tion to a congregation of fully two thousand souls. Brother Murphy, of the Brooklyn Class, first wielded the rod, even as did Moses at the rock of waters, and smiting the ball with prodigious smite was richly blessed with two bases. It then became the blessed privilege of Brother Fitzgerald to stand forth, but, despite his most fervent efforts, Divine Providence interfered with a foul tip, and the brother harvested naught. During this season Brother Murphy had experienced a change of bases, garnering unto himself the third thereof, whereat there was great rejoicing, mingled with lamentation and rending of garments among the disciples of the conflicting tribes. At this critical point in the salvation of the class Brother Maloney came among them as a physician of souls, but the sheaves of great rejoicing were not for him. Like Jacob he wrestled, and like Nathan he fell, for his adversaries were plenteous and their wisdom that of the serpent, forasmuch when he smote the ball so that it soared they that were as Philistines unto him did congregate around about that the ball might not escape them, and did hold forth each man his hands, until their fingers in number were like unto the lilies of the valley, and they seized the ball and bore it thence in triumph."
On reading the story before sending it out to be set up, the city editor called the writer to the desk, and asked him, as he handed him the report :
"What's all this got to do with the game I sent you to write up?"
"Anything the matter with it?" asked the writer.
"This is no way to write up a ball match."
"Why not?" queried the writer indignantly. "That's the way they did it," he continued, "and that's my way."
"But, man alive," resumed the editor, "this reads like a sermon."
"What if it does," was the reply. "Have you any objections to sermons? If you don't like my style of writing the game up you had better send some secular cuss to the next game when the old man is absent."
The report was sent in and it created quite a sensation for the time being.
