“NONE BUT THE FAIR DESERVE THE BRAVE.”]

* * * * *

THE CLOSE OF THE INNINGS.

  Bowler.  Over at last!

  Wicket-keeper. Humph!  Yes, but not “all out!”
      Time’s up!  All glad to leave the field, no doubt;
      But I’m not satisfied.

  Bowler. You never are!

  Wicket-keeper. Some thought you, when you joined the team, a star,
      Equal, at least, to SPOFFORTH, FERRIS, TURNER,
      Yet sometimes you have bowled like a school-learner.

  Bowler. That’s most discouraging!  Come now, I say,
      You know that every Cricketer has “his day,”
      Whilst the best bat or trundler may be stuck. 
      And, though he try his best, be “out of luck.” 
      Ask W.G. himself!  Early this season
      He couldn’t score, for no apparent reason. 
      Now look at him!  Almost as good as ever!

  Wicket-keeper. Well, ye-e-s!  But you were thought so jolly clever. 
      To me it seems ’tis your idea of Cricket
      To smash the wicket-keeper—­not the wicket. 
      Look at my hands!  They’re mostly good to cover me;
      With you, by Jingo, I need pads all over me!

  Bowler. Oh, well, you know, fast bowling, with a break,
      Not every wicket-keeper’s game to take. 
      You are not quite a SHERWIN or a WOOD,
      Or even a McGREGOR.  You’re no good
      At bowling that has real “devil” in it.

  Wicket-keeper. The—­dickens I am not!  Just wait a minute! 
      I have stood up to GRANDOLPH at his wildest. 
      You know his pitch and pace; not quite the mildest,
      Scarce equal, certainly, to “demon” DIZZY,
      But when he’s on the spot he keeps one busy. 
      It’s not your “devil,” JOKIM, that I dread;
      That’s easy, when you’re “bowling with your head,”
      But when you sling them in, as you’ve done lately,
      Swift but not straight, why, then you vex me greatly. 
      Your pet fast bumpy ones, wide of the wicket,
      Perhaps look showy, but they are not Cricket.

  Bowler. Oh, bother!  You’re the crossest of old frumps. 
      Why, bless you, SMITH, I stood behind the stumps
      Long before you put gloves on!

  Wicket-keeper. I dare say,
      But when we took you in our team to play
      ’Twas for your bowling.  I don’t want to scoff
      At chance bad luck, but you have not come off! 
      Now, BALFOUR doesn’t give “no balls” and “wides,”
      Or make it hot for knuckles, shins, and sides,
      As you’ve been doing lately.  “Extras” mount
      When you are bowling, and your blunders count
      To our opponents,—­not to mention me. 
      Although two broken fingers, a bruised knee,
      A chin knocked out of shape, and one lost tooth
      Are trying little items, to tell truth.