ome_ 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,
But then I have always backed Surrey, and _will_ do so whilst I'm alive,
Sir.
And t'other was Notts, don't you see, so _I_ couldn't well show the white
feather.
Ah! well, 'twas a wonderful match; such a crowd, such a game, and such
weather!
K. J. K. (that's Mr. KEY) showed remarkably promising cricket--
I _did_ feel a little bit quisby when SHERWIN snapped him at the wicket.
'Twas getting too close, Sir, for comfort; two hundred and five takes
some making--
When BARNES nicked READ, SHUTER, and HENDERSON, 'gad, there were lots of
hearts quaking.
Seventy-eight for a win, Sir, and five of our best wickets levelled.
Notts then began to pick up, and I own I felt rather blue-devilled;
But Surrey has got a rare team, and you see, when the toppers do fail,
Sir,
They look at it this way, my boy,--there is all the more chance for the
"tail," Sir.
That's what I call true cricket pluck, and so, even when MAURICE READ
quitted him,
That's what young LOHMANN perceived; the place wanted cool grit--and it
fitted him.
His thirty-five, and not out, was worth more, Sir, than many a "Century."
Played like an iceberg, he did; style neither too tame nor too venture-y.
Poor crippl