Chisholm of Chisholm," that lady's husband (the Chisholm) not being "of Chisholm" at all, which barony is in Roxburghshire, but being legally designed "Chisholm of Erchless;" "the Chisholm" being a familiar or patriarchal appellation, used originally to distinguish that chieftain from Chisholm of Chisholm.-I am, &c., A. P. S. CRICKET. MR. URBAN,-Do not start, sir, at the hackneyed title. I am not going to hold forth on the delights of the noble game, or go into a rhapsody on the styles of our cricketers. I do not intend to laud that terror of bowlers, Mr. Lubbock, or criticise our several counties and their champions, neither am I inclined to review the past season, or gossip about the coming one, for Lillywhite has already done so in his "Annual," and how small would this paper seem when compared with the carefully compiled little volume which is in every true cricketer's pocket at the present hour. No, I leave All England-United-Marylebone-Counties-Public Schools-Private Schools-Universities—I. Zingari-Quidnuncs-Incogniti-and Harlequins, to themselves, and take for my subject "Our Club." In the first place, I shall endeavour to paint "Our Club" as it was, with as lively a touch as I can command, and then with a dash of melancholy I will present it as it is. We all supported Slogboro' Cricket Club, and drove over to the practice ground at least once a week-the members were bakers, butchers, blacksmiths, clergymen, doctors, lawyers, farmers, and squires. All had a place assigned them in the field; one was a noted long field on, someone else the best point, another a remarkable long slip, the clergyman by far the best bowler, the squire our safe bat, the blacksmith the toughest wicket-keeper for miles round, the baker the "Slogger," the butcher prided himself in long-stopping, and I was invariably placed by our captain the lawyer, square-leg. Practice was looked upon more in the light of a ceremony than as a pastime. A badly fielded ball was strictly noted, and the delinquent severely reprimanded; a good catch was duly applauded, and a fine hit. chronicled by our chief. When a challenge was received, or a given one accepted, it caused quite a commotion in the village. "Who's the eleven?" was the eager but ungrammatical question asked by member of member. "Wonder if the captain will play Bob so and so, after missing those two easy catches down at Slowton? Who'll start the bowling? Who'll be this? Who'll be that?" were riddles which it was impossible to answer until the meeting two nights before the match, held at the White Boar, when our captain read out the names of the successful ones selected to uphold the honour of "Our Club" against some rival institution. The captain played the men on their merits. If the son of the squire had been lazy in the field during the last match, or careless at practice, Bob the butcher took his place. Had the blacksmith toasted his club too much at the mid-day dinner, and, consequently, missed many chances in the second innings, the baker took his place, and so on. The consequence was, that we always faced our opponents as a well drilled eleven, and as a rule, won our matches. Many may think that our captain was a little too severe, and rode the high horse a little too fast, and tried to make a toil of a pleasure; but I can assure you, Mr. Editor, it was no such thing—all the men were proud of him, boasted of being under him, and when the old man died, the veterans shook their heads and prophesied no good would come of "Our Club" without its head; but in spite of the loss of the lawyer, we flourished. The squire took us in hand, and we were as usual the cocks of the walk for seven miles round, because we co-operated, and would not permit petty jealousies to interfere with the good fellowship that reigned amongst us. We started a junior club on our principle, and the youngsters promised to beat the old ones before long. Such was the flourishing state of “Our Club" when I left England ten years ago. "How is the old club getting on?" I used to think whenever I looked at my broken knuckle which old Ben the wheelwright cracked for me in our annual match of “Married v. Single." "I wonder who is Captain this year?” Ah, me! little did I dream of the change that awaited me on my arrival home. Of course I learnt by Bell's Life the doings of the big affairs, but the chronicles of our secluded village were passed over by the sporting authority, and I was left in ignorance of the ups or downs of "Our Club." My mother, my only correspondent from home, had always so much to say on other topics, that I learnt nothing from private information. Never shall I forget the indignation