DOT STUPPORN PONY.

I growt so ferry heffy Dot too much de walkin' pe, So I pyed me of von pony; But dot pettler he sheat me. Bote eyes of him was limpy, Bote leeks of him vas plint; But dot vot prake of me mine heart Dot pony vas oonkint. He keeck shust like a chackess, Oop, town, pefore, pehint; Und how to cure dot pony I rollt oop in my mint. Dot sympathee vas nonsense, Shust efery dinks he preak; Vhen sutton coomt von grant itee, I tole you how I make: I keetch him mit de shafters, But—outsite in instet— His het oop py dot vagon, His dail vere vos his het. Den—one, doo, tree—I schlag him. Ach, himmel! how he keeck! But vhen he fints he noddings stroock, He stop dot pooty queeck. Den looks he oop aschtountet, Oxcited pooty pat; Den sutten makes he backvarts, Like as of he vas mat I laugh as I vas tying Vhen I see him go dat vay; Den on his haunch he stoomples town, As he vas going to bray. How schamt he look, vateffer! I tole him vat I dinks; Doo dears drop oud his eyepalls, Mit grief his dail he vinks. Arount all right I toorn him, His het pefore him now, Und streecks!—he trives as goot und kind As he vas peen my frau! Harry Woodson.