"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, in her merry voice, "I presume you all know Mr. Pete Trone, the distinguished terrier, whose accomplishments and sagacity are in every mouth."
"Oh, we know him!" answered the company; "we know him well." "He is the celebrated dog of republican principles,"—"who climbs trees;"—"and walks the tight-rope;"—"and dances the hornpipe!"
"I perceive that you know him," said Rose, "and therefore you will be pleased to hear an epic poem in his honor. Indeed, it is supposed that he wrote it himself. He speaks with modesty of his achievements, alludes with feeling to his fancy for digging in the garden, and begs for sympathy. With your permission, I will read the:—
'COMPLAINT OF PETE TRONE, ESQ.
I'm only a poor little terrier,
Very small, black-and-tan,
But a dog who is brighter or merrier
Never breathed, never ran.
I'm death on piratical cats,
And, mangled and gory,
The bodies of hundreds of rats
Testify to my glory.
My duty I try to fulfil
Whenever I know it;
If I do not accomplish your will
You've only to show it;
Yet, though I'm thus honest and square
In all my dealings,
It is plain that you are not aware
A dog has his feelings.
If master is kept in at school
Why must I feel the stick?
If sweetheart is distant and cool,
Why should I get a kick?
If Turk steals the mutton for dinner,
And goes off to gulp it,
Why screen HIM, the solemn old sinner,
And call ME the culprit?
And if I am fond of the sand-banks,
And fresh garden-soil,
Why should you molest with your brickbats
My hard, honest toil?
And why should you call it a 'dusty muss,'
And make me abandon
My labor? Remember, 'DE GUSTIBUS
NON EST DISPUTANDUM!'
The world should remember a canine
Has a heart in his breast;
If you knew all you never could say mine
Was worse than the rest.
Then help me to gain the position
To which I aspire,
And grant this poor dog-gerel petition
Of Pete Trone, Esquire!'"
"Excellent! excellent!" cried the audience, as Rose finished reading the verses.