THE USEFUL CRICKETER
(A Candid Veteran's Confession.)
I am rather a "pootlesome" bat—
I seldom, indeed, make a run;
But I'm rather the gainer by that,
For it's bad to work hard in the sun.
As a "field" I am not worth a jot,
And no one expects me to be;
My run is an adipose trot,
My "chances" I never can see.
I am never invited to bowl,
And though, p'r'aps, this seems like a slight,
In the depths of my innermost soul
I've a notion the Captain is right.
In short, I may freely admit
I am not what you'd call a great catch
But yet my initials are writ
In the book against every match!
For although—ay, and there is the rub—
I am forty and running to fat,
I have made it all right with the Club,
By presenting an Average Bat!
Another Title!! Supplemental Gazette of Birthday Honours.——Dr. W. G. Grace to be Cricket-Field-Marshal.
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