welve
verses altogether, but three will be quite enough for the reader.

"There was a little lad,
(Well bowled!)
And a little bat he had;
(Well bowled!)
He skipped up to the wicket,
And thought he'd play some cricket,
But he didn't, for he was--
Well bowled!

"He thought he'd make a score
(So bold),
And lead-off with a four
(So bold);
So he walked out to a twister,
But somehow sort of missed her,
And she bailed him, for he was
Too bold.

"Now all ye little boys
(So bold),
Who like to make a noise
(So bold),
Take warning by young Walker,
Keep your bat down to a yorker,
Or, don't you see? you'll be--
Well bowled!"

The virtue of the pathetic ballad was in the chorus, which was usually
not sung, but spoken, and so presented a noble opportunity for variety
of tone and expression, which was greedily seized upon by the riotous
young gentlemen into whose mouths it was entrusted. By the time the sad
adventures of Master Walker had been rehearsed in all their twelve
verses, the meeting was so hoarse that to the two elder boys it seemed
as if the proceedings must necessarily come abruptly to a close for want
of voice.

But no! If the meeting was for the moment incapable of song, speech was
yet possible and behold there arose Master Paul in his place to propose
a toast.

Now Master Paul was a Guinea-pig, and accounted a mighty man in his
tribe. Any one might have supposed that the purpose for which he had
now risen was to propose in complimentary terms the health of his
gallant opponents the Tadpoles. This, however, was far from his
intention. His modesty had another theme. "Ladies and gentlemen," he
began. There were no ladies present, but that didn't matter.
Tremendous cheers greeted this opening. "You all know me; I am one of
yourselves." Paul had borrowed this expression from the speech of a
Radical orator, which had appeared recently in the papers. Every one
knew it was borrowed, for he had asked about twenty of his friends
during the last week whether that wouldn't be "a showy lead-off for his
cricket feast jaw?"

The quotation was, however, now greeted as vociferously as if it had
been strictly original, and shouts of "So you are!"

"Bravo, Paul!" for a while drowned the orator's voice. When silence was
restored his eloquence took a new and unexpected departure. "Jemmy
Welch, I'll punch your head when we get outside, see if I don't!" Jemmy