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Birmingham, under leaden skies, is not a cheerful town; and a less promising exterior than that of Bingley Hall it would be difficult to imagine. A depressing back street, brick walls, and smoke-laden atmosphere. Yet to this unattractive pivot-point came Scouts from sunny lands across the sea, from all corners of our own kingdom, from Highland valleys, and from Yorkshire dales, from the green fields of Ireland, and the high hills of Wales. They came with their many-hued uniforms, their upright manly bearing, their sunny smiles, and their irrepressible enthusiasm, and lit up the streets of Birmingham till the desert ways blossomed as the rose. How much the presence of the Scouts themselves contributed to the success of the Exhibition, and its charm and brightness, was strangely shown on the Rally day, when very few Scouts were in Bingley Hall, and none in the streets outside. The hours seemed to drag, and all seemed dead until the evening, when the Troops marched in again, and soon all was humming, as before, with a gaiety that was infectious.

Another impression one received was one of wonder at the endurance of the human boy. Up at four or five in the morning, after a few hours of broken sleep in camp; busy at camp duties till noon; then the journey from Perry Hall Park to Bingley Hall; and, lastly, the long hours in the stadium, in the theatre, at display-stalls, or as helpers in the various sections; this, too, till ten o'clock at night, with a hasty meal snatched, in some mysterious manner, at an odd interval during the day. Yet no one seemed weary. From the ever-genial Exhibition Commissioner himself, and the imperturbable Secretary, down to the smallest Scout, there was that amazing calm amid multiplicity of detail that gave the most delightful sense of repose amidst complexity such as no other Exhibition of equal magnitude has ever produced, to my knowledge before.