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." * * * * * HOW TO FIX THE HAPPY DAY.--_Q._ When's the best day for a wedding? _A._ Why, of course, "A _Weddin's day_." * * * * * [Illustration: UNLUCKY SPEECHES. _Host._ "YOU'LL HAVE A NICE DRIVE HOME!" _Guest._ "YES; THAT'S THE BEST OF IT!"] * * * * * DRESS À LA PREMIÈRE MODE. (_A Dialogue Pastoral and Sartorial._) SCENE--_A Boudoir._ PRESENT--_A Lady and her Modiste._ TIME--_The passing hour._ _Modiste._ No, Madame, it is utterly impossible for you to wear silks and satins. They have quite gone out. _Lady._ But hasn't alpaca come in a little? _Modiste._ Scarcely. It may be used for divided skirts at Battersea Park, but it is not really recognised. _Lady._ Then what am I to wear? _Modiste._ Flowers, Madame, flowers. Of course they should be fixed on foundations, but they are the only materials used at the present time. _Lady._ Are they not rather expensive?