CHAPTER IX
THE DARK HORSE
Full many a mare with coat of milkiest sheen,
Is dyed in dark unfathomed coal mines drab;
Full many a flyer's born to blush unseen,
And waste her swiftness on a hansom cab.
Lines to order by a young English friend, who swears they
are original. But I regard them as an unconscious
plagiarism from Poet Young's "Eulogy of a Country
Cemetery:" H. B. J.
It is a gain, a precious, let me gain! let me gain!
Oh, Potentate! Oh, Potentate!
The shower of thine secret shoe-dust
Oh, Potentate! Oh, Potentate!
WE left Mr Bhosh in full pursuit of the runaway horse and milk-chariot which he had so spiritedly purchased while still en route. After running a mile or two, he was unspeakably rejoiced to find that the equipage had automatically come to a stand-
