fornia nal ty HOW'S THAT? All Rights Reserved Hows THAT? INCLUDING A CENTURY OF GRACE" BY HARRY FURNISS VERSES CRICKET SKETCHES BY AND BY E. J. MILLIKEN E. B. V. CHRISTIAN " 'AREV " OF Punch. AUTHOR OF " AT THE SIGN- OF THF. WICKET" BRISTOL J. W. ARROWSMITH, QUAY STREET LONDON SIMPKJN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & COMPANY LIMITED arrowsmitb s JBristol Xibratg VOL. LXIX. PREFACE. fRICKET is a most unattractive subject for the artist. It is, in fact, impossible to make a satisfactory picture of our national game: a crowd of ordinary sightseers in the foreground and also in the distance, and between these a large expanse of green grass, with a few white spots representing the cricketers dotted here and there, is all the material the artist has at command, and, twist it as he may, or take it from any point of sight he selects, it remains formal, flat, and unattractive. Neither in colour nor composition is it possible to "make a picture" with such material. Therefore, the artist determined to paint a picture is driven to the picturesque village green, here to find metal more attractive. The rustic figures, informally grouped, the pretty 1076958 vi Preface. corner of the church, and the rural surroundings suffice in a measure to compensate for the objectionable white flannels standing forth on the green background ; and here he can with some certainty introduce a red waistcoat or even a brown coat. But what the artist gains in prettiness the picture loses in interest. The unartistic lover of cricket cares little for the spreading oak, or the village green, or the doings of the rustic players. The unsightly gas works at The Oval, or the bricks and mortar at Lord's, conjure up in his mind the mighty deeds of Graces and Stoddarts, Reads and Abels. And it is not only the brush that fails, but the lens also. Of course, the ordinary photograph of the cricketer, whether he sits or stands at ease, is a portrait. But what about him in action ? If he is told to pose before a camera if he is a batsman, he fails to get the proper swing, as he is only watching the lens, and not inspired to the correct action by seeing the ball flying towards him from the muscular arm of a Lohmann or a Richardson. If a bowler posing, I ask you if I am not correct in saying that, in Preface. vii all the portraits you see in the many photo- graphs published of bowlers, do they not look more as if they were lifting weight ridiculously small than delivering the ball with Herculean strength and the perfection of science ? No, the photograph must be taken unawares, and perhaps before this little preface is published we may find depicted by the Cinematograph some of our well-known cricketers at play. But these have to be taken at a distance, when the game is in progress, and then enlarged ; and I would like to see anyone venture on to a cricket field during the progress of some good match ! The poor photographer would have to provide himself with dummy cameras, as used when photographing at the Zoo. Photographers prepare to photograph one of the wild animals through the bars ; they have to thrust through at first some resemblance of a camera, which will soon be jumped upon by the infuriated animal and knocked to pieces. But when the animal gets accustomed to the instrument, then is produced the real camera to take the animal in repose. And I venture to think that any viii Preface. photographer presenting himself within the prescribed area of one of our well-known grounds, during a great match, would bring forth more anger and energetic destruction than could be found even within the cages of the Zoo. Fearing that some of my readers may call " How's that ?" to this assertion of mine that cricketers are distorted in the camera, I will refer them to that bright little book written by the "little Guv'nor" of the Surrey Club, Mr. Abel, and see if in some of the reproductions in that book, taken by the camera, he might not well stand, as regards height, equal between Mr. Grace or Mr. Gunn ? So I meditated one morning last summer, and, finding my studio oppressive and my eyes tired with my work, I wandered off to Lord's to rest my eyes on the greensward and stimulate my energies by watching the exertions of others. Just as I got into my seat " W.G." walked out of the pavilion, accompanied by Mr. Stoddart, to open the game. I may mention that at this time the excitement was tremendous as to Preface. ix whether " W.G." would make another century. As luck would have it, the Champion was in fine form playing in faultless style. By the time the day had finished, I had seen the renowned cricketer to perfection I had seen him make his century. He was caught before he had progressed very far in the second hundred. I returned to my studio with the massive form of " W.G." well imprinted upon my brain. Now, it is much easier for the most moderate cricketer to catch a batsman than it is for an artist or even a photographer. But I gave myself a task as soon as I returned, which, at the request of the popular publisher of this little book, who is a great admirer of cricket, I reluctantly now make public. I put before me a hundred half-sheets of notepaper, and, without any preliminary sketching or alteration, I under- took to make a hundred sketches of W. G. Grace from memory, one on each piece of paper, and that if I failed with one I was " caught out." But I carried out my pencil, and my innings was closed as the clock struck the hour of midnight, although more than once during my inky x Preface. innings I had, in fairness to the great Cricketer, to call out "How's that?" for I feel that I have let myself off in my innings too frequently, as a glance at these rapid sketches will easily show. It is well, therefore, to sandwich the sketches of A Century of Grace with the capital verses of Mr. E. J. Milliken, of Punch, and the interesting anecdotes of Mr. E. B. V. Christian. But, modest as our little joint effort is, we have done it in the best spirit, for there are not four more ardent admirers of our national game than the Writers, the Artist, and the Publisher of How 's That ? CONTENTS. Pag-e ODE TO MAY 13 BY E. J. MILLIKEN. COUPLED WITH THE NAME OF W.G. . 18 BY E. B. V. CHRISTIAN. A CENTURY OF GRACE . . . . . 45 BY HARRY FURNISS. INS AND OUTS; OR, A CRICKETER'S FEELINGS . ..V .:*.: . . . 95 BY E. J. MILLIKEN. THE GAME OF CRICKET-MATCH . . .102 BY " LA GRANDE NATION." A BATSMAN'S DAY 109 BY E. J. MILLIKEN. CRICKET ON THE ICE 114 xii Contents. A REMONSTRANCE 116 BY E. J. MILLIKEN. THE OLD BOWLER .118 By E. J. MILLIKEN. TO "STODDART'S LOT" IN THE SOUTH . 