She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. Moreoever, it had cost her a whipping and several days’ imprisonment in her cell on bread and water. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. She floundered deep. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward.
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