"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." * * * * * WHAT is the companion game to Parlour Croquet? Cricket on the Hearth. * * * * * EPITAPH ON AN OLD CRICKETER'S TOMBSTONE.--"Out at 70." * * * * * OPERATIC SONG FOR A CRICKETER.--"_Batti, Batti!_" * * * * * SENTIMENT FOR A CRICKET CLUB DINNER.--May the British Umpire rule the wide world over. * * * * * CRICKET HITS _By Dumb-Crambo, off his own bat._ [Illustration: LONG LEG AND SHORT LEG] [Illustration: SHORT MID OFF] [Illustration: CUTTING FOR FOUR] [Illustration: A CLEAN BOWL] * * * * * THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES.--_Middlesex_ v. _Sussex_. * * * * * CRICKET MATCH TO COME OFF.--The Teetotallers' Eleven _v._ The Licensed Victuallers'. * * * * * STUMP ORATIONS.--Speeches at cricket-club dinners. * * * * * OUR VILLAGE ELEVEN [Illustration: TOM BOWLING] 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! * * * * *