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 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!" * * * * * [Illustration: _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?"] * * * * * ETON FOOTBALL (_By Dumb-Crambo Junior._) [Illustration: MIXED WALL "GAME"] [Illustration: FOUR SHIES TO LOVE] [Illustration: THE "DEMONS" TOOK PART IN THE GAME.--_Newspaper Report_] [Illustration: FURKING OUT THE _BAWL_ FROM THE BULLIES] * * * * * [Illustration: ANIMAL SPIRITS Football. "The Zambesi Scorchers."] * * * * * FOOT-BALL À LA MODE [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 speak Of something wrong with my _patella_. Last season, too, my leg I broke, And lay at home an idle dreamer, It's not considered quite a joke To contemplate a broken _femur_. 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 joys Of Rugby or Association! * * * * * [Illustration: ASSOCIATION _V._ RUGBY _She_ (_plaintively--to famous Rugby half-back_). "_Would_ it get you very much out of practice if we were to dance 'socker' a little."] * * * * * OPEN LETTER TO A PAIR OF FOOTBALL BOOTS (_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.