122 BY E. J. MILLIKEN. AT THE ETON AND HARROW MATCH . 128 ROBINSON'S OFF-BREAK . BY E. B. V. CHRISTIAN. THE OLD AGE OF CRICKETERS . BY E. B. V. CHRISTIAN. AN AUTUMNAL DIRGE . . . BY E. J. MILLIKEN. MOW'S THAT? to BY A COCKNEY CRICKETER. (Some way after the May Day Chorus in George Darley's Sylvia; or, the May Queen.) " Does not the ist of each succeeding May strike a chord in every cricketer's heart? " Jerks In from Short Leg. BATSMAN (overhauling his green baize bag, rings) : O MAY, them art a merry time ! Sing hey! the Bat, the Ball, the Bail! When "Oval" bells begin to chime, And the Captain scans his nobbly "tail." When Cricket Club Committees meet, And cheerily blows the challenge-horn, And the green baize bag once more we greet, That holds the bat, well oiled, though worn. O May, thou art a merry time! Sing hey! the Bat, the Ball, the Bail! When the nets are up and the pitch is prime, And Lohmann once again is hale. FROM THE PAVILION. Ode to May. 15 Thornton's Eleven, bad to beat, Prepare to take the Cantabs on; And gossip goes of a trundler fleet Who's going to "knock out" Richardson. O May, thou art a merry time! Sing hey! the Bat, the Ball, the Bail! And Cricket Teams from a distant clime Prepare to make Bull's prestige pale. The Cornstalks or the Yankees come, Or Africanders o'er the sea. Hark! hear'st not thou the Indian drum? 'Tis Ramjamsingh or Jamsetzee ! O May, thou art a merry time ! Sing hey! the Bat, the Ball, the Bail! Stoddart's first "Century"! Ah! that's prime Now, W. G., you will not fail. That big black beard is tinged with grey, And you they say are forty-five, Yet where 's the youngster of to-day So good to keep the game alive? May, thou art a merry time ! Sing hey! the Bat, the Ball, the Bail! 1 'm longing for the " feel " sublime Of my first " sixer " o'er the rail. 16 How's That? Sing Willow, Willow ! Aye, come out, A well-spliced Bat of last year's fray ! You 're good for a few more games, no doubt, And one more "century" anyway! O May, thou art a merry time! Sing hey! the Bat, the Ball, the Bail! The " Oval Bard " again will rhyme, The "Guv'nor" smite 'em like a flail. "Our Walter" will fresh laurels win, The " Surrey Crowd " will shout for Brockwell And " Maurice," when his eye is in, Will spank 'em from Vauxhall to Stockwell ! O, May may be a merry time ! Sing hey! the Bat, the Ball, the Bail! Dear Phoebus, bless our pluviose clime, Let Willow not through Water fail ! Summer's the time for Batsman bliss, So taste it, Sloggers, whilst ye may: For who can tell that joy like this Will come on any July day? O May, thou art the merriest time ! Sing hey! Dry Wickets, Bat, Ball, Bail! ! Fair prophecy of joys sublime, Cricketers' joys that ne'er grow stale. TO THE PAVILION. Coupleb witb tbe IRame of VL& Tp UNCHEON was finished. Those of us 1^ who were over thirty realised the world (^p of regret that may lie in a fact so simple. But to make it worse the rain had come on ; the smaller boys even had fled to shelter, and the stumps stood alone upon the Heath. From Albury to Abinger Hatch the enthusiasts had come to see the match between our local eleven and our famous visitors ; and all of them looked dismally at the clouds, which gave no sign of relenting for an hour. Then the Chairman had an idea. " Gentlemen ! " he said, with the expostula- tory cough which marks the practised chairman, rising to obtain silence for his first toast; "we have here a very distinguished visitor " (he looked at The Professor and bowed), " and I am sure if he would favour us with a few remarks we should have occasion to ahem to rejoice at this interruption of the game." Coupled with the Name of W.G. 19 This was an extreme view ; but we felt that a speech would fill the time, and we cheered dutifully. The Professor wiped his gold-rimmed glasses and rose. "Gentlemen," he said, " I am a serious person. Much as I delight in cricket, my own work as an historian has led me to less attractive fields ; and I am afraid that any remarks I can offer " We dissented politely, but without great heartiness. " Well," he said, " perhaps you may be interested in a parallel which may be drawn between the expansion of England and the growth of cricket. My remarks shall be on the subject of CRICKET AND THE EMPIRE. Gentlemen, historians have invented many theories to account for the greatness and prosperity of this realm, but none of them have rightly guessed the secret. They have prated of Magna Charta and Reform Bills, of trial by jury, and our glorious constitu- tion ; but, with a pedant's short sightedness, they have overlooked cricket, the true secret of England's greatness. Even our own How's That? generation has not fully realised the truth. We are less confident of the virtues of twelve men in a box, the right of asylum, and our other insular idiosyncracies ; we have realised that strictly we have no constitution, and regard with modified enthusiasm our system of government ; but we have been still content to think of cricket as a mere game. Yet the great truth is plain ; it is written large for him who runs to read. It is to cricket that we owe the vast extent of our territory, the empire on which the sun never sets. " Consider the facts. For centuries we had made a pother with our internal and domestic affairs, and our progress differed not greatly from that of other lands. We had meddled from time to time with indifferent success in foreign affairs, but, from the loss of France, remained till the middle of the i8th century with only one foreign possession worth naming. Cricket as yet was not. Then cricket arose, and for a hundred and fifty years has grown and flourished wondrously. And in that poor century and a half, stirred by the great impulse of the glorious game, we have created colonies and dependencies with a population of two Coupled with the Name of W.G. 21 hundred and fifty millions, have hoisted the Union Jack in four continents, and painted the map of the world red. Sir J. R. Seely thought we did this in a fit of absence of mind. The truth is that we were unconscious not of our motive, but of its impulse. Our minds were filled with the majestic tradition of the game, and the expansion of England was in- evitable. " The first recorded cricket match was played in 1746; one may, perhaps, assume that from 1700 the game had been progressing towards perfection. By 1750, although not perfect, its strength was