How life is much, but time is more; and the beginning is everything,
But the end is something.
I loll in the Parks, I go to the wicket, I swipe.
I see twenty-two young men from Foster's watching me, and the trousers of the twenty-two young men,
I see the Balliol men en masse watching me.—The Hottentot that loves his mother, the untutored Bedowee, the Cave-man that wears only his certificate of baptism, and the shaggy Sioux that hangs his testamur with his scalps.
I see the Don who ploughed me in Rudiments watching me: and the
wife of the Don who ploughed me in Rudiments watching me.
I see the rapport of the wicket-keeper and umpire. I cannot see
that I am out.
Oh! you Umpires!
I am not one who greatly cares for experience, soap, bull-dogs, cautions, majorities, or a graduated Income-Tax,
The certainty of space, punctuation, sexes, institutions, copiousness, degrees, committees, delicatesse, or the fetters of rhyme—