Vain the hope, for lo! the Ladies give poor Men no hour of peace. Can we dare to "pop the question" when they front the "popping-crease"? Though with "leg before the wicket" your short innings may be o'er, Will the umpire be as truthful when it's "petticoat before"? So lay down "the willow," batsmen, and, oh, bowler, leave the wicket, Ye must yield once more to Woman, for the Ladies now play Cricket! * * * * * [Illustration: THE LAST BALL OF THE SEASON] * * * * * [Illustration: UNINVITED.--We had bowled out their best men, and should have won the match, but somebody came on the ground with a confounded hyæna-coloured bull-terrier, who ran after the ball, and wouldn't give it up.] * * * * * [Illustration: "BOOTS AND CHAMBERMAID."--_Robin_ (_the morning after the cricket supper_). "What does this 'B' and 'C' mean, Dick?" _Richard_ (_with a headache_). "O, brandy an' soda, of course. Ring 'em both, there's a good fellow!"] * * * * * AT THE 'VARSITY CRICKET MATCH.--_Newcomer_ (_to Gent in front_). If you would kindly move your head an eighth of an inch, I think that by standing on tip-toe I might be able, between the box-seat and body of that carriage, to ascertain the colour of long leg's cap. * * * * * PUDDING IT PLAINLY.--Why is a promising cricketer like flour and eggs? Because he's calculated to make a good batter. * * * * * The most remarkable instance of a hybrid animal is the cricket-bat. * * * * * THE REAL "TRIPLE ALLIANCE."--A three-figure innings at cricket. * * * * * [Illustration: OUR VILLAGE CRICKET CLUB.--We had thirty seconds left before the time for drawing stumps. Our two last men were in, and we wanted one run to tie and two to win. It was the most exciting finish on record.] * * * * * THE USEFUL CRICKETER (_A Candid Veteran's Confession._) I am rather a "pootlesome" bat-- I seldom, indeed, make a run; But I'm rather the gainer by that, For it's bad to work hard in the sun. As a "field" I am not worth a jot, And no one expects me to be; My run is an adipose trot, My "chances" I never can see. I am never invited to bowl, And though, p'r'aps, this seems like a slight, In the depths of my innermost soul I've a notion the Captain is right. In short, I may freely admit I am not what you'd call a great catch But yet my initials are writ In the book against every match! For although--ay, and there is the rub-- I am forty and running to fat, I have made it all right with the Club, By presenting an Average Bat! * * * * *