matured, its influence beginning to be widely felt. What was the consequence ? A few years later we won the fight of Plassy, and laid the foundations of our Indian Empire ; and we made 1759 the most glorious year in our annals by the victories of Quebec, Quiberon, and Minden. So rapid and so great was the influence of the game. Doubtless the faint beginnings of the Indian Empire had been made before Plassy ; so had there been the first growth of cricket before Kent met England in Goodman's Fields. From the time of these two great events, every national triumph has How's That* been presaged by some event of importance in the development, or for every national disaster there has been the compensation of a great advance, in the sport. In 1775 came the American war, which ended in the loss of the colonies ; but at the same time we ceased to make our wicket of two stumps and a hole in the ground. We added a third stump, and the Old World redressed the balance of the New. In 1789 came the French Revolution, and Europe shook ; but England had made secure her position by founding the M.C.C. Yet in England, too, there was warning that the older order was changing. Hambledon played its last match, and Parliamentary Reform began to be talked of. The beginnings of county cricket were made, and forthwith we won the battle of the Nile. The second Lord's ground was established, and its consequences were seen in the fresh triumph of Trafalgar. The third and last Lord's ground was founded, and promptly we reaped fresh laurels where we killed in the Peninsula and at Waterloo. The death of Pitt threw the country in mourning, but we made good the national loss by in- stituting matches between Gentlemen and Coupled with the Name of W.G. 23 Players, and founding clubs at the universities. Sawdust was introduced on cricket fields, and soon it appeared at St. Stephen's, and our government became a government by debate. The cricket world about 1850 was rent by the controversy as to fair bowling ; and in the political world the Manchester School became popular, and the policy of snubbing the colonies and cutting them adrift. Happily both dangers were averted. Cricket reached its full development, became universally prac- tised and universally popular, and as it asserted its claims the national spirit rose as in the days of the game's youth ; and at the same time we have added to our territory in every quarter of the globe, and now no craven dares talk of abandoning any part of our England beyond the seas. " This is the merest outline of a parallel which might be demonstrated in detail. The Duke of Wellington half realised the great truth when he uttered his oft- quoted saying about Waterloo and the Eton playing fields ; but his statement lacked precision. If historians will examine minutely the doings of either the pioneers or he mainguard of our advancing empire, they 24 How's That: will find that cricket and cricket only is the real inspiration of their deeds. " Gentlemen, I add but one word more. If during the last half-century our empire has marvellously and beyond all precedent in- creased, why is it ? Because cricket has flourished, fired by the achievements and stimulated by the example of our national hero, Mr. William Gilbert Grace. Gentlemen, I conclude with this toast: 'Cricket, the Empire, and W. G.' " It was the end of the summer in which the champion reached his hundredth century, and the toast was received uproariously. When the applause subsided the rain had not, and the Chairman looked round for a local orator. His eye fell it could hardly fail on The Stout Party. Now a stout man is always exposed to chaff, and he jumped at the opportunity of uttering a long-meditated apology. His few impromptu remarks, he said, would be upon the subject of THE STOUT CRICKETER. " Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen," he said, " far be it from me to say that Dr. Grace is Coupled with ths Name of W.G. 25 stout ; but his form is, let us say, manly. You will remember that the Queen of the Fairies in lolantlie, a lady of noble proportions, remarked that she saw no objection to stoutness in moderation ; yet, in men at least, stoutness (like the American judge) is always an object of contempt. In an athlete especially, obesity provokes derision. . During the late football season a very competent goalkeeper was un- kindly desired by the crowd, merely on account of his waist dimension, to go home and play with his grandchildren. In some sports FalstafF s failing would be a fatal objection ; a corpulent coxswain is an impossi- bility. It says much for the gentle art of cricket that stoutness, if a disadvantage, is not an absolute disqualification. Indeed, one poet of the game, ' W. Bolland,' appeals directly to the fat man's good qualities. 1 The ball the stout cricketer urges Cleaves a pathway of peace o'er the plain, ' says the well-known Zingari song. There was something good-natured in the deliveries of Alfred Shaw. The balls which Richardson and Mr. Spofforth urge are not at all peaceful ; 3 26 How's That? they lack the geniality of Shaw's style, or Burton's. Doubtless obesity is some incum- brance to a batsman : like honest Jack Falstaff, the stout cricketer feels he is not a swallow, an arrow or a bullet. But he often atones for lack of pace by superior judgment. It is beautiful to see him, standing midway between the wickets, watch the ball going between the fieldsmen to the boundary, ' conscious ' as the Oxford poet says, ' of an unquestioned four.' "Another poet, not named in Dr. Traill's Directory of the Lower Slopes, has celebrated with fine discrimination the joys and sorrows of the stout cricketer. I happened to take up the other day a book called, Cassandra and Other Poems, by R. Wheeldon Baddeley, and I read : 1 Not of that sort is he Which lounges by the tent to kill The time with levity ; Nor loudly boastful of his skill, Telling how (in a match you didn't see) He drove a slow for six, or smote to leg A four, or cut a three, Or over a tent-peg Tumbled, but made his catch ; not boastful thus Is the stout cricketer or frivolous.' Coupled with the Name of W.G. 27 "These vanities belong to the young men in violent coloured blazers, which used to offend the eye of ' F. G.' A more tolerant spirit, too, pervades his criticisms of his juniors, although he feels the inferiority of modern cricket to that of his youth, -While Heavily on a bench he sits Smoking a pipe, and with a critic's gaze Upon the younger batsmen of his side, Recalls old cricket memories from the haze Of time, not loudly to deride, But calmly to disparage the wild play " Which, sir, the youngsters of the present day " ' "The stout cricketer's own performances may not rival those of the cracks fresh from college, but are at least respectable. He bats fairly, and, says Mr. Baddeley, ' he bowls swift underhand.' So, doubtless, did ' Lumpy,' the Surrey hero, who helped to beat Kent Lumpy, whose real name was Stevens, but was called Lumpy * because he was so fat.' Of the stout man's fielding the poet says little, save that he struggles to ' get peel'd, when he, alack ! must after dinner field.' That, of course, is a trial. 