THE CHAMPS OF THE ALLEY LEAGUE.

Just at this time every season, when the sun beats down on the street; When the breath of another springtime comes up with its fragrance sweet; When the winter league race is over, and the clans of a new campaign Are camped in the fields of Dixie, cheered on by the fan refrain; As they talk of a coming pennant or speak of an all-star team My fancy flies on the south wind, on the crest of an old, old dream, Back where the eye gleamed brightly, where the soul knew no fatigue, When I was one of “The Ragged Stars,” the champs of the Alley League. I hear that the “fever is rising,” that “the great fan flock once more Is ready to sit in the bleachers and cheer for the winning score;” They speak of a “coming wonder,” they talk of a “flag to fly,” They whisper the thrilling story of “Mike and his batting eye;” But out from the mad fanatics my fancy wanders free From the hopes of a glad to-morrow to the land of the used-to-be, Far from the “spit-ball” gossip, far from “McGraw’s intrigue,” Where I “played first” on “The Ragged Stars,” the champs of the Alley League. And what is the mighty Wagner to Mickey, “the Human Slat,” Who batted around “eight hundred,” with a broomstick for a bat? Where is the “big league gameness” of stars they have set on thrones To “Johnny the Jew,” who tied the score with a slide over cobblestones? “Matthewson’s curves are a mystery,” “Walsh is a wonder, too,” But Pat Maguire set the “strike-out” mark with a pellet of “yarn and glue;” Boast of your Chance and Jennings, winners of keen intrigue; But they never stacked up with “The Ragged Stars,” the champs of the Alley League. Just at this time every season, when the March sun warms the town; When the little green leaves peep shyly from the stark, bare limbs of brown; When the voice of the rooter rises in the roll of a rippling cheer, The winds of another springtime blow back from another year. The cry of the barefoot legions, the shouts of the tattered host As twinkling feet raced madly in a dash for the telephone post, To a wagon wheel “for second base,” with never a touch of fatigue, When I was one of “The Ragged Stars,” the champs of the Alley League.