["Who may describe a small boy's passion for his bat?"--_Daily News._]
_Jemmy Bilkins, aged Thirteen-and-a-half, loquitur_:--
I've won it, BILL, I've won it! And it's pooty nigh full size!
Leastways, anyhow, it _looks_ it. O, I tell yer, it's a prize.
Yaller-backed, BILL, and cane-'andled, and its got a sort o' feel,
As yer swing it wot reminds yer of a STODDART _or_ a STEEL.
Last Saturday as ever wos I turned out afore six,
And practised in our back yard, wiv three lumps o' deal for
"sticks."
Young POLLY she bowled to me, and I drove 'er, and I cut,
And "swiped over the Pervilion"--which I mean our water-butt.
POLL can do a fair round-armer _for_ a girl and no mistake,
And she'll 'ave you, middle-stumpo, if yer don't look wide awake.
'Twos the day of our School Match, BILL, and our gaffer, Mister
BLORE,
'Ad promised a cane-'andler to the boy as made top score.
Oh I tell yer I meant 'aving it, if _practisin'_ would do,
But _my_ bat 'ad split a lump off, and it seemed to 'it askew.
'Ow _can_ yer "keep a straight bat" when your bat itself aint
straight?
But we did our level best, BILL, me an' POLLY.
At our _fate_
Out at Petersham I tell you as we done the thing to rights,
None o' yer 'at-an'-coat piles for the wickets, as is sights
A cricketer cocks snooks at, when 'e knows the _real_ game.
No penny injy-rubber and a club! Though, all the same,
Wiv a second-'and stripped tennis-ball, a little on the lop,
Or even a ha'penny woodeny, an' the chump end of a mop,
And my jacket on a stick for stump, I've 'ad a lot of fun,
And wiv such on Gosling Green, BILL, I fust larned to 'it an' run.
But to-day we did it different. Real stumps was pitched O. K.,
We'd a scoring-sheet, _and umpire!_ We'd a red new ball to play,
As it seemed a sin to slog at, 'cos it took the pooty out;
But I tell yer we forgot that wiv the fust good 'it and shout.
Lanky STEVE 'e made that 'it, 'e did. It scooted past long slip,
At forty mile a hour or so. That STEVE _can_ make 'em skip.
He tops me by a 'ed, too, and I feared he'd cop the bun.
Yus, I thought the Bat was his'n when he'd piled up twenty-one!
_I_ wanted fanning, BILLY, when I ups and takes my block,
And the ball came thunderin' at me like a little earthquake shock.
Seemed heverywhere, yet nowhere, if you understand me, BILLY.
And pitched just in that orkud spot as always knocks yer silly.
Coming off the pitch like pickles, as though aiming at yer heye;
But I pulls myself together for a volley, an' let fly.
And fust thing I knowed I heard it busting 'ard agin the fence;
And I felt I'd scored a boundary, and the cheering wos emense.
Then BILLY I lammed into 'em! They came as easy then
As little POLLY'S easiest lobs. BILLY, they called _hus_ "Men!"
"The next man in wos BILKINS" the reporter sez--that's me!--
"An' e's a young phernomenon, a infant W. G.
Who piled his quarter-century in fair Doctorial form!"--
Just fancy! But them scribbling chaps _can_ pile it thick and warm.
I won that Bat 'owever with a score of twenty-five,
And POLLY--in the Press-tent!--wos the 'appiest girl alive
While as for _me!_ O BILLY, when I drawed it from the baize,
Caught the whiff of the fresh willow!--well the world looked all a
haze.
If "the Doctor" feels much 'appier when _his_ Testimonial comes--
Well, though 'e's the pet of England, me a urchin from the slums,
I jist guess he'll hunderstand me! Ony wish I'd got a bob
To send the _Telygraft_, BILL. I should soon be on the job.
_Ain't_ GRACE a 'Oly Stunner; and the Pride o' the Pervilion?
Well I 'ope 'is Testymonial will run up to a Million!!!
And when _he_ makes his next "Century" may _I_ be there to see!--
Wich the Master says he'll take me, now I'm called "Young W. G."
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HOW TO FIX THE HAPPY DAY.--_Q._ When's the best day for a wedding?
_A._ Why, of course, "A _Weddin's day_."
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[Illustration: UNLUCKY SPEECHES.
_Host._ "YOU'LL HAVE A NICE DRIVE HOME!"
_Guest._ "YES; THAT'S THE BEST OF IT!"]
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