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.