He didn't like Australia, so he trekked to many a land, From Greenland's icy mountains clear to India's coral strand. He sweltered in strange deserts, onward, onward, day by day, But always kept that baseball hit so hard by Dan O'Shay. If you ever go to Sing Sing, which I hope you never will, You'll find O'Connor in a cell with that same horsehide pill. * * * _Yes, the longest hit on record was a hit by Dan O'Shay, When the Bankers played the Brokers, just five years ago to-day._ THE UMPIRE'S HOME Where does an umpire live? You ask me that? Come, I will take you to an umpire's flat. Ah! Here we are! 'Tis five flights up, behind; Umpires are used to hiding--they don't mind. This is the entrance. It's a bachelor's den, For umpires aren't often married men. The owner's not at home, but come with me; I know him well and have an extra key. This is the library; note well the books, Dingy and dismal, like the umpire's looks. "Lives of the Martyrs," "The Deserted Home," "Dante's Inferno," "Rise and Fall of Rome." "Paradise Lost," "The Sinking of the Maine," "Ballad of Reading Gaol," and "Souls in Pain." "The Death of Joan of Arc," "The Convict's Woe," And all the works of Edgar Allen Poe. This is the dining room, all done in black, With rugs of drab and tapestries of sack Notice the mottoes on the gloomy walls: "Drink to the countless strikes that I called balls," "A toast to all the close ones that I miss," "A curse upon the man who loves to hiss!" Where does an umpire live? You ask me that? Well, I have shown you through an umpire's flat. "YELLOW" He wasn't a strong looking fellow, And roughnecks played ball in those days; The ballgamers christened him "Yellow" Because of his mild, timid ways. Red Flynn slapped his face to a whisper One day when he missed a fly ball, And his jaw almost broke when he got a swell soak From the fist of Outfielder McCall. I used to feel sorry for "Yellow," The gang made his life one long moan. He wasn't a strong looking fellow, They ought to have let him alone. I've found, in my baseball excursions, From Maine to the parks way out West, That the players who win and draw down the tin, Are the players who throw out the chest. But courage is courage, I reckon; It's hard to explain, but it's true; And sometimes a fellow that people call yellow Turns out to be brave and true blue. One day when a hit meant a pennant Our "Yellow" came up to the bat; Did he quit in the pinch? Did he falter and flinch? Sure he did. He struck out like a rat! THE UMPIRE