steps and through the gate;
Somehow I reach the pitch and bleat, "Umpire,
Is that one leg?" What boots it to inquire?
The impatient bowler takes one grim survey,
Speeds to the crease and whirls--a lightning ray?
No, a fast yorker. Bang! the stumps cavort.
Chastened, but not surprised, I go my way.
Cricket in sooth is Sovran King of Sport.

Lord of the Game, for whom these lines I write,
Fulfil my present hope, watch o'er my fate;
Defend me from the swerver's puzzling flight;
Let me not be run out, at any rate.
As one who's been for years a constant trier,
Reward me with an average slightly higher;
Let it be double figures. This I pray,
Humblest of boons, before my hair grows grey
And Time's flight bids me in the last resort
Try golf, or otherwise your cause betray.
Cricket in sooth is Sovran King of Sport.

King, what though Age's summons I obey,
Resigned to dull rheumatics and decay,
Still on one text my hearers I'll exhort,
As long as hearers within range will stay:
"Cricket in sooth is Sovran King of Sport."

* * * * *

"Royal Horse Guards.--Captain (acting Marquis) W.B. Marquis of
Northampton resigns his commission."--_Provincial Paper_.

But retains, we trust, his acting rank.

* * * * *

SPRING MODES AT MURMANSK.

We, the enthusiasts of the Relief Force who sailed from England with
the fine phrases of the Evening Press ringing in our ears have arrived
at Murmansk, only to be disappointed and disillusioned. It is not that
the expedition looks less attractive than it did, or that our leaders
fail to inspire us with confidence. It is because the gilt has
disappeared from the sartorial gingerbread of our adventure.

Why did we leap forward to volunteer before we were wanted and
continue to leap till, for very boredom, they sent us embarcation
orders and a free warrant? Was it simply to escape an English Spring?
Was it not rather that we might win our furs--might wear the romantic
outfit which we were led to believe was _de rigueur_ in the most
exclusive circle, namely, the Arctic? What was the first remark of our
female relatives when we showed them the War Office telegram? Was it
not, "Of course you must be photographed in your furs and things?"

No wonder, after the monotony of khaki, if we looked forward to the
glory and distinction of fur-lined caps and coats, Shack