d, I strolled on, passing a
jolly old gentleman smoking and drinking, while three fiddlers played
before him. As I turned into a road that led toward a hill, a little
boy, riding a dapple-gray pony, and an old lady on a white horse, with
bells ringing somewhere, trotted by me, followed by a little girl, who
wished to know where she could buy a penny bun. I told her the best were
at Newmarch's, in Bedford Street, and she ran on, much pleased; but I'm
afraid she never found that best of bake-shops. I was going quietly
along, when the sound of another horse coming made me look round; and
there I saw a dreadful sight,--a wild horse, tearing over the ground,
with fiery eyes and streaming tail. On his back sat a crazy man, beating
him with a broom; a crazy woman was behind him, with her bonnet on wrong
side before, holding one crazy child in her lap, while another stood on
the horse; a third was hanging on by one foot, and all were howling at
the top of their voices as they rushed by. I scrambled over the wall to
get out of the way, and there I saw more curious sights. Two blind men
were sitting on the grass, trying to see two lame men who were hobbling
along as hard as they could; and, near by, a bull was fighting a bee in
the most violent manner. This rather alarmed me; and I scrambled back
into the road again, just as a very fine lady jumped over a
barberry-bush near by, and a gentleman went flying after, with a ring in
one hand and a stick in the other.

"What very odd people they have here!" I thought. Close by was a tidy
little house under the hill, and in it a tidy little woman who sold
things to eat. Being rather hungry, in spite of my porridge, I bought a
baked apple and a cranberry-pie; for she said they were good, and I
found she told the truth. As I sat eating my pie, some dogs began to
bark; and by came a troop of beggars, some in rags, and some in old
velvet gowns. A drunken grenadier was with them, who wanted a pot of
beer; but as he had no money, the old woman sent him about his business.

On my way up the hill, I saw a little boy crying over a dead pig, and
his sister, who seemed to be dead also. I asked his name, and he sobbed
out, "Johnny Pringle, ma'am;" and went on crying so hard I could do
nothing to comfort him. While I stood talking to him, a sudden gust of
wind blew up the road, and down came the bough of a tree; and, to my
surprise, a cradle with a baby in it also. The baby screamed dreadfully,
and