THE MORGAN HORSE 



Would ye b'lieve it? that night that hoss, that ar' filly, Chi- 



quita, 

 Walked herself into her stall, and stood there, all quiet and 



dripping : 



Clean as a beaver or rat, with nary a buckle of harness, 

 Just as she swam the Fork, that hoss, that ar' filly, Chiquita. 



That's what I call a hoss ! and What did you say? Oh ! the 



nevey? 



Drownded, I reckon, leastways, he never kem back to deny it. 

 Ye see, the derned fool had no seat, ye couldn't have made 



him a rider ; 

 And then, you know, boys will be boys, and hosses well, hosses 



is hosses ! 



FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 



