Games/Humor Books

THE MAN WHO WOULD. II.—THE MAN WHO WOULD PLAY GOLF. Bulger was no cricketer, no tennis-player, no sportsman, in fact. But his Doctor recommended exercise and fresh air. "And I'm thinking, Sir," he added, "that you cannot do better than just take yourself down to St. Andrews, and put yourself under Tom Morris." "Is he a great Scotch physician?" asked Bulger; "I... more...

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS. No. XVII.—TO FAILURE. A Philosopher has deigned to address to me a letter. "Sir," writes my venerable correspondent, "I have been reading your open letters to Abstractions with some interest. You will, however, perhaps permit me to observe that amongst those to whom you have written are not a few who have no right whatever to be numbered amongst Abstractions.... more...

CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS. LUNCH (continued).—Perhaps the best piece of advice that I can give you, my young friend, is that—for conversational purposes—you should make a careful study of the natures and temperaments of your companions. Watch their little peculiarities, both of manner and of shooting; pick up what you can about their careers in sport and in the general world, and... more...

IMPRESSIONS OF "IL TROVATORE." (By a Matter-of-Fact Philistine at Covent Garden.) ACT I. SCENE 2.—Leonora's confidant evidently alive to the responsibilities of her position. Watch her, for example, when her Mistress is about to confide to her ear the dawn of her passion for Manrico. She walks Leonora gently down to the footlights, launches her into her solo, like a boat, and stands... more...

"STUMPED!" (A would-be laudatory Ode.By Jingle Junior.) [The young Indian Gentleman, Mr. H. RANJITSINHJI, has "secured his century" at Cricket no less than eleven times this season.] O H.S. RANJIT—(spelling a wild venture is!) Wielder of willow, runner-up of "centuries"! What's in a name? A name like RANJITSIN— (Can't finish it, was foolish to begin!) How many... more...

AT A HYPNOTIC SÉANCE. SCENE—A Public Hall in a provincial town. The Hypnotist—a tall, graceful, and handsome young man, in well-fitting evening clothes—has already succeeded in putting most of his subjects to sleep, and is going round and inspecting them critically, as they droop limply on a semicircle of chairs, in a variety of unpicturesque attitudes. The only Lady on the platform is evidently... more...

'ARRY AT 'ARRYGATE. (Second Letter.) DEAR CHARLIE,—The post-mark, no doubt, will surprise you. I'm still at the "Crown," Though I said in my last—wot wos true—I was jest on the mizzle for town. 'Ad a letter from nunky, old man, with another small cheque. Good old nunk! So I'm in for a fortnit' more sulphur and slosh, afore doing a bunk. Ah! I've worked... more...

SWORD AND PEN; Or, The Rival Commanders. (Extract from a Military Story of the near Future.) Captain Pipeclay was perplexed when his Company refused to obey him. He was considered a fairly good soldier, but not up to date. He might know his drill, he might have read his Queen's Regulations, but he had vague ideas of the power of the Press. "You see, Sir," remonstrated his Colour-Sergeant;... more...

'ARRY AT 'ARRYGATE. DEAR CHARLIE,—Rum mix this 'ere world is, yer never know wot'll come next! Don't emagine I've sent yer a sermon, and treacle this out as my text; But really life's turn-ups are twisters. You lay out for larks, 'ealth, and tin, But whenever you think it's "a moral," that crock, "Unexpected," romps in. Who'd ha'... more...

NOT GOING AWAY FOR THE HOLIDAYS. Cookson Gaze, Q.C. Because MARIA votes Eastbourne vulgar, and the girls (sorry now I sent them to that finishing-school at Clapham) laugh so consumedly whenever I open my mouth to address a native if we go to Trouville or Dinard. C. Jumper. Because the Governor thinks three days in the year enough for anybody. Eastend Dr. Because that fiver will just give little SALLY... more...