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 extreme discomposure of spirit, and he was
fumbling at his pocket, when the drum a little precipitately thumped: the
ranks fell into order, and the departure was led by the tune of the 'King
of the Cannibal islands:' a tune that is certain to create a chorus on
the march. On this occasion, the line:--

"Oh! didn't you know you were done, sir?"

became general at the winding up of the tune. Boys with their elders
frisked as they chimed it, casting an emphasis of infinite relish on the
declaration 'done'; as if they delighted in applying it to Mr. Pole,
though at their own expense.

Soon a verse grew up:--

"We march'd and call'd on Mister Pole,
Who hadn't a penny, upon his soul,
For Ipley came and took the whole,
And didn't you know you were done, sir!"

I need not point out to the sagacious that Hillford and not Mr. Pole had
been 'done;' but this was the genius of the men w