Oh, Mr. Faraday, simple Mr. Faraday!

Guided by the steady light which mighty Bacon lit,

You naturally stare, seeing that so many are

Following whither fraudulent Jack-with-the-Lanterns flit.

Of scientific lore, though you have an ample store,

Gotten by experiments, in one respect you lack;

Society's weak side, whereupon you none have tried,

Being all Philosopher and nothing of a Quack.


A Phrenological Puzzle.