But the Lust Haus is now lighted up, the company are assembling fast; Babette is waddling and trotting like an armadillo from corner to corner:  Babette here, and Babette there, it is Babette everywhere.  The room is full, and the musicians have commenced tuning their instruments; the party run from the table to join the rest.  A general cheer greets the widow as she is led into the room by the corporal—­for she had asked many of her friends as well as the crew of the Yungfrau, and many others came who were not invited; so that the wedding day, instead of disbursement, produced one of large receipt to the happy pair.

“Now then, corporal, you must open the ball with your lady,” cried Bill Spurey.

“Mein Gott, yes.”

“What shall it be, Madam Van Spitter?”

“A waltz, if you please.”

The musicians struck up a waltz, and Corporal Van Spitter, who had no notion of waltzing, further than having seen the dance performed by others, seized his wife by the waist, who, with an amorous glance, dropped her fat arm upon the corporal’s shoulder.  This was the signal for the rest—­the corporal had made but one turn before a hundred couple more were turning also—­the whole room seemed turning.  The corporal could not waltz, but he could turn—­he held on fast by the widow, and with such a firm piece of resistance he kept a centrifugal balance, and without regard to time or space, he increased his velocity at a prodigious rate.  Round they went, with the dangerous force of the two iron balls suspended to the fly-wheel which regulate the power of some stupendous steam-engine.

The corporal would not, and his better half could not, stop.  The first couple they came in contact with were hurled to the other side of the room; a second and a third fell, and still the corporal wheeled on; two chairs and a table were swept away in a moment.  Three young women, with baskets of cakes and nuts, were thrown down together, and the contents of all their baskets scattered on the floor; and “Bravo, corporal!” resounded from the crew of the Yungfrau—­Babette and two bottles of ginger beer were next demolished; Jemmy Ducks received a hoist, and Smallbones was flatted to a pancake.  Every one fled from the orbit of these revolving spheres, and they were left to wheel by themselves.  At last, Mrs Van Spitter finding that nothing else would stop her husband, who, like all heavy bodies, once put in motion, returned it in proportion to his weight, dropped down, and left him to support her whole weight.  This was more than the corporal could stand, and it brought him up all standing—­he stopped, dropped his wife, and reeled to a chair, for he was so giddy that he could not keep his legs, and so out of breath that he had lost his wind.

“Bravo, corporal!” was shouted throughout the room, while his spouse hardly knew whether she should laugh, or scold him well; but, it being the wedding night, she deferred the scolding for that night only, and she gained a chair, and fanned and wiped, and fanned and wiped again.  The corporal, shortly afterwards, would have danced again, but Mrs Van Spitter having had quite enough for that evening, she thanked him for the offer, was satisfied with his prowess, but declined on the score of the extreme sultriness of the weather; to which observation, the corporal replied, as usual,