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brother and a friend of his turned up at the last moment; but they didn't do much except call 'offside' or 'foul' every other minute, and they were both as nervous as cats!"

[Pg 131]

OUR LADIES' HOCKEY CLUB

One of the inferior sex who volunteered to umpire soon discovered his office was no sinecure.

[Pg 132]

Hare and Hounds—and may their Shadows never grow less.—Mrs. Miniver.

"How exhausted they look, poor fellows! Fancy doing that sort of thing for mere pleasure!" Little Timpkins (his bosom swelling with national pride). "Ah, but it's all through doing that sort of thing for mere pleasure, mind you, that we English are—what we are!"

[Bully for little Timpkins!

[Pg 133]

HARE AND HOUNDS—AND DONKEY

"Seen two men with bags of paper pass this way?"—"No!" "Did they tell you to say no?"—"Yes."

[Pg 134]

Happy Thought.

The good old game of "Hare and Hounds," or "Paper-Chase," is still played in the northern suburbs of London during the winter. Why should not young ladies be the hares?

[Pg 135]

A MEETING OF THE "BANDY" ASSOCIATION

For the promotion of "Hockey on the Ice."

[Pg 136]

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.

[Pg 137]

SHAKSPEARE ILLUSTRATED

"I am down again!"—Cymbeline, Act V., Sc. 5.

[Pg 138]

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.

Motto for an Impecunious Football Club.—"More kicks than halfpence."

[Pg 139]

PREHISTORIC PEEPS

During a considerable portion of the year the skating was excellent, and was much enjoyed by all classes.

[Pg 140]

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!"

[Pg 141]

GENUINE ENTHUSIASM

(A Thaw Picture.)

What matter an inch or two of surface-water, if the ice be still sound underneath!

[Pg 142]

"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."

[Pg 144]

I have examined the apparatus for the play you have so kindly sent over,—the great leathern bag of wind which is kicked, "les Goalpoles," 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 and �lan, 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 not le coup de pied the 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 meritorious coup, showing great skill in the boxe-man? And do not our own gar�ons de coll�ge kick a confr�re when he is "down," and point to the circumstance with a legitimate pride and satisfaction? No, it is not le coup de pied which 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 murderous m�l�e in which arms, legs, ribs, thighs, necks, and spines are all broken together, and may be heard[Pg 147] simultaneously 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 at[Pg 148] all, 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 your Courses 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.

PROFESSIONALS OF THE FLOOR AND FIELD.

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.

[Pg 143]

"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."

[Pg 145]

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!"

[Pg 146]

ETON FOOTBALL

(Reported by Dumb-Crambo Junior.)

OBTAINING A ROUGE



ENDS WERE CHANGED



THE "LAST" BULLY



EXHIBITING A FINE RUN DOWN



PLAYING UP



FAILED TO LODGE, ALTHOUGH KICKED BEHIND SEVERAL TIMES

WALKED WITH A BULLY UP AND DOWN THE WALL



THE GAME RESULTED IN A DRAW

[Pg 149]

How the goal-keeper appears to the opposing forward, who is about to shoot.

And how the goal-keeper feels when the opposing forward is about to shoot.

[Pg 150]

ETON FOOTBALL

(Special Report by Dumb-Crambo Junior.)

CORNER



FLYING MAN



POST AND BACK UP POST



LONG BEHIND AND SHORT BEHIND



OLD EAT-ONIONS



THE USUAL BULLY



[Pg 151]

AFTER THE KICK-OFF JAMES EFFECTED A FINE RUN,



WHICH HE FINISHED UP BY SENDING THE BALL JUST OVER THE CROSS BAR



CHANGE WAS ANNOUNCED



A SCRIM-AGE



TIME WAS THEN CALLED



THEY MADE ONE ROUGE

[Pg 152]

THAT FOOT-BALL

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 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!

And

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