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THE TALE OF A PONY.

BEING AN ATTEMPT AT GRINDING DURING THE SEMI-ANNUALS.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

My pony won me '81,

So I'll cut short its tale now.

I'd got quite hoarse with crying "Woe!"

My wrinkles were increasing;

So I took this "trot" for the "little go,"

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And my sheepskin saved from fleecing.

My Greek had been all Greek to me

Until I got my pony;

When lo! the words came easily, -

No longer hard, though Bohny.

And yet the ground o'er which I ground

Made time and trotter fly, sir;

And as time ran out I very soon found

The Greek and I were dry, sir.

The task thus brought me to my beer,

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