A VOLATILE PONY 



grand stand, and all this particular pony had to 

 do was, led by his groom, quietly to pass as one 

 of a long procession before the Royal party. 

 This, however, was not at all in accordance with 

 the fitness of things, as visualized by a pony of 

 soaring ambitions, when there was so good an 

 opportunity of distinguishing oneself. With the 

 secret of his intentions locked within his own 

 breast, he approached the Prince with all the 

 calmness and decorum of a funeral hack. But 

 when arrived opposite Royalty it made a dead 

 halt, and, raising itself on its hind legs, gracefully 

 saluted with its fore-feet at least that appeared 

 to be the purport of the movement. Not content 

 with this, he then proceeded to exhibit his agility 

 and high animal spirits by a series of Jim Crow 

 movements, followed by a selection of curvetings, 

 pirouettings, friskings, gambols, and every other 

 evolution of which the most kittenish of ponies 

 could be capable, the procession being meanwhile 

 delayed to the disgust of the other animals and 

 their leaders, who were kept waiting without any 

 such opportunity of distinguishing themselves. 

 At last the volatile one, having exhausted his 

 many accomplishments, consented to move on, 

 which he did apparently well-pleased with himself, 

 amid the hearty laughter of the Prince and the 

 approving plaudits of the spectators. I am no 

 interpreter of animal physiognomy, but, if ever 

 a pony had a beaming smile, I should say it was 

 worn by that particular quadruped as he wended 

 his way back to his stall. 



It is curious how large the trivialities of life 

 loom in memory and how 7 enduring they are. 



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