"I hold it true--although they bawl, And I may heavy find the cost-- 'Tis better to produce a 'frost' Than ne'er to write a play at all." And then unto the Queen (s'berry) he hymned This little lay; for he, the noble "Q.," Cried out at Edgar's "Maxims of the Mud." Then Alfred and fair Bernardbeere were glad, And rested well content that all was well. "You jeered, O, "Q," and you were bold To treat my great prose-play with mirth; But your advertisement was worth No end of praise and lots of gold. "For _now_ the town will haste to see My 'Edgar' that made _you_ so ill; And so they'll keep it in the bill Since that advertisement from thee." * * * * * Shall it not be scorn for me to harp upon this mouldy thing? For surely in a week or two it will have taken wing. "Weakness to be wroth with weakness"--that this play is weak, 'tis plain. I have seen much better dramas founded by a shallower brain. From the programme of the Globe, then, sweep this foolish thing away. Better fifty Meritt-mixtures than this sickly, stupid play! CARADOS. _The Referee_, November 19, 1882. * * * * * A DREAM OF GREAT PLAYERS. I read one night, while lying on the down, In L. T. Annual[11] of the current year-- Tho' unpretending volume, bound in brown-- Great deeds recorded were. At length, methought that I had wandered far Through the long path that runs beside the line, And found myself before the entrance-door, And knew I was in time. I knew the stands, I knew the nets, I knew The smooth, green level of the well-rolled lawn, And thought, "Here many an athlete anxious grew, Dreading the fateful dawn." A voice from out the ticket-office came-- From overworked collector in his prime-- "Pass quickly through, the seats are all thine own Until the end of time." Close by a player, leaning on the rail, Clasping a racket, Tate-made, in his hand-- A champion among men, who made me hail, And led me to the stand. His cigarette from out his mouth he drew: Blew out white clouds, then said, with courteous smile-- "Hast come to see great players? Good! Then you Had best stay here awhile. "I am the champion! ask thou not my name; Not to know me argues thyself unknown. Many played here, and fell; whene'er I came All men were overthrown." "No marvel," I made answer; "In fair field Myself before such skill had doubtless quail'd, As all men must." Then, turning, I appealed To one who merely wailed-- As he with forced perpetual smile averse, To his full height his stately figure draws-- "My youth," he said, "is blighted with a curse-- This stripling is the cause.