A certain fox had a Grecian nose
   And a beautiful tail. His friends
 Were wont to say in a jesting way
   A divinity shaped his ends.
 The fact is sad, but his foxship had
   A fault we should all eschew:
 He was so deceived that he quite believed
   What he heard from friends was true.
 One day he found in a sheltered spot
   A trap with stalwart springs
 That was cunningly planned to supply the demand
  For some of those tippet things.
 The fox drew nigh, and resolved to try
   The way that the trap was set:
 (When the trap was through with this interview
   There was one less tippet to get!)
 The fox returned to his doting friends
   And said, with an awkward smile,
 "My tail I know was comme il faut,
   And served me well for a while."
 When his comrades laughed at his shortage aft
   He added, with scornful bow,
 "Pray check your mirth, for I hear from Worth
   They're wearing them shorter now."
 But one of his friends, a bookish chap,
   Replied, with a thoughtful frown,
 "You know to-day the publishers say
   That the short tale won't go down;
 And, upon my soul, I think on the whole,
  That the publishers' words are true.
 I should hate, good sir, to part my fur
   In the middle, as done by you."
 And another added these truthful words
   In the midst of the eager hush,
 "We can part our hair 'most anywhere
   So long as we keep the brush."
 THE MORAL is this: It is never amiss
   To treasure the things you've penned:
 Preserve your tales, for, when all else fails,
   They'll be useful things--in the end.
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