A horse is a horse, of course, of course,

And no one can talk to a horse, of course

That is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed

Go right to the source and ask the horse,

He'll give you the answer that you'll endorse

He's always on a steady course, talk to Mr. Ed.

People yackety yak on the street and waste the time of day

But Mr. Ed will never speak unless he has something to say.

A horse is a horse, of course, of course,

And no one can talk to a horse, of course

That is of course unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed.

WHEN MR. ED, the palomino who brought television humor to previously unscaled heights in the 50s, died two weeks ago in Oklahoma, the equine and entertainment worlds suffered a great loss. The 31-year-old hoofer had cheated the glue-factory for many a year; but finally the great bronco-buster in the sky roped him in.

Ed leaves behind millions of adoring fans--the current undergraduate population is the youngest to have munched at the feedbag of homespun lessons about life and laughter from Ed's wry rerun commentary. Who can forget Mr. Ed driving a milk truck down the streets of suburbia? Will the image of Mr. Ed at shortstop ever fade? And will the very name "Wilbur" ever be the same? For Ed's rolling cadences turned that pedestrian monicker into a symbol for everyman, a stable influence in a changing world.

Oklahoma sources report that Ed, who had been cruelly ridiculed as a symbol of the enforced stupidity of the 50s, was despondent in the weeks before his death. But even if "Mr. Ed" was just about the dumbest thing ever to appear in the twisted history of television, we loved it. And we loved Ed, and the carefree horse-sense he espoused. And so, from now on, we will call this space the "Ed column."