Punch: Punch (89.1885)

September 19, 1885.] PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

143

INTERIORS AND EXTERIORS. No. 19.

THE END OF THE

a few of the gentlemen player

Attend, all ye who love to see our noble Cricket " cracks,"

Here you may get a peep at them, their faces and. their backs,
And these are broad, and those are bright, for merry men of muscle
Are they who on our British sward have met in many a tussle.
Foremost stands William Gilbert Grace, he of the raven beard,
By British bowlers dreaded much, by British boys revered.
For twenty years our Champion unchallenged, still he stands
With boyish zeal and nerves of steel, broad shoulders, mighty hands.
Shoulders that " open " smitingly, and hands that never " muff,"
Of whose long scores the cheering " ring " have never quantum stiff.
How many an English lad, if asked who would he choose to be
Of all our worthies, like a shot would answer—W. G ?

And him to whom Leviathan, low bending, gaily chats,

Pray who is he ? The great I. D., erst brilliantest of bats.

Sit at the Oval or at Lords, and many an ancient talker.

Will tell you of the wondrous feats lang syne of I. I). Walker,
Ex-Captain he of Middlesex. Behold, too, at his side
His smart successor, A. J. Webbe, aforetime Oxford's pride.

Whilst close behind him, Lancashire's great hero of the bat,

Sits, as the Cockneys know him well a-iield " without 'is 'at! "
The dashing A. N. Hornby. With his hand upon his hip,

Lord Harris stands. He Kent commands, and seldom a chance let's
slip.

Above his shoulder peers the face of W. W. Read,

The boast of Surrey, piler up of scores right few succeed
111 topping. To C. W. Wright, ex-Cantab crack, chats he,

Above them both behold the Studd, Cambridge's great C. T.,

Late brilliant bat and bowler grand, to Cricket lost, alas I
Since he to " where Chineses drive " as preacher pleased to pass.

RICKETING SEASON.

caught by Our Artist at Lord's.

They do not " drive " as once he drove—for sixes. Cam's great sons
Find yet another member in his neighbour, genial " Buns,"
The ^logger C. I. Thornton, save by Bonnor never beaten,
Who spanked o'er the Pavilion when, a lad, he played for Eton,
And can hit to the next parish when he _fairly_' lands " a ball.

Lord! how the groundlings chortle at his hitting clean and tall!
Brilliant O'Brien, Oxford's joy, comes next, then Surrey's crack,
The slim and supple Diver, clean of limb, and straight of back,
Who runs like George, and throws like Thor. Next stands his
Captain smart,

The dashing J. C. Shuter, who right well has played his part.

Far to the right sits A. G. Steel, ex-Cantab, master he
Alike of bat and ball, to none save only W. G.

Second, the pride of Lancashire, in style, as skill, A 1.

Close at his back, with curly crop, stands great A. Lyttleton,
Behind the stumps unbeatable, free bat and slashing field.

Without sits A. P. Lucas ; he to none afoot need yield
In mingled fire and finish, so correct and clean of play,

All hope upon the tented field to see him many a day.

So Punch's pen plays picture-guide, and gives unto the million,

That joy of every Cricketer, a Peep at the Pavilion!

A Danger for Dynamiters.—Mr. Parnell, at a banquet lately
;iven him, is said to have told his hearers that " he hoped it might
je possible for them to have a platform with only one plank, and
that the plank of national independence." It is to be hoped that none
of them will, by their acts and deeds, be finally brought to a platform
composed of more planks than one.