of life before it, lifted itself into a final screaming manifestation. Now was the time for which the wise and the cautious had been waiting throughout the three days of the Fair—the moment when all the prices would tumble down with a rush because it was now or never. The merry-go-round shrieked, the animals bellowed, lowed, mooed and grunted, the purchasers argued, quarrelled, shouted and triumphed, the preacher and his followers sang and sang again, the bells clanged, the gas-jets flared, the bonfire rose furiously to heaven. But meanwhile the crowd was growing larger and larger around the Town Hall steps; they came with penny whistles and horns and hand-bells and even tea-trays. Then suddenly, strong above the babel, carried by men's stout voices, the song began:
Now, gentles all, attend this song,
Tra-la, la-la, Tra-la,
It is but short, it can't be long,
Tra-la-la-la, Tra-la,
How Farmer Brown one summer day
Was in his field a-gathering hay,
When by there came a pretty maid
Who smiling sweetly to him said,
Tra-la-la-la-Tra-la.
Then Farmer Brown, though forty year,
Tra-la, la-la, Tra-la,
When he that pretty voice did hear,
Tra-la-la-la, Tra-la,
He threw his fork the nearest ditch
And caught the maiden tightly, which