I felt on arriving on our cricket ground three days after my return. It was a match day. The townthey'd made it a town during my absence by erecting an Ebenezer-chapellooking building which was called "The Town Hall,” and held a market once a fortnight-was posted with bills announcing, "A Grand Match" to take place on the Cricket ground between eleven gentlemen of Somewhere and eleven ditto of "Our Club." A long list of names to be chosen from, followed. "Play to commence at 11:30. Refreshments on the ground by Swipes of the Blue Cow. A band in attendance." I hurried down to the well-known place at a brisk trot-I was too impatient to walk. I was about to enter when a policeman directed me to “THE PAY PLACE." I was admitted for a shilling, and hardly recognised the village green-half boarded in. Tents for the sale of gingerbread-cads from town with "knock-'em-downs"-shooting for nuts-marquees for the sale of beer and spirits—a raised platform for the band—a ladies' tent -a dressing tent—a scorers' tent-crowds of gaily-dressed servant girls— two or three policemen to keep order-and flags of all colours and sizes flying from anywhere they could be fastened to. I looked at my watch, a minute or so to twelve, and yet no signs of play. Twenty young men in the gaudiest of flannel shirts and caps, were enjoying themselves on the playground by knocking about balls in a reckless manner, which, I afterwards learned, was their idea of practice. I strolled up to the players' tent and had the good fortune to meet one of the original members of "Our Club." I shook him by the hand and congratulated him on the brightened prospects of the club-I must drop the "OUR" now. "We couldn't afford such a gala as this, Tom, in the old times, could we?" said I. "One tent, a barrel of ale, and the cold round, was the order of the day, then, old boy." "Mr. Longstop, I oughtn't to come here on these here match days, because it don't agree with me, upsets me sometimes for a week. You were talking of the brightened prospects of the Cricket Club,-why, sir, there is no Club, so to speak, they bankrupted themselves three or four years back. Read down the list, how many names do you know there?" I read, and confessed that, with the exception of the squire's son and another, the names were strangers to me. "All the young men as you see there, sir, are strangers to all here or very nearly." "And how is that?" "Because this is a Public House concern, that's what this is. They wouldn't have a match in a season if it were not for Swipes the publican. It pays him. See, there's a county man; he is not in any matches just at present, so he don't mind earning his half guinea here, and there's another, and there's one of the best gentlemen players in England, got from the north by the young squire to 'oblige Swipes.' He don't half seem to like it; as for the rest of 'our eleven' they're picked from miles round, and that's the way the youngsters have kept up the honour of the name we made for them, Mr. Longstop, as the cocks for seven miles about,-we that never went a mile out of the village for a man, and as to play a nonmember, hang me if I don't think the Squire would have played with ten rather! Look again, sir, it's twelve o'clock, and past; mark my words, they won't begin till one. It's a two day match, and they want to spin it out for gate money." When the match had been an hour in progress, I left the scene of "Our Club's" many triumphs, sad at heart,—it seemed to me as though I had been looking at some great man's desecrated tomb. During the play the air was filled with voices wishing to lay so-much to so-much that lanky Bill wouldn't make a "brace" the first over, or that "that cove in the vilet shirt would'nt save his duck-cgg;" roars of derision followed every ball that was missed by the batsman; "a wide" was an event to be yelled at, and at the fall of a wicket the personal remarks coupled with bad notes of exclamation were unfit for ears polite. This little sketch of "Our Club" is a true one. Whether the railroad has anything to do with it, or the taste of our villages has become too much enlightened by the penny press, I am unable to say, but certain it is that the good old English game of cricket as played by our fathersvillage against village—has in many cases been entirely banished, and in its place the "public-house affairs," as they are called, reign in their stead. Inattention at practice is the first sign of a cricket club's decay, playing men not in the club is the second, and "gate money" is the last. LONG STOP. STRIKES. MR. URBAN,-Perhaps the following illustration of the working of strikes, in respect to the