THE YOUNG SCIENTIST. 
75 
He thought of his home— of the scenes of his childhood— 
His playmates— his teeter-board, marbles, and ball— 
His dinners of grub in the brook through tlie wildwood— 
How hungry that made him !— and, lastly of all, 
His own foolish boasts, which, to draw it but mild, would 
Prove that pride ever precedes a great fall. 
By-and-by came a minnow, borne on by the race. 
And strayed in the eddy there formed in the tide, 
Seeking refuge from divers (not sun-dry) great bass, 
"Whose flerce-gleaming armor-scales, mouths opened wide, 
.And pitiless optics, all threatened disas- 
Ter to such little fish as in deep waters glide. 
But, strange to relate, while such perils environ, 
It pops in the head of our foolish young friend 
To fall dead in love with that luscious young siren 
(Siren? that's wrong; but no matter), and end 
His misguided existence ; and all for aspirin' 
To things far beyond him, as I apprehend. 
For, reaching out softly to clasp his fair prize in 
His long taper claws, thinking only of love, 
A bass darted up like a flash, or a rise in 
Stocks, from dim depths to the surface above. 
His jaws fiercely clapped on the minnow, entrapped 
Thus by clap-trap— like many a poor human dove. 
Now crawfish are curious creatures ; behind them— 
Like folks who leap blindly— ne'er viewing the goal. 
They travel tail-foremost, and frequently And them- 
selves out of the plain road in some pesky hole ; • 
Or. to finish this stanza as old Sancho Panza 
Would—" Out of the frying pan into the coal." 
So 'twas in this instance ; the foolish macruran. 
Scared out of his wits by the sudden attack. 
To 'scape the fell jaws, darted back in a jiffy 
Tail-foremost, of course, like a born maniac, 
And fell plump in the jaws of another bass waiting. 
Who gobbled young crusty in one single smack. 
Moral : 
So ends the sad tragedy ; ring down the curtain. 
The moral has troubled me more than you'd think. 
For, if it be obvious, then it is certain- 
Ly useless to waste on it paper and ink. 
But if it be not so, why then it were better 
Than writing this " pome," to have paused on the brink. 
But the plain, simple truth is, in this case at least, 
It's no dearth of morals that troubles me so. 
I'm embarrassed with wealth— like the boy at the feast 
When the pudding came on ; and I really don't know 
Which to choose ; and therefore I mildly suggest 
To you, Eeader, to capture the one that suits you. 
Cincinnati, March, 1881. 
