The glitter of the lights, the shouts, and sounds of continual going, the endless whirl of passers-by, confused and tired me after a while.  I went as far out as I could go to what seemed the out-skirts of the place, where I could by glimpses perceive a low horizon all lurid and glowing, which seemed to sweep round and round.  Against it in the distance stood up the outline, black against that red glow, of other towers and house-tops, so many and great that there was evidently another town between us and the sunset, if sunset it was.  I have seen a western sky like it when there were storms about, and all the colors of the sky were heightened and darkened by angry influences.  The distant town rose against it, cutting the firmament so that it might have been tongues of flame flickering between the dark solid outlines; and across the waste open country which lay between the two cities, there came a distant hum like the sound of the sea, which was in reality the roar of that other multitude.  The country between showed no greenness or beauty; it lay dark under the dark overhanging sky.  Here and there seemed a cluster of giant trees scathed as if by lightning, their bare boughs standing up as high as the distant towers, their trunks like black columns without foliage.  Openings here and there, with glimmering lights, looked like the mouths of mines; but of passengers there were scarcely any.  A figure here and there flew along as if pursued, imperfectly seen, a shadow only a little darker than the space about.  And in contrast with the sound of the city, here was no sound at all, except the low roar on either side, and a vague cry or two from the openings of the mine,—­a scene all drawn in darkness, in variations of gloom, deriving scarcely any light at all from the red and gloomy burning of that distant evening sky.

A faint curiosity to go forwards, to see what the mines were, perhaps to get a share in what was brought up from them, crossed my mind.  But I was afraid of the dark, of the wild uninhabited savage look of the landscape; though when I thought of it, there seemed no reason why a narrow stretch of country between two great towns should be alarming.  But the impression was strong and above reason.  I turned back to the street in which I had first alighted, and which seemed to end in a great square full of people.  In the middle there was a stage erected, from which some one was delivering an oration or address of some sort.  He stood beside a long table, upon which lay something which I could not clearly distinguish, except that it seemed alive, and moved, or rather writhed with convulsive twitchings, as if trying to get free of the bonds which confined it.  Round the stage in front were a number of seats occupied by listeners, many of whom were women, whose interest seemed to be very great, some of them being furnished with note-books; while a great unsettled crowd coming and going, drifted round,—­many, arrested for a time as they