30
Tale of a Pony.
But every woman's claim to ton
Depends upon
The team she drives, whether phaeton,
Landeau, or britzka. Hence it 's plain
That Rose, who was of her toilette vain,
Should have a team that ought to be
Equal to any in all Paris!
"Bring forth the horse!"—the commissaire
Bowed, and brought Miss Rose a pair
Leading an equipage rich and rare:
"Why doth that lovely lady stare?"
Why? The tail of the off gray mare
Is bobbed—by all that 's good and fair!
Like the shaving brushes that soldiers wear,
Scarcely showing as much back-hair
As Tam O'Shanter's "Meg,"—and there
Lord knows she 'd little enough to spare.
That stare and frown the Frenchman knew,
But did—as well-bred Frenchmen do:
Raised his shoulders above his crown,
