The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



twenty years of age. To call her exhibition 

 dancing would be to stultify the whole art of 

 Terpsichore. For it resolved itself into nothing 

 more or less than a perpetual circling round the 

 fire in a sort of "Dervish" dance, only much 

 more slowly accomplished. This was accom- 

 panied by groans and waitings, until the 

 woman had worked herself up into such a pitch 

 of enthusiasm that she had become " ecstatic." 

 The tears streamed from her eyes, and the 

 saliva trickled from the corners of her mouth on 

 to her dress until the sight utterly disgusted 

 me. She simply was unable to stop, and I ex- 

 pected every minute to see the shocking per- 

 formance come to an abrupt end by her going 

 into a fit, fainting, or doing something equally 

 horrible. I suppose that the chief, seeing that 

 we had nearly had enough of it, gave the sign 

 to the woman's friends. For they proceeded 

 half to help and half to carry her off the scene, 

 and dumped her into a corner, where I conclude 

 she had leisure to collect her scattered senses. 

 Meanwhile it seems that the hidden champion 

 had over-excited himself. For he was altogether 

 unable " to come up to scratch," a circumstance 

 for which we were duly thankful. Had he 

 improved upon the performance we had already 

 witnessed I should probably have either started 

 dancing " on my own " or have had to make a 

 hurried exit from the show. Some years ago, 



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