The bugleman began the tune of--

"Heaven preserve our Emperor Fra-an-cis,
Rum tum-ti-tum-ti-titty-ti."

At the sound, the "Emperor" reared himself (with a roar from Mr.
Eglantine)--reared and beat the air with his fore-paws. Eglantine
flung his arms round the beast's neck; still he kept beating time
with his fore-paws. Mrs. Crump screamed: Mr. Woolsey, Dick, the
clarence coachman, Lord Vauxhall (for it was he), and his Lordship's
two grooms, burst into a shout of laughter; Morgiana cries "Mercy!
mercy!" Eglantine yells "Stop!"--"Wo!"--"Oh!" and a thousand
ejaculations of hideous terror; until, at last, down drops the
"Emperor" stone dead in the middle of the road, as if carried off by
a cannon-ball.

Fancy the situation, ye callous souls who laugh at the misery of
humanity, fancy the situation of poor Eglantine under the "Emperor"!
He had fallen very easy, the animal lay perfectly quiet, and the
perfumer was to all intents and purposes as dead as the animal. He
had not fainted, but he was immovable with terror; he lay in a
puddle, and thought it was his own blood gushing from him; and he
would have lain there until Monday morning, if my Lord's grooms,
descending, had not dragged him by the coat-collar from under the
beast, who still lay quiet.

"Play 'Charming Judy Callaghan,' will ye?" says Mr. Snaffle's man,
the fly-driver; on which the bugler performed that lively air, and
up started the horse, and the grooms, who were rubbing Mr. Eglantine
down against a lamp-post, invited him to remount.