manufactures of this country, may interest your readers, and be worthy of permanent record. About three years ago a great locomotive manufacturer in the North was prevented from completing a special contract for the foreign market. His men struck on some frivolous pretence of a breach of Union rules. The foreigner withdrew his orders, and set up a manufactory of his own, which is now doing a great trade. In due course the strike came to an end, and the English locomotive manufacturer recommenced operations ; but he was stopped once more by a strike at the Yorkshire ironworks, whence he procured his raw material. He met the difficulty by sending abroad for this, and found that he could procure it cheaper and with more certainty from Belgium; so that in both instances the foreigner not only benefited immediately, but permanently, for half-manufactured work is coming over now at something like thirty shillings a ton less than it can be had in England.-Yours truly, J. H. HABINGDON'S WORCESTERSHIRE. MR. URBAN,-In an old file of Berrow's Journal, bearing date September 29, 1788, is advertised a proposal to publish by subscription a history of Worcestershire from the collections of Habingdon, including essays on the lives of Lord Somers and the Earl of Hardwicke, by Richard Cooksey. Now, as Nash published his great work in 1781 and 1782, having derived the greatest part of his materials from Habingdon, what could have been the meaning of Cooksey's attempt six years afterwards? I suppose the proposal fell to the ground for want of support, as I have never heard of the existence of such a work. But what became of the manuscript? Probably it still remains in some dusty chest or among family papers. If any of your readers can drag it to the light, I should be much pleased to be informed of the discovery.-Very truly yours, J. NOAKE 9, St. George's Square, Worcester. ABOUT TRAINING. MR. URBAN, I congratulate you, sir, upon having the courage to make your famous Magazine interesting to young men as well as to old philosophers. It will be a splendid thing to take you up without trembling at your very superior wisdom concerning all sorts of things antiquarian, scientific, and philosophical. Even now I almost fear to send you this note, lest the good news of your genial transformation should not be true; but I am a boating man, and as I see you intend to talk about manly sports now and then, and mean to admit correspondence into your pages, I am anxicus to advise all men who are in training for matches, or will be training in the future, to read a little work called "Evils resulting from Rowing," by Dr. Campion. There has been a great fuss lately about the injuries resulting from rowing and the training necessary to get into condition. Now, Dr. Campion defends rowing, and puts the saddle on the right horse. The mistake made is in the selection of the men, their previous training, and the indulgences they permit themselves after a race. Men differ from each other in constitution and every other respect, and they should not train exactly alike. This is the great point, and I heartily advise my nautical friends to look it up at once, and give the subject prompt and serious attention. Pray accept my thanks for your resolution to come amongst us, and give us the benefit of your wisdom and that of your brilliant staff, and believe me to be your sincere admirer, Oxford, May Day. BAD WRITING. COUNTY MAN, Junior. MR. URBAN,-Can you, or any of your calo- or caco-graphical correspondents inform me where the following epigram is to be found? Its moral is so pertinent to the interests of editors that I make no apology for sending it you : You write with ease to show your breeding, Yours obediently, ANTICACOGRAPHUS. THE RIVER TERRACE. MR. URBAN,-You will, I am sure, agree with me, that there is nothing finer than an evening promenade with a favourite Member of the Commons on the river terrace of the Houses of Parliament; and more especially when the cigar you are smoking is a good one, and the sherry coblers are perfectly cool and to your taste. But there is one thing wanting, dear SYLVANUS, and I hope you will permit me to give the Commons a hint through your new and popular series of the dear old Gentleman. In Paris the hard, blank space of such a promenade would be filled with flowers; why not in England? If the nation were indisposed to pay the cost of this luxury of the optical and olfactory senses, leading nurserymen would be glad to place fine specimens of their floral growths on the river terrace as advertisements. It appears to me that the want has only to be pointed out to be remedied.-Yours truly, Ex.-M.P. |