From head to hoof, and tale to mane!--
I bless the hoss, as I have said,
From head to hoof, and back again!

"I love my God the first of all,
Then Him that perished on the cross,
And next, my wife,--and then I fall
Down on my knees and love the hoss."


Again I applauded, handing the old man still
another of his poems, and the last received. "Ah!"
said he, as his gentle eyes bent on the title; "this--
here's the cheerfullest one of 'em all. This is the
one writ, as I wrote you about--on that glorious
October morning two weeks ago--I thought your
paper would print this-un, shore!"

"Oh, it WILL print it," I said eagerly; "and it will
print the other two as well! It will print ANYTHING
that you may do us the honor to offer, and we'll
reward you beside just as you may see fit to designate.--
But go on--go on! Read me the poem."

The old man's eyes were glistening as he responded
with the poem entitled


"WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN"