FRITZ-SNODKINS, late of eighty-two,
Was walking on North Avenue
With Miss Gushee, of the Annex,
Descendant of an ancient Prex.
The morning sun was veiled in mist,
December's breath the bare trees kissed,
And slumbering in the morning still
Lay Harvard, - Culture's grinding-mill.
It was the recitation hour,
And men read Greek and Schopenhauer.
"But lo!" cried Snodkins, "see, behold,
What mystery doth now unfold!"
And sudden, as he spoke,
From ancient Stoughton's low-hung roof,
From out those walls they call fire-proof,