3* 28 How's That? Sometimes on tented plain, The only veteran there, I have seen him, running, mirthful plaudits gain From athlete youth, or girl-spectators fair ; And I have pitied him as seeming strange, Misplaced among the rest, to him mere boys, And fear'd his memories might sadly range Back to fled youth and unreturning joys ; But these fine fancies don't, I think, occur To my respectable stout cricketer.' " Perhaps Mr. Baddeley underestimates the sensibility of the stout, as he undervalues their performances. It is not the least of Dr. Grace's services to cricket that he has shown that the race is not always to the slim ; that to be pre- eminent in the sport one need be, like the young Falstaff, but an eagle's talon in the waist. And herein he only follows an old tradition of the game. Half the heroes of Hambledon were portly men. Their chief himself, the elder Nyren, was ' a very stout man, 1 and Frame, and Aylward. Mr. Ward grew somewhat circular. Lillywhite was ' active though thick.' Alfred Mynn, that doughty hero, inhabited a form which the poet thought ' nobly moulded,' but the artists depicted as more than a little redundant. He Coupled with the Name of W.G. 29 was, says Mr. Daft, ' for a cricketer, the biggest man I ever saw.' And Mr. Aislabie (Peter Steele's uncle), immortalised in Tom Brown, was ' at least 17 stone.' The stout cricketer can boast distinguished exemplars. I ask you then to drink with me to the health of ' All Stout Cricketers, coupled with the name of W.G.'" " I think," said thevisitors' secretary, obeying the Chairman's commands, " that we are apt to overlook the importance to the future of the game of Dr. Grace's teaching. Coaches are important, but most youngsters have no coaches. They learn their cricket from books. I myself tried to do so, and I will tell you my experience of my guide, which was called ' THE PENNY CRICKETER.' The whole art of cricket is surely cheap at a penny. Many men have vainly sought to acquire it at much greater cost. But it was recently my good fortune to see in a shop window in a back street, among ball-room guides and last year's valentines, a brochure giving the desired counsel. There for a penny you could 30 How 's That ? learn 'the laws of single wicket, rules as to bets, and everything a learner will require to know to make him A PERFECT CRICKETER.' Now I had long wished to be a perfect cricketer, but my attempts had not resulted in perfection ; indeed, quite the contrary. Evidently this was just the book for me. We begin at the beginning. ' The stock-in-trade of a cricket club consists of a ball, bats, and wickets.' I should have thought one ball insufficient, but it seems not ; the same ball is used by both sides indiscrimi- nately. However, this is the manager's business. It was the directions as to play that concerned me. But I noted in passing that batting-gloves 'are rejected by many as savouring ofeffeminacy,' and that ' many well-contested matches have been declared null and void by reason of the measurements being found on subsequent ex- amination to be defective. This was new and curious information. Bowling is the first branch of the art of which the anonymous author treats. After explaining what bowling and popping creases are, he says : ' The bowler in delivering the ball must stand between these ^ two lines.' This was novel doctrine to me : one falls into so many mistakes for want of tuition. Coupled with the Name of W.G. 31 The ball should be grasped ' firmly, yet gently.' The best way to practise bowling ' is to set up a mark and bowl at it until an accurate aim is obtained, as well as a quickness and steadiness of eye wherewith to detect the weak points of the opposing batsman.' How will bowling at a mark teach this ? It is disappointing, after a few perfunctory directions, to find beginners merely told to pay ' watchful attention to the best bowlers in their respective localities.' I had not paid a penny to be told that. ' There are many kinds of bowling,' proceeds the Guide, ' all of which should be studied and practised assiduously.' " We turn to batting. First, it seems, when you go in, you ask the umpire at your own end for block. ' This the umpire proceeds to give by measuring a distance rather more than the length of the bat from the middle stump of the wicket, in front of and in a direct line with the latter.' The bat 'should be clutched with both hands by the middle of the handle.' Then comes a very valuable caution to beginners : ' The striker should sedulously guard against the temptation to obtain too many runs. He ought to try to block every ball except 32 How's That? wide and favourable ones.' 'A ball that runs wide of the wicket may be dealt with anyhow.' But I wanted to know which way is best ! However, there is good advice as to the bats- man's defence. 'Blockingrequiresgreat caution.' It is performed by ' chopping with a firm down- ward cut.' This section contains a description of that deadly ball, the shooter ' shooter, i.e. a ball that goes straight for the wicket without touching the ground in front.' This seems to me a very fresh and original definition. "As to fielding there can be no mistake; the Guide gives a diagram of the field (headed ' Cricket Field Arrangements') showing long-off and long-on about thirty yards from the batsman, and the scorers close by one umpire. The diagram has these remarks appended : ' Note. In fast bowling extend your men. Note. In slow bowling you draw them nearer to the wicket.' For my slow bowling you have to do just the reverse. The letterpress is scarcely in accord with the plan, for short-slip is told to stand five feet from the wicket-keeper, but is depicted as standing fifteen feet away. The duties of the various fieldsmen are carefully detailed, and here the Guide is really useful. Coupled with the