"There's one thing," he added; "Ironmonger Loveday has laid in a
whole stock of sixpenny fire-balloons for to-night: and there isn't a
breath of wind. His boy's very clever with the scissors and paste:
and he've a-stuck a tissue-paper text on each--'Success to the
Charter of our Liberties,' and 'Rule Britannia' and 'God Speed the
Plough'; and nothing more than the sixpence charged."
Simple, egregious, delectable town! As I leaned out last night,
watching the young moon and smoking the last pipe before bed-time, a
dozen of these gay balloons rose from the waterside and drifted on
the faint north wind, seaward, past my window. Another dozen
followed, and another, until from one point and another of the dark
shore a hundred balloons soared over the water, challenging the
stars.