This
was at some little town where we changed horses an hour or two after
midnight. Some fair or wake had kept the people up out of their beds,
and had occasioned a partial illumination of the stalls and booths,
presenting an unusual but very impressive effect. We saw many lights
moving about as we drew near; and perhaps the most striking scene on
the whole route was our reception at this place. The flashing of
torches and the beautiful radiance of blue lights (technically, Bengal
lights) upon the heads of our horses; the fine effect of such a showery
and ghostly illumination falling upon our flowers and glittering
laurels [Footnote: "_Glittering laurels_":--I must observe that the
colour of _green_ suffers almost a spiritual change and exaltation
under the effect of Bengal lights.]; whilst all around ourselves, that
formed a centre of light, the darkness gathered on the rear and flanks
in massy blackness: these optical splendours, together with the
prodigious enthusiasm of the people, composed a picture at once
scenical and affecting, theatrical and holy. As we staid for three or
four minutes, I alighted; and immediately from a dismantled stall in
the street, where no doubt she had been presiding through the earlier
part of the night, advanced eagerly a middle-aged woman. The sight of
my newspaper it was that had drawn her attention upon myself.
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