Name of W.G. 33 Point's ' province is to watch the order of the bowling and keep a look out for favourable balls.' What he is to do when he sees them is not explained. Cover-point and middle -wicket should ' cross to the side to which the batsman hits most frequently.' Long-leg's duties are even more arduous. He is to stand behind square-leg and to ' support cover-point,' and cover-point is to stand ' adjacent to the border.' When I reached this section, I despaired of ever being a perfect cricketer. It was almost a relief to read that ' there is usually no second innings when one side has in the first been beaten beyond recovery.' I regret that my penny is beyond hope of recovery, too. Now, no one ever regretted the pence he spent in buying Dr. Grace's instructions how to play. There you find sound doctrine clearly expressed : and as all of us want to be taught, this is a great matter. I give you, then, this toast, ' Cricket Teachers, coupled with the name of W. G.' " The toast was drunk and, for the third time, with musical honours. It was my turn next ; that is the worst of being a senior member of a club. On the field you are an old crock, and can be put in last and 34 How's That? otherwise treated with indignity ; but when subscriptions are wanted or speeches, why, you are a senior member and must comply. So I rose and said I wished to propose " The health of Dr. W. G. Grace " ; but before doing so, I would take the opportunity of making a personal explanation on the subject of CATCHES I HAVE MISSED. Addressing myself to our visitors, I said I might, without injustice to myself, adopt a line of Mr. Norman Gale's " I 'm not a good cover, I freely admit." " Indeed," I went on, "the members of my club would not confine the suggestion of my demerits in the field to cover-point. To make a clean breast of the matter, I have missed a good many catches of late years, and, relying on my good nature, they write me down a butter- fingers, without fear of my making a Star Chamber matter of it. It was not always so ; I had once as sure a pair of hands as any on the Heath. Twenty, even ten years ago, now, I did not fear comparison. But of late well, I have made my confession. Still, I admit that when Johnson (who was bowling vilely) used Coupled with the Name of W.G. 35 vituperative language to me last Saturday fortnight because a ball that went yards over my head reached the boundary, I thought it time to vindicate my character. I have, therefore, gone carefully through my notes of recent matches and analysed the causes of my mistakes. For, of course, I don't drop catches wantonly, or without reason. Once in a while, no doubt, I have unaccountably failed to hold the ball ; but generally there was some valid explanation to be given, some plain reason why the ball escaped me. No one blames the man who has an August sun full in his eyes ; or who trips in the long field over the inequalities which exist in rural grounds, or who is baulked by another man running against him. I have ascertained, I say, to what causes my misses were due, and this is the result : per cent. Sun in my eyes 68.183 Tripped by inequalities when running for the catch 14-763 Tripped owing to lace being undone ... 1.217 Collided with another fieldsman 4 Ball carried out of reach by wind 2.062 Obstructed by batsman 666 Extreme cold rendering fingers numb ... 5.684 My fault 3-4 2 5 36 How's That? I have not thought it necessary to carry the figures beyond three places of decimals. Round numbers are near enough for me. Now, this is not a very discreditable record. To be sure, I might have divided the three and a-half per cent, which I admit as my fault. I might have attributed the proper proportion to natural disgust at mismanagement of the bowling (I am a change bowler myself and understand how the thing should be arranged), to the derisive and disconcerting cheers of some thoughtless persons, to having my attention distracted by calls by passers-by and so forth. But I disdain such excuses. I would naught extenuate, just as I would let down naught (in the way of catches) in malice. No, I take the blame that is due to me frankly. And, really, it is not a very discreditable record. I made a copy of the table and handed it to Johnson ten days ago. I thought that was the most effective answer to his taunt, the kindest way I could take of reproving him for his remarks on the field. " Next evening, about nine o'clock, I strolled out from my cottage and walked across the park to the village. About nine o'clock the Coupled with the Name of W.G. 37 special Standard comes in, and you can be sure of meeting half our eleven at ' The White Horse.' When I entered there was some laughing at a joke of Johnson's. I soon found what it was : Johnson had made what he called a correct version of my table. It was a vile burlesque. This is how it ran : Catches held 3.425 per cent. Catches missed owing to son 5. Catches missed, other causes not fieldsman's fault ... ... 10 Catches missed owing to butter fingers 81.575 " This was grossly libellous, and I think the other men felt it. Anyhow, we drifted into an argument, and at argument, at any rate, I can hold my own with the rest of our eleven. I reminded them how many years ago at Shal- ford, on a horribly wet day, when the ball was as slippery as a slide and the ground so bad you could not keep a footing, I brought off a wonderful catch at long on. This I did by the simple artifice of filling my pockets with saw- dust, and keeping my hands in them till the ball was dropping, when I clutched and held it, mud and all. That was (though I say it) a really 38 How's That? remarkable effort. Looking back ' through the haze of years,' as our curate puts it in a fine original phrase, I am not sure if it was I, or the other long-field, who made it ; but it is a good many years ago, and, at any rate, I have told the story so often that I have a prescriptive right to that catch. We parted in good humour, and Johnson and I walked home together. " But I little thought then what a signal revenge I should have in our very next match ! Last Saturday we played the return game against Albury on their ground. Things pointed to an exciting finish when one of the Albury men had to leave the ground ; we wanted about twenty runs, and there was only a quarter of an hour left for play. I had had my innings and offered to take the vacant place in the field. One of our own team laughed, but my offer was accepted. It was getting cold, so I kept my blazer