"His best," Bill Lawson said to me, "what's that, I'd like to know? To spoon an easy ball to point, and walk back sad and slow, Miss every catch that comes to him and fumble every ball, And lose his way about the field at every 'over' call. The blooming team can go below after this Christmas Day; I'm hanged if I'm to captain it when parsons start to play." Bill won the toss, we went in first. I might as well say here That I'm a weary kind of bat--to stick in for a year. I can't hit out--it ain't no use; it saddens me to think A bloke that bowled against us once has taken since to drink. He couldn't get my wicket, and his balls came in that way I batted through the innings without a run all day. The fun began. By George! to think the way our stumps went down! Our boys was made the laughing-stock for them swell-blokes from town. I kept my end up--that was all, Lawson was bowled first ball, And six of them went strolling back without a run at all. Nine wickets down for fourteen runs was all our score that day When the last man came in to bat, and that was Parson Grey. The bowler with the break from leg sent down a hardish ball, I thought to see the parson squirm and hear the wicket fall; It didn't happen, for he played a pretty forward stroke; I knew that moment he could bat, that quiet preaching bloke. And when a careless ball came down the boys began to roar, He drove it hard along the ground--we took and run a four. Then it was "over," and of course mine was a maiden one, I broke the bowler's hearts that day for just a single run. The Parson played a dashing game, his cuts were clean and fine; I only wish that strokes like them could now and then be mine. He had a fifty to his name in just an hour's play, And then--well, then--I run him out, I own, that Christmas Day. "By George," said Lawson, "who'd have thought that he could bat so well! I could have gone and drowned myself when Bryant's wicket fell; But, man, he must have been a bat when he was at his best, I'm glad that Wilson wasn't here, or any of the rest; Now, if our chaps are on the spot, and bowl as well to-day, We'll give them news to carry home how country clubs can play." Our bowling always has been fair; we couldn't well complain; We got a wicket now and then--they didn't fall like rain; But runs were coming rather slow, and fifty was the score When the ninth man was given out--an honest "leg before." It was a single innings game, and plainly on the play It seemed the glory would be ours upon that Christmas Day.