_Blow up, ye trumpeters!_ and crack your brass![4] Hark to the trumpets' mirth-creating strain![5] View the bold javelineers, a motley train, Perch'd upon what, in long-departed days, Might have been horses, grey, white, black, or bays; Height is no object--some stand fifteen three, Others not twelve; this one appears to be Fresh from a barge! that other tottering steed Is booked next week 'Lord Parker's'[6] hounds to feed! Could Mancha's knight his Rozinante bring To show against this miserable string, I'd bet a hat (a Randall[7] or a Paris one) He'd prove a downright "Clipper" by comparison. 'Twere better far keep javelineers on foot,[8] They're better there than where I've seen them put;-- Scarce one his saddle gains alone, and in it When there, what's next? he's out in half a minute Hilloa! what's this? that leader's rather queer, Don't like the bars! a little light, I fear, Behind--hold hard! look how that wheeler jibs! Stupid! hit t'other, punch him in the ribs, Tom Ostler, can't ye? hark ye, Master Will, When you'd start jibbers, jib they ne'er so ill, Let them alone, _but make them go_ as will. Try it again--at last they're off, full tilt, Pray Heaven grant our Sheriff mayn't be spilt! Forward's the word, when lo! a sudden stop Causes the Sheriff from the coach to pop His head, to learn the cause of this delay. "Sir," says the footman, "cause of this delay, Look you, the Judge's carriage stops the way." It's useless now to dare contend with fate, Make the best of it, as you are too late; It can't be help'd, so come, O Sheriff Van, Pluck up your heart to meet him, if you can! 'Tis done! with solemn pace the Ipsden coach With Judge, and Sheriff, (pale as any roach) Reaches the goal, and sore from many a jar Sets down its precious burthen at the "Star." [1] Old Tom, not the Old Tom of London Gin notoriety, but the veritable Tom of Christ Church, Oxford. [2] The famous landlady of the "Star" in the olden time. The Queen of landladies. [3] The then excellent head-waiter at the Star. [4] "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks."--SHAKESPEARE _and_ DRYDEN. [5] Mirth-creating, inasmuch as people laugh'd at their _dis_cord. [6] Now Lord Macclesfield, the best man ever known to get foxes _away_ in our beech-wood country. [7] An Oxford-bought hat was usually called a "Randall," after the eminent _nunc_ alderman of that name, then in business in High Street. [8] They are on foot now (September 16, 1868). THE DINNER. "Hold hard there, your eyes on me, gen'lemen."--MR. WELLER, SENIOR. Pickwick.