on, and took my place at long off. Two wickets fell and the last man joined Johnson, who was hitting against time. I had had nothing to do till the last over, when only four were wanted to win. Then Johnson gave a huge lift in my direction. I distinctly heard him chuckle as he saw it going towards Coupled with the Name of W.G. 39 me. I ran back fearing I could not get to the ball ; but by reaching high and as far back as I could I just got to it, and touched it, but could not hold it. It fell forward and towards my right. I jumped sideways and grabbed it again, shoulder high, and hugged it to my waist, but it slipped again and I thought a good effort had been wasted. But I heard no sound of falling. Looking quietly down, Isaw it had lodged in my coat pocket ! It was nestling there quite safe, against my pipe. With quiet dignity I took it out and held it aloft to show the catch was made. Then I walked slowly into the pavilion. We had lost the match, but my character was vindicated. Johnson, indeed, attempted to argue that he was not out, and that under rule forty-one he was entitled to five runs, as I had not stopped the ball with ' any part of my 'person.' But we soon laughed that contention out of court, for by the same reasoning a wicket-keeper stopping the ball with his pads would give five runs to his oppo- nents ! No ; Johnson was out. He will never call me butter-fingers again ! " You may ask what connection this has with the champion. I will explain. One of the 40 How 's That ? many wise sayings of his which have been recorded is this : ' We all of us miss catches sometimes!' This is the tie between great and small cricketers, and I ask you to drink to 'All Lovers of the Game, and W. G.'" It would be invidious for me to make remarks about the applause received by the various speakers ; but I noticed that after my speech there were anxious looks at the clouds. The weather was plainly improving, and perhaps it was a pity to call for another speech. How- ever, the Chairman thought otherwise. We had with us, he said, a distinguished author whom he would ask UNWRITTEN CRICKET BOOKS.* "Gentlemen," said the Author, "my obser- vations shall be short. The literature of cricket, it has often been said, is disappointingly meagre. The publications of the last few years may have lessened the force of this criticism, but there are yet many gaps in shelves that should be full of the game. In Echoes from the Oxford Magazine we are told, ' Mr. Page sends a leaflet on "Pulls from the Off.'" Where is that * Reprinted, by permission, from the St. James's Budget. Coupled with the Name of W.G. 41 leaflet now ? Could not Mr. Page or Mr. W. W. Read expand it into a treatise ? The 'pull' is a great subject ; perhaps the whole future of cricket might be changed by the appearance of such a book. There is another subject as important : lobs, to wit. It is well known that there is more in lobs than meets the eye. ' Lobs on the Leg-side ' is a good title ; could not Humphreys devote his leisure to explaining the lobster's art ? Moreover, lobs are a por- tent, and Dr. Grace has taken to them again. When he last bowled lobs (against Kent, in 1876) he followed them up by scoring 344; now that he has tried them again against I Zingari he scores 101, not out. Could not he give us an article explaining the connection between low deliveries and high scoring ? For Dr. Grace, indeed, there are fifty subjects awaiting treatment. When are we to have his further reminiscences ? True, he has given us one book and several articles already; but a man who has lived through more than a hundred centuries must have much more to tell us. If he would give us 'A Wet Day on the Cricket Field, and How to Enjoy It,' there would be one less unanswered riddle in the world. Another 4 42 How's That? book, as yet unpublished, would command even wider attention. Every bowler in every shire would secure a copy at any cost. But, if it is written, Dr. Grace has hitherto jealously kept the MS. in his own possession. It is called 'The Ball that Always Gets Me Out.' To know that in a secret drawer in some inner- most cupboard lies that undiscovered secret is enough to tempt the bowlers to flat burglary. " For the ' earnest student ' of the game there is a constant provocation in the obscurity which hides its origin and growth. Perhaps, despite the careful harvesting of every discoverable fact, some few stray grains yet await the gleaner in that field of historical research. A year or two devoted to the search of family records, a year or two more of patient digging among forgotten pamphlets, might add ten lines to the story of those early days. Perhaps there is somewhere a mine of knowledge awaiting the discoverer. The next century may see the appearance of Cricket in the Middle Ages, by X, Professor of Cricket in the University of Cambridge. Less laborious than that historical monograph will be the Reflections on Broad Half- penny Downs, which we may expect some day Coupled with the Name of W.G. 43 from the pen of ' F. G.' Mr. Cochrane, the only Blue who ever condescended to verse (unless Mr. Yardley, too, should be accounted a poet), has, indeed, already touched on the last theme, and pictured what may happen : 1 When Time of all our flannelled hosts Leaves only the renown, Our cracks, perhaps, may join the ghosts That roam on Windmill Down, Where shadowy crowds will watch the strife, And cheer the deeds of wonder Achieved by giants whom in life A century kept asunder.' Mr. Cochrane has also sung of the wretch ' who snicketh the length ball,' but the bowler's woes admit of fuller utterance. A phrase of Mr. Lang's, ' when bats seem broader than the broad barn-door,' suggests a whole volume of lyric melancholy. It would be a graceful thing if our bowlers would found a new Rhymer's Club, and under the title of 'The Barn-door Bat ' give expression to the respect they feel for the master. Perhaps Mr. Norman Gale, who has given us such excellent cricket verses, would edit the book and contribute some lines on 'The Yorker that Failed.' There are a 4* 44 How 's That ? score more of volumes which he may see who lives long enough : Benefits Forgot, by a Disap- pointed Ground Man ; Cricket Horticulture, by Flowers and Mold ; A Short Slip (a novel in the Keynotes Series) ; The Average Hater, by an Old Cricketer ; Lady Cricketers I have Met, by I. Zingari ; Peel on the Spot, with Notes by Roberts. But just now it is an old book which interests us most ; we are all reading the new edition of Grace Abounding. Still we look for more, and in confident expectation of good things to come, I ask you to drink to ' The Literature of Cricket, coupled with the name of W. G.' " We were able to resume the game then, or I don't know what might have happened. In our second innings I But that is of no public importance. A Century of Grace. 