Punch, Or The London Charivari | Page 6

the oily beast. JERRAM tells me to-day that he was once a solicitor's clerk in Billsbury, and had to leave on account of some missing money. Since then he appears to have lived a shady life, varied by attempts at blackmail. Faugh!
Came down to Billsbury to-day, to attend the inaugural dinner of the season of the Billsbury Cricket Club. I am a Vice-President, and so is CHUBSON. The dinner was held in the large room of the "Blue Posts Hotel." General BANNATYNE, an old Indian, who is the President of the Club, was in the chair, having CHUBSON on his right, and me on his left. Old CHUBSON, to whom I was introduced, seems not half a bad old fellow, but he can't speak a bit. The dinner was awful, everything as tough as leather, and the Cabinet Pudding more beastly than any Cabinet Pudding I ever tasted--which is saying a good deal. CHUBSON proposed, "Prosperity to the Billsbury C.C." "Politics," he said, "are like Cricket. We spend our time in bowling overs." At this point a young Conservative, who had drunk too much, shouted, "Ah, and you mostly change sides, too"--an allusion to the fact that CHUBSON is believed to have started in politics as a Tory. Somebody removed the interrupter, and CHUBSON finished his speech all right, but the incident must have annoyed him. I proposed "The Town and Trade of Billsbury," and started by saying what pleasure it gave anybody occupied in politics to take a part in a non-political celebration like this. "My friend, Sir THOMAS CHUBSON," I said, "and I have not met before, and I congratulate myself, therefore, on having been introduced to him to-day. We shall do our level best to bowl one another out, but I know we shall play the game according to the rules, and in that spirit of fair-play for which Englishmen in general, and Billsbury cricketers in particular, are celebrated."
This was rather mixed, but it went very well. I think I took the shine out of CHUBSON. Later on there was a shocking row between two of the town-councillors, who got to loggerheads over the question of the Billsbury Waterworks. It was smoothed over, however, after everybody had shouted "No politics!" for about ten minutes.
TOLLAND says we must begin to canvas a little soon. Horrible work, but absolutely necessary.
* * * * *
BOWLS.
(BY A BUFFER.)
"Unfortunately (at bowls) one had to stoop to conquer: it is that stooping which (except in politics) plays the deuce with us after fifty."--_James Payn's Plea for Bowls_.
Yes, PAYN, you are right--as you commonly are-- The vertebr? creak and the ribs seem to jar, When a man bends his back--after fifty-- If only to pull off his boots; he at length Finds that curve in his spine is a strain on the strength Of which middle-age must be thrifty.
But Bowls! Yes, my boy, it's a jolly old game, Though athletic fanatics might vote it too tame, But sense is not baffled by bogies. The Emerald Green and the "bowls" and the "jack," Are beautiful--but for that bend in the back-- To those the young furies call "fogies."
You have not to "sprint" o'er some acres of grass, To "slog" or to scamper, to "scrummage" or "pass," At the risk of your ribs, or "rheumatics"; You have not to treat your opponents like foes, Or "go for" your rival's shin-bone or his nose, As do the aforesaid fanatics.
But how pleasant the "green" in the cool of the day, The tankard of stingo, the yard of white clay, And the play and the chaff of good fellows! Although not a betting man howls out the odds, And no ring of mad backers--like gallery "gods"--- About us insensately bellows.
Yes, PAYN, the "crank in," and the "kiss of the Jack," _All_--save, as you say, that darned bend in the back-- About the old game is delightful. We thank you for "trolling the bowl" once again, Ah! it were a pleasure to play it with PAYN-- (By Jove, though--that loin-twinge was frightful!)
* * * * *
A THEATRICAL PLUNGE; OR, TAKING A HEDDA.
A plunge indeed! but fortunately the swimmers are strong, and able to save the suicidal Ibsenites. For my part,--that is, as one of the audience drawn by curiosity,--I should say that were it not for the excellent acting of all concerned in the piece, and especially of Miss ELIZABETH ROBINS as the Hanwellian heroine, IBSEN's Hedda Gabler would scarcely have been allowed a second night's existence at the Vaudeville. Miss ROBINS is so much in earnest--as a true artist should be--that she excites your curiosity to discover what on earth she is taking all this trouble about; and thus she compels your attention. That the result is eminently unsatisfactory is no fault of hers. The piece itself is stuff