the
external galleries, filling now in expectation of the fireworks;
indescribable the mingled tumult that roars heavenwards. Girls linked
by the half-dozen arm-in-arm leap along with shrieks like grotesque
maenads; 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 eat-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-out for Jack Bartley now;
only let him meet Jack, and it shall be seen who is the better man.
Pennyloaf rejoices that the hostile party are nowhere discoverable. She
is persuaded to join in a dance, though every moment it seems to her
that she must sink to the ground in uttermost exhaustion. Naturally she
does not dance with sufficient liveliness to please Bob; he seizes
another girl, a stranger, and whirls round the six-foot circle with a
laugh of triumph. Pennyloaf's misery is relieved by the beginning of
the fireworks. Up shoot the rockets, and all the reeking multitude
utters a huge 'Oh' of idiot admiration.

Now at length must we think of tearing ourselves away from these
delights. Already the more prudent people are hurrying to the railway,
knowing by dire experience what it means to linger until the last
cargoes. Pennyloaf has hard work to get her husband as far as the
station; Bob is not quite steady upon his feet, and the hustling of the
crowd perpetually excites him to bellicose challenges. They reach the
platform somehow; they stand wedged amid a throng which roars
persistently as a substitute for the activity of limb Row become
impossible. A train is drawing up slowly; the danger is lest people in
the front row should be pushed over the edge of the platform, but
porters exert themselves with success. A rush, a tumble, curses, blows,
laughter, screams of pain--and we are in a carriage. Pennyloaf has to
be dragged up from under the seat, and all her indignation cann