While swift the Pagans onward[65] dash

The bold dragoons[66] pursue!

That’s better. The Principal could not beat that, particularly the Behold, and the s-w-i-f-t. Next comes the climax—a long respiration, and—and—

See![67] the captives pass a stream,

A rushing torrent[68] wild,

They cannot pass—

Now I object to this vague style of literature. The poet is silent as to how they reached it. With their hands, thus![69] or with their feet, thus![70] or on horseback, with a whoa![71] whoa! Dobbin? How am I to gesticulate correctly, not knowing the facts? I’ll do the poem to suit myself, and if I fail to win the prize, it will be through the stupidity of the judges, so there!

Geo. M. Vickers.

[Gestures.]