From where he was he could see the Fair lifted up and translated into a fantastic splendour.

Nothing was certain, nothing defined--above him a canopy of evening sky, with circles and chains of stars mixed with the rosy haze of the flame of the Fair; opposite him was the Palace of "The Two-Headed Giant from the Caucasus," a huge man as portrayed in the picture hanging on his outer walls, a giant naked, save for a bearskin, with one head black and one yellow, and white protruding teeth in both mouths.

Next to him was the Fortune Teller's, and outside this a little man with a hump beat a drum.

Then there was "The Theatre of Tragedy and Mirth," with a poster on one side of the door portraying a lady drowning in the swiftest of rivers, but with the prospect of being saved by a stout gentleman who leaned over from the bank and grasped her hair.

Then there was the "Chamber of the Fat Lady and the Six Little Dwarfs," and the entry to this was guarded by a dirty sour-looking female who gnashed her teeth at a hesitating public, before whom, with a splendid indifference to appearance, she consumed, out of a piece of newspaper, her evening meal.
All these things were in Jeremy's immediate vision, and beyond them was a haze that his eyes could not penetrate.