In Came the Fiddler With a Music Book and Made an Orchestra of It

In came a fiddler with a music book and went up to the lofty desk. In came missus fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. The floor was swept and watered. The lamps were trimmed. Fuel was heaped upon the fire. It was as snug and warm and dry and bright a ball room as you would desire to see on a winter's night. All top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result was brought about, old feziwig cried out, well done. And the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter especially provided for that purpose.