pockets. Vigorous and varied is the jollity that occupies the external galleries, filling now in expectation of the fireworks; indescribable the mingled tumult that roars heavenwards. Girls linked by the half-dozen arm-inarm leap along with shrieks like grotesque mcenads; a rougher horseplay finds favour among the youths, occasionally leading to fisticuffs. Thick voices bellow in fragmentary chorus; from every side comes the yell, the cat-call, the ear-rending whistle; and as the bass, the never-ceasing accompaniment, sounds myriad-footed tramp, tramp along the wooden flooring. A fight, a scene of bestial drunkenness, a tender whispering between two lovers, proceed concurrently in a space of five square yards.—Above them glimmers the dawn of starlight.
For perhaps the first time in his life Bob Hewett has drunk more than he can well carry. To Pennyloaf’s remonstrances he answers more and more impatiently: “Why does she talk like a bloomin’ fool?—one doesn’t get married every day.” He is on the look-
