I DROVE a horse for a long, long time; through the summer dust and the winter rime I jogged along in my one-hoss shay, and never dreamed that a better way of locomotion I e'er would find, and Towser trotted along behind. A happy dog was old Towser then; he got acquainted with dogs and men, and found fine bones on the right of way, the while he followed my one-hoss shay. But Dobbin, the horse, grew out of date, and I bought a car that can hit a gait of forty miles in a fleeting hour, a thing that throbs with resistless power. Old Towser followed the car one day, as I scorched the road on my townward way; he kept in sight for three para-sangs, and then he muttered some bow-wow dangs, and sneaked back home with a broken heart, and died the death 'neath a one-hoss cart. Alas, old dog, 'twas a bitter end, for one that long was a faithful friend, but the world moves on, and that dog must fade that is too slow for the great parade; must lay him down 'neath the buttercups—and it's true of men, just as well as pups. |