45 HERE HE How 's That ? COMING OUT. COVERING WICKET. A Century of Grace. 47 MAKING A BLOCK. 4 8 How's That? MAKING READY. A Century of Grace. 49 READY FOR ANY BOWLING. NOW THEN How's That? PLAYS FORWARD. LEFT TOE UP. A Century of Grace. SCIENCE. A STOLEN RUN. How's That? A BACK VIEW. A HIT TO LEG. A Century of Grace. 53 A RUN SAVED. 54 How's That? RECOVERING. A Century of Grace. 55 CAUTIOUS. OUT 1 LEG BEFORE, OF COURSE. How's That: j FIELDING : A STUDY IN BACKS. A Century of Grace. 57 BOWLING: ARRANGING THE FIELD. How's That? THE CHAMPION BOWLS, A Century of Grace. 59 BUT NOT THE CHAMPION BOWLER, c * 6o How 's That ? FIELDING. A Century of Grace. 61 62 How's That? POINT. SAVING A RUN. A Century of Gr.ice. THE THREE STAGES OF A CATCH. 6 4 How's That? NOT QUITE. A Century of Grace. STOPPED. WELL FIELDED. 66 How 's That ? A WAY HE HAS. HOW'S THAT? A Century of Grace. 67 COMING IN AGAIN 68 How's That? THE TURF. A Century of Grace. 69 PATTING THE CREASE. HIS FIRST OVER. 70 How's That? NOT YET I TAKING IT EASY. A Century of Grace. CUTTING. How 's That ? A Century of Grace. 73 FOR FOUR, 74 How's That? WARM WORK. A Century of Grace. 75 7 6 How's That? WARM WORK, A Century of Grace. 77 *\ . IS IT A RUN? How ? s That NOT FOR W. O. ! A Century of Grace. 79 IN FULL BLAST. 8o How's That? IN FULL BLAST. A Century of Grace. 81 IN FULL BLAST. 82 How 's That ? A NASTY ONE. A Century of Grace. TO THE DOUNDARY. WATCHiriG IT. How 's That ? THE USUAL TELEGRAM. A Century of Grace. AT REST, 86 How 's That ? PILING IT UP. A BIT FAGGED. A Century of Grace. 87 How 's That ? NOT HIS OVER, A Century of Grace. 89 READY FOR A SWIPE. SAVED How's That? THAT CREASE AGAIN. WAITING FOR A RICHARDSON A Century of Grace. NO ! NO I How's That? r t OUT I 10Q. A Century .of Grace. 93 TO THE PAVILION. How 's That ? THE FINAL BOW. anb uts ; r, a Cricketer's ^feelings. WHEN you wake up in the morning on the day of " the great match," And rush to the Venetians for a peep, And the rain-flouts flog the windows, and belabour the soaked thatch, And the world of leaves with water is a-weep ; When you think of sodden wickets, and of sawdust heaps, and steam, And, instead of donning flannels with a shout, You want to use strong language, and get back to bed, and dream Oh ! that is when a cricketer feels " Out ! " But when the sloping sunbeams on the verdant turf shine warm, And you tread the springing creases with a spring, And the captain's won the toss, and you feel in rippin' form, And you're sent in first, to " slog like anything " ; And you find the turf like velvet, and the first ball goes for six, And you've early premonitions of a win, 95 With cheeks like boiled vermilion You scoot straight for the Pavilior g8 How's That? And you seem at peace with Nature, and at home before the sticks Oh ! that is when a cricketer feels " In ! " When the Bat who has been banging them two hours skies one at last To you, out in the country, straight as straight, And the sun is in your eyes, and it comes at you as fast As a comet or a Highland stream in spate, Till at the final moment the confounded leather lingers, And hits your finger-tips and not your palm, And you feel that all creation is exclaiming " Butter- fingers ! ! ! " And that Sol shines on your shame in scornful < calm ; When the smiter all a-melt hitches up his azure belt, And prepares to smite another score, no doubt ; And the ring seems one round scoff, and your captain takes you off, And puts on " Ginger Givembeans," that lolling, lobbing toff Ah ! that is when a cricketer feels " Out ! " But when their last man 's in, and wants only two to win, And it comes at you hard, sudden, swift, and low, Ins and Outs. 99 And the batsman, cool and cocky, begins running, with a grin, And you " feel for it " six inches from )'our toe, And the field lets out a groan like a pavior's gusty gasp, And you hear them thinking, " Pity it 's old Hicks ! " And the leather hits your palm, feels a Dutch-cheese in your grasp, And hurts like bottled thunder-bolts and sticks ! And the cry is, " Chuck her up I " and you 're game to " snap " a Krupp, And they rush to the Pavilion at full spin, And your captain, best of fellows, smacks the wind out of your bellows Oh ! that is when a cricketer feels " In ! " When you 've taken block with care, and assume a careless air, As though you didn't hear the ring's applause (All along of your last score, which they know was Ninety-four), And you mean to touch three figures ere you pause ; When the gazers settle down with that cool, con- siderate frown Which old stagers always bring to first- class cricket, When you crack a joke with Brown, who 's at point, and then pat down An imaginary mountain.,near your wicket ; ioo How's Thai? When you cast a look around to see how the field are placed, And where a sixer safely may be steered, With that wary, watchful smile which young W. G. so graced (When the Champion had a waist and slighter beard) ; When you draw yourself erect, arid composedly expect The bowler's first delivery and it comes, With a break like a frog's jump, and uproots your middle stump, And the ring with disappointment fairly hums ; When you plod to the Pavilion with that plaguey dismal " duck," And e'en your private pals can't raise a shout, And one whispers, " Don't be stuck ! It is only cricket-luck ! " Jove! that is when a cricketer feels "Out!" But when, though put in first, and though hot and parched with thrist, You are in with the last man, a perfect flat, And you've made your "century" clean, plus an extra seventeen, And you spy a chance of " carrying your bat ; " When the final over 's yours, and you bag a brace of fours, Ins and Outs. 101 And follow with a three, a two, or five, And feel that you could stand with the willow in your hand A fortnight, and still keep the game alive ; When " How 's that ? " the fielders shout, and the umpire jerks forth " Out ! " And you feel, with a big thrill, it isn't you, But that you will live in story as the man who had the glory Of carrying your bat that innings through ; When with cheeks like boiled vermilion you scoot straight for the Pavilion, But are quickly intercepted by the crowd, And