THE USEFUL CRICKETER
Reading edition
(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.
Muscular High Church Curate. "Wonderful things 'Grace' does!"
Low Church Vicar (surprised at the serious observation from his volatile friend). "Ah, my dear sir, true—-"
High Church Curate. "Yes. Only fancy, y'know!—ninety-two, and not out!!"