Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" "How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is, friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. (7) MORE HULLAH-BALOO. By T. HOOD. "Loud as from numbers without number."-MILTON. "You may do it extempore, for it's nothing but roaring."-QUINCE. AMONGST the great inventions of this age, Call'd "Singing for all Classes ". That And billions, And quadrillions, Not to name Quintilians, now, alas! have no more ear than asses, To learn to warble like the birds in June, Correct as clocks, and musical as glasses! In fact, a sort of plan, Including gentleman as well as yokel, To call out a Militia,-only Vocal And not designed for military follies, Whether this grand harmonic scheme And tend to British happiness and glory, Is more than I pretend to guess— However, here's my story. In one of those small, quiet streets, To shun the daily bustle and the noise But Law, Joint-Companies, and Life Assurance Find past endurance In one of those back streets, to Peace so dear, The other day, a ragged wight Began to sing with all his might, "I have a silent sorrow here!" The place was lonely; not a creature stirr'd Or vagrant cur that sniff'd along, No truant errand-boy, or Doctor's lad, No Pots encumber'd with diurnal beer, No printer's devil with an author's proof, Or housemaid on an errand far aloof, |