Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Matt Whittaker, Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 93. AUGUST 13, 1887. AT THE OVAL. SURREY _VERSUS_ NOTTS. AUGUST 1ST, 2ND, AND 3RD 1887. (_By One of the Fifty Thousand._) _Enthusiastic Surreyite loquitur_:-- [Illustration: Lo! man!] [Illustration: Shrews--bery!] [Illustration: Gunn and Barnes.] _Hooray!_ Oh, you _must_ let me holloa. I'm one of the famed "Surrey Crowd," And a roar for a win such as _this_ is, can_not_ be too long or too loud. Won by four wickets! As good as though WALTER had scored half a million, Great Scott! what a rush from the ring! what a crowd round the crowded Pavilion! LOHMANN! MAURICE READ!! SHUTER!!! they shouted. KEY!!! KEY!!! LOHMANN!!! LOHMANN!!! "Took down the number" of Notts, Sir, and _she's_ a redoubtable foeman. _We_ haven't licked her for years, and she crowed, Sir, and not without reason; And now, under SHUTER, we've done it at last, Sir, and twice in one season! After a terrible tussle; how oft was my heart in my mouth, Sir. Luck now seemed to lean to the North, and anon would incline to the South, Sir. Game wasn't won till 'twas lost. Hooray, though, for Surrey! 'Twas _her_ win. We missed our WOOD at the wicket, Notts squared it by missing her SHERWIN, Both with smashed fingers! Rum luck! But then cricketing luck _is_ a twister. And SHERWIN turned up second innings. _Did_ you twig his face when he missed her, That ball from J. SHUTER, our Captain? It ranked pretty high among matches, But Surrey _did_ make _some_ mistakes, Sir, and Notts----well, they _couldn't_ hold catches. SHUTER shone up, did he not? Forty-four, fifty-three, and _such_ cutting! Hooray! Here's his jolly good health, and look sharp, for they're close upon shutting. Partial be blowed! I'm a Surreyite down to my socks, that's a fact, Sir. _Must_ shout when my countymen score, and don't mind being caught in the act, Sir. Cracks didn't somehow come off. ARTHUR SHREWSBURY, Notts' great nonsuch, Didn't make fifty all told, and our WALTER--the world holds but _one_ such-- A poor twenty-five and eighteen--a mere fleabite for W. W. Still, he's our glory; and _if_ you can spot such another, I'll trouble you. _GRACE?_ Why, of course, in his day he was cock of the walk--that's a moral. I won't say a word against _him_; but our WALTER!--well, there, we won't quarrel. I'm Surrey, you know, as I said. I remember JUPP, HUMPHRY, and STEVENSON, Burly BEN GRIFFITH, and SOUTHERTON! Well, if it ever was evens on Match, it was surely on _this_ one. Oh, yes, _I_ gave points, six to five, Sir,