There was such an uproar on the grass-plot yonder.

Dudeldum--Hubutt, Hubutt--Dudeldum--fiddles squeaking and bag-pipes droning as if they never would stop.

The crazy throng shouted amidst the din; the noise still rings in my ears.

There was no end to the games and dancing.

The lads tossed their brown, blue and red-stockinged legs in the air, just as the fiddle played--the coat-tails flew and, holding a girl clasped in the right arm and a mug of beer high over their heads till the foam spattered, the throng of men whirled round and round.