: Up Terrapin River by Read Opie Percival - Farm life Fiction; Arkansas Fiction

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Editor: Sir Francis Burnand

LONDON.

PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET,

AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS

LONDON: BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

VOL. 108.

JUNE 29, 1895.

It was the luncheon-hour at Lord's. Likewise it was exceeding hot, and Mr. PUNCH, after an exciting morning's cricket, was endeavouring to cool himself with an iced tankard, a puggreed "straw," and a fragrant whiff.

"Willow the King!" piped Mr. PUNCH, pensively. "Quite so! A merrier monarch than the Second CHARLES is WILLIAM the very First! And no one kicks at King Willow, even in these democratic days. The verdant, smooth-shaven lawn, when wickets are pitched, is your very best 'leveller'--in one sense, though, in another, what stylish RICHARD DAFT calls 'Kings of Cricket' , receive the crowd's loyal and most enthusiastic homage. But, by Jove, the Harrow boys will want a new version of their favourite cricket song, if prodigy be piled on prodigy, like Pelion on Ossa, in the fashion to which the Doctor during the first month of Summer in this year of Grace has accustomed us."

"The 'Doctor's' throne has never been disputed by anyone outside Bedlam," said a strong and sonorous voice.

Mr. PUNCH looked up, and perceived before him a stalwart six-footer in flannels, broad-belted at the equator, and wearing broad-brim'd silken stove-pipe.

"ALFRED MYNN, quoting 'the Old Buffer,' or I'm a Dutchman," said the omniscient and ever-ready one.

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