_An Athletic Father's Lament._
What was it made me cricket snub,
And force my seven sons to sub-
sidize a local "Rugby" Club?
That Foot-ball!
Yet, what first drew from me a sigh,
When Tom, my eldest, missed a "try,"
But got instead a broken thigh?
That Foot-ball!
What in my second, stalwart Jack,
Caused some inside machine to crack,
And kept him ten months on his back--?
That Foot-ball!
What brought my third, unhappy Ted,
To fade and sink, and keep his bed,
And finally go off his head?--
That Foot-ball!
My fourth and fifth, poor John and Jim,
What made the sight of one so dim?
What made the other lack a limb?
That Foot-ball!
Then Frank, my sixth, who cannot touch
The ground unaided by a crutch,
Alas! of what had he too much?
That Foot-ball!
The seventh ends the mournful line,
Poor Stephen with his fractured spine,
A debt owe these good sons of mine,
That Foot-ball!
And as we pass the street-boys cry,
"Look at them cripples!" I but sigh,
"You're right, my friends. But would you fly
A lot like ours; oh, do not try
That Foot-ball!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Uncle Dick._ "Ah yes, cricket is a fine game, no
doubt--a very fine game. But football now! That's the game to make your
hair curl!"]
_Miss Dulcie_ (_meditatively_). "Do you play football much, uncle?"]
* * * * *