they kick up a big row till you saunter out and bow, And your sweetheart 's sitting by and looking proud ; And your captain tells you that you are quite the Coming Bat, And that the Club must thank you for a win, And you find that your full score is precisely One Three Four! Gad! that is when a cricketer feels "In!" In! In! Yes, that is when a cricketer feels " In ! " (Barne of irge BY AN ELDERLY CRICKET ENTHUSIAST. (Some li'av after Praed's "Good-Night to the Season.") GOOD-BYE to the Season ! Tis over. The Oval no longer looks gay, Lord's well might be laid down in clover, The ladies are off and away. The bat makes no echoes at Brighton, Trent Bridge hears no bump of the ball, Old Trafford a Trappist might frighten, And Bristol 's o'erspread with a pall. For want of some better employment, Till GRACE, GUNN, and STODDART turn out, I must cultivate fireside enjoyment, And read up old scores and grow stout. Good-bye to the Season ! Our hobbies We all have, and cricket is mine ; That two hundred and seventeen of Bobby's Warmed up my old heart like old wine. 156 158 How's That? " The Guv'nor's " long score, void of blunder, Was good to the end, and my ears Still ache with the eloquent thunder Of vast and vociferous cheers. Quidnuncs had been fudging up reasons For ruling out ABEL, as " stale " ; I hate such unsportsmanlike treasons, And always rejoice when they fail. Good-bye to the Season ! The wickets Were little like those of last year, And visitors purchasing tickets Did not drop their tanners in fear. Most of the big matches were ended In May, and in June, and July; The turf, and the totals, were splendid, Delighting "The Doctor's" dark eye. Phew ! Wasn't he seen in his glory ? A thousand runs tottled in May ! ! ! That tops e'en our Titan's own story, That made luckless Gloucester look gay ! Good-bye to the Season ! No wonder They called it the true Year of GRACE ! He came down on all trundlers like thunder, Still skilful to play, bit, and place. Nine centuries notched in one Season ! His full Hundred Hundreds o'ertopped ! An Autumnal Dirge. 159 Small marvel our Prince, with good reason, A "line" to "Leviathan" dropped. With forty-seven years on his shoulders, Jove ! Can't he still open them, hey ? And he still, to the joy of beholders, Can keep at the wickets all day. Tis pity he missed, by a fraction, Top place in the Average List, But then he was longer in action ; And fairness can hardly resist The belief that the virtual topper Is GRACE with two innings to one ! Though McLaren's Four Century "whopper" Placed him first by about half a run ! Well, here 's to the Great Testimonial ! First Batsman for years may we see Our big, brawny, bearded, baronial, Brave, evergreen W.G. ! Good-bye to the Season ! MCLAREN All records has cut, for one score ; Nor has Cricket story been barren In many a wonderment more. An Indian Prince, fine and frisky, Ran MCLAREN and GRACE mighty near. (" Ramsgate-Jimmy " or " Rum-gin-an'-whisky " He's called by the crowd, when they cheer) An Autumnal Dirge. 161 Ranjitsinhji's favourite, and famous, And well has he merited fame. Beware, British Bats, or he '11 shame us, And that at our pet Western game ! Then RICHARDSON ! My ! what a ripper ! He 's given old Surrey first place, With KEY as a rattling good " skipper," And " Guv'nor " to keep up the pace. The contest was close, and the chances Of Lanes and of Yorks often changed ; And Gloucester has made such advances That she within hail of them ranged. But ?'as for poor Kent! Though she's got 'em Fine batsmen and bowling big-pots The old Hop County 's down at the bottom, And 'tisn't much better with Notts. Good-bye to the Season ! Poor SHREWSBURY Sickness kept out of much fun, And " rheumatiz " played the Old Gooseberry E'en with the Notts giant, GUNN. Here 's wishing them both in good form again ! Middlesex STODDART, who tired, Has lately been making it warm again! Who more than he is admired ? 12 162 How 's That ? Then PALAIRET, DRUCE, " Sir" O'BRIEN, And LILLEY, and stout SAMMY WOODS, Each has proved he 's a cricketing lion ; And TOWNSEND, the boy, is " good goods." Good-bye to the Season ! There's " WALTER," Though luckless, is still on the job. T'other READ, mighty MAURICE, won't falter, There 's MOLD, and boy BRIGGS, and " our Bob." What joy, too, to see GEORGIE LOHMANN From Africa back safe and sound ! When fit, a more dangerous foeman Than GEORGIE is not to be found. MEAD, PEEL! but there, common sense teaches That he who for " grading them " goes, Is charging in dangerous breaches, And treading on sensitive toes. Good-bye to the Season ! Another Will come, with its " hundreds " and "ducks," Its champions, its critical pother, Its good and bad wickets and lucks. Will its weather be damper or drier ? Will it victory bring or reverse ? Will its scoring be lower or higher ? Its bowling be better or worse ? An Autumnal Dirge. 163 Will it bring a new bowler or batter A GRACE, or a STEEL, or a BLIGH ? So it brings in "The Doctor," small matter ! Good-bye to the Season good-bye ! I'KINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER. flppooismith's 3/6 Series. Crown Svo, cloth. Yol. I. THREE MEN IN A BOAT ... Jerome K. Jerome. (To SAY NOTHING OF THE DOG) II. THE END OF A LIFE Eden Phillpotts. III. DIARY OF A PILGRIMAGE ... Jerome K. Jerome. IY. RECALLED TO LIFE Grant Allen. Y. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA Max O'Rell. i L. A. Weatherly YI. THE SUPERNATURAL? \ AND U. N. Maskelyne. YII. THE WHITE HAT Finch Mason. YIII. FIFTY POUNDS FOR A WIFE A. L. Glyn. IX. A TIGER'S CUB Eden Phillpotts. X. WHEN I LIYED IN BOHEMIA Fergus Hume. ( George Grossmith XI. THE DIARY OF A NOBODY \ AND ( Weedon Grossmith. XII. FLYING YISITS Harry Furniss. XIII. "LIFE IN HIM YET" XIY. DR. PAULL'S THEORY Mrs. A. M. Diehl. XY. CLAUD BRENNAN John Ferrars. YVT /THE GREAT SHADOW and\ r n , XYL \ BEYOND THE CITY / Conan Doyle> XYII. THREE BRACE OF LOYERS Harold Yallings. XYIII. THE PRISONER OF ZENDA... Anthony Hope. XIX. NEIGHBOURS OF OURS ... Henry W. Nevinson XXI. PETER STEELE, THE ) Horace G. Hutchin- CRICKETER / son. XX. STATION STORIES Murray Cator. XXII. DEAD MAN'S COURT Maurice H. Hervey. XXIII. "NOT EXACTLY" E. M. Stooke. XXIY. MINOR DIALOGUES W. Pett Ridge. XXY. GREENROOM ) Arthur Wm. RECOLLECTIONS { A'Beckett. XXYI. DARTMOOR Maurice H. HerYey. Bristol: J. W. AKROWSMITH, 11 Quay Street. London: SIMPKIN. MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KEXT & Co. Limited. 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