THE BEAR PIT.
AT THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.
We liked the bear's serio-comical face,
As he lolled with a lazy, a lumbering grace;
Said Slyboots to me—(just as if she had none),
"Papa, let's give Bruin a bit of your bun."
Says I, "A plum bun might please wistful old Bruin,
For he can't eat the stone that the cruel boy threw in;
Stick yours on the point of mama's parasol,
And then he will climb to the top of the pole.
"Some bears have got two legs, some bears have got more,—
Be good to old bears if they've no legs or four:
Of duty to age you should never be careless,
My dear, I am bald—and I soon shall be hairless!
"The gravest aversion exists amongst bears
For rude forward persons who give themselves airs,
We know how some graceless young people were mauled
For plaguing a prophet, and calling him bald.
"Strange ursine devotion! Their dancing-days ended,
Bears die to 'remove' what, in life, they defended:
They succoured the Prophet, and since that affair
The bald have a painful regard for the bear."
My Moral—Small People may read it, and run,
(The child has my moral, the bear has my bun),—
Forbear to give pain, if it's only in jest,
And care to think pleasure a phantom at best.
A paradox too—none can hope to attach it,
Yet if you pursue it you'll certainly catch it.