ALL THE YEAR ROUND;
Or, Keeping Up the Ball.
When September soaks the fields,
And the leaves begin to fall,
Cricket unto football yields,—
That is all!
Yes—in hot or humid weather,
At all seasons of the year,
Life is little without leather
In a sphere.
In the scrimmage, at the stumps,
'Neath the goal, behind the sticks,
Life's a ball, which Summer thumps,
Our "terrestrial ball" is round,
(Is it an idea chimerical?)
Man, by hidden instincts bound,
Loves the spherical.
In rotund, elastic bounders,
Plainly the great joy of men is,
Witness cricket, billiards, rounders,
Classic Title for Dr. Grace.—"The Centurion."