On chequered chess-boards students gaze O'er futile moves oft grieving; With knights content to pass their days, And constant checks receiving. 'Mid kings and queens I have no place, _Espiscopari nolo_-- I'd rather o'er the greensward race, And find no check in Polo! Then let me have my supple steed-- Good-tempered, uncomplaining-- So sure of foot, so rare in speed, In perfect polo training. And let me toast in rare old port, In Heidsieck or Barolo, In shady-gaff or something short-- The keen delights of Polo! * * * * * MOTTO FOR CROQUET.--"She Stoops to Conquer." * * * * * IN-DOOR AMUSEMENT FOR OLD PEOPLE.--The game of croakey. * * * * * HOW TO LEARN TO LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.--Play at croquet. * * * * * FOR THE DRAWING-ROOM (_When there's a dead silence._)--My first is a bird; my second's a letter of the alphabet: my whole is some game. _Explanation._ Crow. K. (_Croquet._) * * * * * [Illustration: _Lucy Mildmay_ (_who is fond of technical terms_). "By the way--a--are they playing '_Rugby_' or '_Association_'?"] * * * * * [Illustration: "OUT! FIRST BALL! A CATCH!!"] * * * * * A PLAYER who sprained his wrist at lawn-tennis explained that "he had been trying a regular _wrenchaw_, and did it effectually." * * * * * SPORTIVE SONG AN OLD CROQUET-PLAYER RUMINATES I like to see a game revive Like flower refreshed by rain, And so I say, "May croquet thrive, And may it live again!" It brings back thoughts of long ago, And memories most sweet, When Amy loved her feet to show In shoes too small, but neat. I think I can see Amy now, Her vengeful arm upraised To croquet me to where a cow Unheeding chewed and grazed. And Amy's prowess with the ball Reminds me that her style Was not so taking after all As Fanny's skill _plus_ smile. Yes! Fanny had a winsome laugh, That round her mouth would wreath, And make me wonder if her chaff Was shaped to show her teeth. They were so pretty, just like pearls Set fast in carmine case; Still in the match between the girls Selina won the race. Selina had such lustrous eyes Of real sapphire blue, They seemed one's soul to mesmerise, And looked one through and through. Yet Agnes I cannot forget, She brought me joy with pain. I would that we had never met---- "Your stroke!" That voice! My Jane! * * * * * [Illustration: _Bowler._ "How's that?" _Umpire._ "Wasn't looking. But if 'e does it again, 'e's out!"] * * * * * CROQUET