Now, as he ended, I stooped, very suddenly, and caught hold of his wrist—­and then I saw that he held my purse in his hand.  It was a large hand with bony knuckles, and very long fingers, upon one of which was a battered ring.  He attempted, at first, to free himself of my grip, but, finding this useless, stood glowering at me with one eye and leering with the other.

“Ha!” said I.

“Hallo!” said he.

“A purse!” said I.

“Why, so it is,” he nodded; leastways, it looks uncommonly like one, don’t it?”

“What’s more, it looks like mine!”

“Does it?”

“I could swear to it anywhere.”

“Could you?”

“I could.”

“Then p’r’aps you’d better take it, young cove, and very welcome, I’m sure.”

“So you’ve been picking my pocket!” said I.

“Never picked a pocket in my life—­should scorn to.”

I put away my recovered property, and straightway shifted my grip to the fellow’s collar.

“Now,” said I, “come on.”

“Why, what are you a-doing of?”

“What does one generally do with a pickpocket?”

But I had hardly uttered the words when, with a sudden cunning twist, he broke my hold, and, my foot catching in a guy-rope, I tripped, and fell heavily, and ere I could rise he had made good his escape.  I got to my feet, somewhat shaken by the fall, yet congratulating myself on the recovery of my purse, and, threading my way among the tents, was soon back among the crowd.  Here were circuses and shows of all kinds, where one might behold divers strange beasts, the usual Fat Women and Skeleton Men (who ever heard of the order being reversed?); and before the shows were fellows variously attired, but each being purplish of visage, and each possessing the lungs of a Stentor—­more especially one, a round-bellied, bottle-nosed fellow in a white hat, who alternately roared and beat upon a drum—­a red-haired man he was, with a fiery eye, which eye, chancing to single me out in the crowd, fixed itself pertinaciously upon me, thenceforth, so that he seemed to address himself exclusively to me, thus: 

“O my stars! [young man].” (Bang goes the drum.) “The wonderful wild, ’airy, and savage man from Bonhoola, as eats snakes alive, and dresses hisself in sheeny serpents!  O my eye! step up! [young man].” (Bang!) “Likewise the ass-tonishin’ and beautiful Lady Paulinolotti, as will swaller swords, sabres, bay’nets, also chewin’ up glass, and bottles quicker than you can wink [young man].” (Bang!) “Not to mention Catamaplasus, the Fire Fiend, what burns hisself with red-hot irons, and likes it, drinks liquid fire with gusto—­playfully spittin’ forth the same, together with flame and sulphurous smoke, and all for sixpence [young man].” (Bang!) “O my stars! step up [young man] and all for a tanner.” (Bang!)

Presently, his eye being off me for the moment, I edged my way out of the throng and so came to where a man stood mounted upon a cart.  Beside him was a fellow in a clown’s habit who blew loudly three times upon a trumpet, which done, the man took off his hat and began to harangue the crowd, something in this wise: