Just for a celluloid pillule he left us, Just for an imbecile batlet and ball, These were the toys by which Fortune bereft us Of Jennings, our captain, the pride of us all. Shopmen with clubs to sell handed him rackets, Rackets of sand-paper, rubber and felt, Said to secure an unplayable service, Pestilent screws and the death-dealing welt. Oft had we played with him, partnered him, sworn by him, Copied his pitches in height and in cut, Hung on his words as he delved in a bunker, Made him our pattern to drive and to putt. Benedick's with us, the major is of us, Swiper the county bat's still going strong; He alone broke from the links and the clubhouse, He alone sank in the slough of ping-pong. We have "come on"--but not his the example; Sloe-gin has quickened us--not his the cash; Holes done in 6 where a 4 would be ample Vexed him not, busy perfecting a smash. Rased was his name as a decadent angel, One more mind unhinged by a piffulent game, One more parlour-hero, the worshipped of school-girls Who once had a princely "plus 5" to his name. Jennings is gone; yet perhaps he'll come back to us, Healed of his hideous lesion of brain, Back to the links in the daytime; at twilight Back to his cosy club corner again. Back for the medal day, back for our foursomes, Back from the tables' diminishing throng, Back from the infantile, ceaseless half-volley, Back from the lunatic lure of ping-pong. * * * * * [Illustration: _Tennis Player (from London)._ "Don't see the fun o' this game--knockin' a ball into a bush, and then 'untin' about for it!"] * * * * * [Illustration: THE AMERICAN HUSBAND] * * * * * [Illustration: THE ENGLISH WIFE] * * * * * [Illustration: A TOO-FEEBLE EXPLETIVE _MacSymon._ "I saw you were carrying for the professor yesterday, Sandy. How does he play?" _Sandy._ "Eh, yon man'll never be a gowffer. Div ye ken what he says when he foozles a ba'?" _MacSymon._ "No. What does he say?" _Sandy._ "'_Tut-tut!_'"] * * * * * THE LINKS 'Tis a brilliant autumn day, And the breeze has blown away All the clouds that lowered gray; So methinks, As I've half an hour to spare, I will go and take the air, While the weather still is fair, On the Links. I admire the splendid view, The delicious azure hue Of the ocean and--when, _whew_! With a crack, Lo! there drops a little ball Which elects to break its fall By alighting on the small Of my back.