foresee English weather? Why, no man.Wants a cool sticker likeScottonto stand it. Eh? Gives the poor bowlers a look in? Oh, granted,Good trundling's a part of the game to be sure, but you see at this crisis it'sscoringthat's wanted,Dashes the 'gazers, this downing the wickets like nine-pins in swamp with muck-moisture afloat all,And then ninety-two for a tall-scoring team like our Notts, you must own's a contemptible total,Middlesex plays in and out; lots of scorers likeWebbe,Stoddart,Lucas,O'Brien, andVernon.ButRobertson,Burton, andWestwant assistance as bowlers, and bowling's a thing wins will turn on.Gloucester's slap out of it. Pity poorGracewith a team he can seldom bring up to the scratch, Sir,So that, in spite of his own startling scores, the, at one time, "Invincibles" scarce win a match, Sir,Sussex,—well,Quaifeis a promising bat, and you always may look for some notches fromNewham,Whilst J. and A.Hideare a host in themselves; but good fortune this season has failed to pursue 'em.Kent, with LordHarris, the family ofHearnes, andRashleigh, with credit should carry field matters on,But this year they'll not be at top of the tree, 'spite the bowling ofWooton, the smiting ofPatterson.Leicester has got a good trundler inPougher, but one bowler won't make a good (Cricket) summer,Whilst Derbyshire'sChatterton,Cropper, andRatcliffdon't make her, at present, the new (Cricket) comer.As for game Essex,—well, evergreenGreen, who has done in his day some redoubtable cricket,Will own he will not have a look inthisyear, e'en withBuxton, andBishop, andBryan, andPickett.No, we must still look to one of the four; and oh, what a lot hope that one will be Surrey,Fancy the spirits ofGriffithandSoutherton—(chums of that "barn-door" whom no one could flurry,Stout littleJupp)—must just now haunt the Oval, or hold ghostly confabulations at Mitcham,Discussing the way in whichShuter'slot cut 'em and drive 'em, and swipe 'em, and place 'em, and pitch 'em.And oh!ifsmartShuter, crackRead, steadyLohmann, and swift-footedMaurice, and cat-like youngAbelShouldonce more put Surrey at top of the tree, won't the Oval just be a tumultuous Babel?

Oh, don't talk to me of the close of the Session, or who's to be Premier, perchance, in the next one;

Those questions, no doubt, may excite party spouters, but there is a far more important and vext one.

The Cricketing Season draws fast to a close; the rain's come at last with inopportune bounty.

And there is a question eclipsing all others,—which,whichfor this year will be Premier County?

It's narrowing down,—oh, it's narrowing down, and it grows more soul-harrowing every minute,

For Surrey and Lancashire, Yorkshire and Notts are the only four Counties a man can call "in it."

Trent-Bridge is astir with a fever of fidgets, the Tykes are all hurry, and worry, and flurry,

Old Trafford is all upon thorns, and, by Jove, what excitement there is at the Oval in Surrey!

HornbyandHawkecannot sleep of a night, and their nerves into coolness in vain strive to tutor;

GladstoneandSalisbury'srivalry's child's-play compared with the ditto ofSherwinandShuter.

Plague upon Jupiter Pluvius!Whydid he not hang aloof just a week or two longer?

Oh, don't talk to me of your turnips and things,—what are they to the question which team is the stronger?

Glorious season for Cricket all round, as is proved by the lots of Leviathan scoring,

And now, hang it all, at the very identical point when it comes to the pinch, it is pouring.

Cockshies all chance, every average crabs, this detestable deluge. Slow wickets and sticky.

Muck even the greatArthur Shrewsbury'splay, and makeWalter Read'schance of top-average dicky,

Arthur'stwo centuriesplussixty-seven, falls off to a pitiful seven-and-twenty,

AndBarlowandBriggshave it all their own way; three "ducks" in one innings—of Notts men—seems plenty.

Look at poor Yorkshire again!Martin Hawkedid his best to choose right, but caked wicketsplusLohmann,

Are far too long odds e'en forUlyettandHall; and who can foresee English weather? Why, no man.

Wants a cool sticker likeScottonto stand it. Eh? Gives the poor bowlers a look in? Oh, granted,

Good trundling's a part of the game to be sure, but you see at this crisis it'sscoringthat's wanted,

Dashes the 'gazers, this downing the wickets like nine-pins in swamp with muck-moisture afloat all,

And then ninety-two for a tall-scoring team like our Notts, you must own's a contemptible total,

Middlesex plays in and out; lots of scorers likeWebbe,Stoddart,Lucas,O'Brien, andVernon.

ButRobertson,Burton, andWestwant assistance as bowlers, and bowling's a thing wins will turn on.

Gloucester's slap out of it. Pity poorGracewith a team he can seldom bring up to the scratch, Sir,

So that, in spite of his own startling scores, the, at one time, "Invincibles" scarce win a match, Sir,

Sussex,—well,Quaifeis a promising bat, and you always may look for some notches fromNewham,

Whilst J. and A.Hideare a host in themselves; but good fortune this season has failed to pursue 'em.

Kent, with LordHarris, the family ofHearnes, andRashleigh, with credit should carry field matters on,

But this year they'll not be at top of the tree, 'spite the bowling ofWooton, the smiting ofPatterson.

Leicester has got a good trundler inPougher, but one bowler won't make a good (Cricket) summer,

Whilst Derbyshire'sChatterton,Cropper, andRatcliffdon't make her, at present, the new (Cricket) comer.

As for game Essex,—well, evergreenGreen, who has done in his day some redoubtable cricket,

Will own he will not have a look inthisyear, e'en withBuxton, andBishop, andBryan, andPickett.

No, we must still look to one of the four; and oh, what a lot hope that one will be Surrey,

Fancy the spirits ofGriffithandSoutherton—(chums of that "barn-door" whom no one could flurry,

Stout littleJupp)—must just now haunt the Oval, or hold ghostly confabulations at Mitcham,

Discussing the way in whichShuter'slot cut 'em and drive 'em, and swipe 'em, and place 'em, and pitch 'em.

And oh!ifsmartShuter, crackRead, steadyLohmann, and swift-footedMaurice, and cat-like youngAbel

Shouldonce more put Surrey at top of the tree, won't the Oval just be a tumultuous Babel?

Woo "Ton."Woo "Ton."

"Baa low!""Baa low!"

"'Ull yet?""'Ull yet?"

"Hide!""Hide!"

The Family "Urn."The Family "Urn."

Puffer.Puffer.

pointing finger

NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

Back to Index Next