one of these days. These dark hints caused
much alarm and expectation. But on the
festival day rumour went abroad that matters
had come to a crisis. Aboard the punt,
where the nets were being got in, a warm altercation
had taken place. The smouldering sense
of wrong, inflamed by the feeling that the day
of freedom was approaching, had freed Big
Hoskins's tongue. He had given cheek, and
our iron master had sternly ordered him home
to "school:" an order which, however, he
recalled after a moment's reflection, good naturedly
making allowance for the saturnalian character
of the day. But at supper, over the silver bowl,
it broke out afresh. Big Hoskins, who had
been looking on the day as a victory, and who
considered that "old Franklin" had knocked
under, was called on for a song, and, with a
look of triumph, struck into a comic
dialogue between a farmer and his wife, which
was justly considered his cheval de
bataille, and a triumph of dramatic feeling. But
on this occasion he artfully interpolated an
expression—a catch word of our iron master's—
and made it recur (in defiance of all rhyme,
metre, and music) again and again, with
unmistakable emphasis and point. We were but a
mob, a herd, and were ready to laugh or do
anything, like grown–up mobs and herds, if
there were but a Jack Cade to lead us. So we
roared, and enjoyed the thing insanely, taking no
thought of the hurt and wounded look upon our
iron master's face. But after the revels were
over for the night, and we were going up to
bed, I recal Bill Somebody coming to me, with
deep awe and silent mystery, and motioning me
to come and look over the banister. Stealing
out without our shoes, we did so, and there
saw, and heard too, Bill Hoskins and our iron
master "at it." The latter was speaking gravely
and sternly: remonstrating, it almost seemed.
Bill Hoskins, with his hand on his breast (a
very poor imitation of a Roman senator), and
perhaps a little inflamed by frequent reference
to the great silver bowl, was talking loudly and
defiantly. He came up presently, and told us of
the interview. "Old Franklin" (by the way, this
term was wholly unmerited, old Franklin being
quite young and hale; but it was considered a
judicious term of deep contempt)—"old Franklin
had talked of stopping him to–morrow from
the Do; he'd like to see him; old Franklin had
said, as it was the end of the year, he might
take no notice until to–morrow was over. Big
Hoskins (with a scornful laugh) thought so.
He knew it would come to that. He was not
to be intimidated by a man like "old Franklin."

We went to bed half awestruck, half admiring;
for these were new and terrible radical doctrines.
Yet there was a piquancy in the transaction, and
we had rather it occurred, on the whole.

Here were we now awakening on the morning
of the Do. Festival, indeed! We rose
betimes, as we did always, but on this morning
it was not an enforced rising. It was raining
heavily, but rain made it none the worse,
or even made it all the better. Our friend and
guide had mustered a number of ancient
umbrellas, which were distributed among us, and
a number of cloaks as ancient, from the
armouries of the house; thus accoutred, we set
forth at half–past six. I see that delightful
progress even now, for it was a warm soft morning
for all its rain, and everything that was green
looked the fresher.

Our destination was a small manufacturing
town fourteen miles away—a distance to be
made before breakfast, which meal was to be
had at the principal inn of the place. O,
luxury! Buttered toast and muffins and coffee
were before our eyes during that walk, and
quickened our steps if they at all flagged. Who
would walk fourteen miles before breakfast to
see a small manufacturing town? But to us, in
the then dearth of objects of curiosity, it had
all the charms of sight–seeing at a foreign town.
We walked with a will, taking short cuts
through private properties, across green fields,
through plantations, down valleys, across
brooks. We were delighted with everything,
and chattered all the way. Our master kept
pace with us, both physically and morally. It
was surprising all the things we saw that morning,
and the enjoyment with which we saw them.
We beat the excellent Mrs. Barbauld and her
"good boy" in "eyes and no eyes," to sticks.
And the rain, like a good creature, soon abated
—not that we were tired of him and cleared
away and never returned during the day, leaving
behind him everything freshened, cool, and
gorgeous in colour. Then the sun was seen coming
out slowly, and we still tramped on.

It was full eleven when we entered the red–
brick manufacturing town and made straight for
the red–brick inn—a Red Lion or a Black Bull, I
forget which—and which Lion or Bull seemed a
little surprised by our incursion. Breakfast was
at once ordered on a splendid and lavish scale
—everything fried, everything hot, everything
buttery, and rich, and steaming to be laid on at
once and kept going. All the resources of the
house were strained to supply us, and I fear
the proprietor did not find us profitable
visitors. Wilson, our treasurer, had a little bag
in which was the "rate in aid," all in shillings,
out of which he defrayed the charges. Then
we went forth to look at the lions; a factory,
another factory, and gaudy shops and the people,
and a hundred such things. It was all curious,
and welcome, and amusing, and it brought us on
to two o'clock, when we were to begin walking
again. There was an old church to be seen two or
three miles away, by a river, and we pushed on
to that. The clergyman of the place, in a white
linen coat and straw hat, came out and showed
it to us and did the honours, mentioning
something about a glass of wine to our chief—meaning
him only—a civility which, I am glad to say, he
had too fine a sense of delicacy to accept.

We parted from the straw hat—not in unkindness,
though—and pushed on a mile or so further,
to a little town called Blackwell, and which had
just opened a new market–house, which we
admired much. So, too, did we admire a
certain grocer's shop, which, in its line, seemed
the finest thing in all our experience. We