386 BOOK OF THE BLACK BASS. 



Valiant, noble Bass ! 

 Fit denizen of the brawling stream ! Thy 

 Last tight is ended — thy last race is riin ! 

 Thy once lov'd pool 'neatli the sycamore's shade, 

 Thy fancied stronghold 'neath its tangled roots. 

 Shall know thee no more. 



Place hira in thy creel; 

 Lay him tenderly on a bed of ferns, 

 Crisp, green and cool with sparkling, morning dew- 

 A warrior in repose ! 



[In the preface I have stated that the reader need not 

 look for rhetorical efforts nor poetic descriptions in this 

 book, for I make no pretense to a possession of the " di- 

 vine afilatus ; " it is hardly necessary, therefore, to say 

 that the foregoing description of the " Capture of the 

 Bass" forms no exception to that statement, for I am 

 fully aware that it is faulty both in rhythm and measure. 



The description was originally written as plain prose, 

 but it read so much like an affectation, or an attempt to 

 be poetical, that I considered it the least evil to put it in 

 its present form; which I did by the changing of less 

 than a dozen words. The charitable reader will there- 

 fore please regard it, and read it, as plain prose, while 

 the hypercritic will please consider the (poetical) feet de- 

 veloped rather (as in the case of the Bass) as fins, which 

 will place it beyond the pale of critique.] 



