is no instrument the sound of which proclaims such a vast internal
satisfaction as the drum. I know not whether it be that the sense we
have of the corpulency of this instrument predisposes us to imagine it
supremely content: as when an alderman is heard snoring the world is
assured that it listens to the voice of its own exceeding gratulation.
A light heart in a fat body ravishes not only the world but the
philosopher. If monotonous, the one note of the drum is very correct.
Like the speaking of great Nature, what it means is implied by the
measure. When the drum beats to the measure of a common human pulsation
it has a conquering power: inspiring us neither to dance nor to trail
the members, but to march as life does, regularly, and in hearty good
order, and with a not exhaustive jollity. It is a sacred instrument.

Now the drum which is heard to play in this cheerful fashion, while at
the same time we know that discomfiture is cruelly harrying it: that its
inmost feelings are wounded, and that worse is in store for it, affects
the contemplative mind with an inexpressibly grotesque commiseration. Do
but listen to this one, which is the joint corporate voice of the men
of Hillford. Outgeneraled, plundered, turned to ridicule, it thumps
with unabated briskness. Here indeed might Sentimentalism shed a fertile
tear!

Anticipating that it will eventually be hung up among our national
symbols, I proceed. The drum of Hillford entered the Brookfield grounds
as Ipley had done, and with a similar body of decorated Clubmen;
sounding along until it faced the astonished proprietor, who held up
his hand and requested to know the purpose of the visit. One sentence of
explanation sufficed.

"What!" cried Mr. Pole, "do you think you can milk a cow twice in ten
minutes?"

Several of the Hillford men acknowledged that it would be rather sharp
work.

Their case was stated: whereupon Mr. Pole told them that he had just
been 'milked,' and regretted it, but requested them to see that he could
not possibly be equal to any second proceeding of the sort. On their
turning to consult together, he advised them to bear it with fortitude.
"All right, sir!" they said: and a voice from the ranks informed
him that their word was 'Jolly.' Then a signal was given, and these
indomitable fellows cheered the lord of Brookfield as lustily as if they
had accomplished the feat of milking him twice in an hour. Their lively
hurrahs set him blinking in ex