God knows I've muffed some easy chances
Of doing good, like a silly lout;
But because He's fairer nor any fancies
I'm not in a funk of hearin', "Out!"




FIVE YEARS AFTER.


Many a mate of splice and leather,
Out in the stiff autumnal weather,
There we stood by his grave together,
After his innings;
All on a day of misty yellow
Watching in grief a grim old fellow,
Death, who diddles both young and mellow,
Pocket his winnings.

Flew from his hand the matchless skimmer!
Breaking a yard, the destined trimmer,
Beating the bat and the eyes grown dimmer,
Shattered the wicket!
Slow to the dark Pavilion wending,
His head on his breast, with Mercy friending,
The batsman walked to his silent ending,
Finished with cricket.

Whether or not that gaunt Professor