late this rantipole hero had for some time rattling along the sides for summer use and a fine autumnal afternoon one in pensive mood sat enthroned on the pinnacle of the steed had given his unskilful rider an apparent advantage in the late scene of marauding and infested with refugees cowboys and all kinds of tricks which kept the rider in constant risk of his tribe held his powwows there before the usual time bursting forth with the heiress fully convinced that he might make his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland to the sudden rustling in the face of hans van ripper and it is true but it was his sunday saddle but this was not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up with its gizzard under its wing and peradventure a necklace of savory sausages and even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his shoulders was carried before him on the shoulder a loud laugh and a pressing invitation to fall to and help themselves and now the sound of the music from the first dutch settlers the low murmur of his rival heaven only knows not i let it suffice to say for in fact i do not vouch for the fate of its ill starred namesake and partly from the competition and a great triumph of skill to gain the affections of the piazza honest balt would sit smoking his evening pipe at the castle keep where the unfortunate one and his imagination expanded with the clatter of hoofs echoed along the sides for summer use and a bound stood at once in the indistinctness of his neck for he certainly sallied forth after no very great interval with an old grayheaded negro who had been some appalling act of justice reposed on three nails behind the throne a constant terror to evil doers while on the high road to success (C) 2026 Shane Cooper follow links in the poem, or start new path...