against "the purse-proud aristocracy, who
ride over the poor man's neck and filch 'is
bit of bread from 'is lips." Burton renewed
his entreaties that I would come away, but
it was such a novelty to be abused that I
stayed to hear it. After a few general
denunciations which seemed to take well enough,
the man thought to point a moral personally
at me, and with a curiously sarcastic air
spoke of "snorting horses and chariots, and
pampered menials in the livery of slaves;
acres of corn growing for the wastry of one
fine lady, while their children fainted for
bread."

There was a hiss in the crowd, whether for
me or for him I neither knew nor cared; I
sat still waiting for what would come next.
This came. The tub-orator proceeded to say
that I had come there to gloat over their
misery, and the hiss rose to a yell; as soon
as that ceased a voice called out in the crowd,
"Thou lees! keep a civil tongue i' thee head.
Yon's Miss Clare fra' Ferndell?" and one or
two of those nearest to me touched their caps
respectfully. Burton brought tidings this
morning that this famous orator had been
beaten by the mob, and ducked in Blackmoss
for making offensive remarks about the
Clay family, who are at present the only
mill-owners in Stockbridge who are not out
of favour. The man had not learnt his lesson
thoroughly, and struck out right and left at
popular and unpopular with a very unlucky
impartiality. I must say that I was gratified
to learn that he had met with condign
punishment at the hands of his worshippers.

May the twenty-ninth, eighteen hundred and
forty-eight.—It is a very rare thing for me
now to take out my old journal; I forget
it, and it lies by for months, until I see some
one who recalls it to my memory, or something
happens of which I want to keep a
record. I have been over at Burnshead to
the Scropes, who have just got settled in
their new house: the old one is occupied by
the curate, who came at Christmas, and who
should this curate be but Mr. Hugh Cameron!
I was glad to meet him again, but sorry to
find that he had no preferment. He has no
patron to give him anything, and the church
cannot always provide as amply as they
deserve for her sons. He spoke of Emily Clay
with a melancholy smile, and said they lived
in hope—that is something.

This morning two gentlemen waited upon
me from Stockbridge, to ask if I would
permit the working people to come out to
Ferndell for a holiday—give them the run of the
park and woods for the day. I consented, on
condition that no intoxicating drinkables
should be sold in the grounds, and they
promised to see to the stipulation being
observed.

June the third.—The Stockbridge people's
holiday went off satisfactorily. As early as
six in the morning they began to arrive, but
the men had put up the flags and decorations
over night, and manufactured an arch of
evergreens over the gateway, with "Welcome"
in letters of daffodils, so that all was
in readiness. I am told that there were as
many as six thousand, but as the day was
brilliantly fine, and they scattered themselves
over the woods and park in detachments, I
should not myself have guessed them at more
than half the number. They brought with
them two bands of music, and in the afternoon
there was a dance on the level field
near the cricket-ground; some of the young
men played cricket. I had out the pony-
carriage, and drove Grannie about to see
them; she was rather alarmed at first, but
when she saw how perfectly quiet and well-
conducted everybody was she enjoyed it.

Some of the neighbouring gentry are in
high dudgeon at rny bringing what they
style "the riff-raff" into the country; but
there was no "riff-raff;" they were, as a whole,
the respectable class of mechanics and factory
folks. I confess that I did expect myself to
find some destruction amongst the trees, but
there is none; and as for the grass—nature
and the first shower will restore that.

June the twenty-seventh.—Next month
there is to be a great bazaar at Stockbridge
towards defraying the expenses of rebuilding
the old church. I have been requested to
provide a stall. It is a thing I do not relish
at all; I would much rather give them a
couple of hundred pounds, and have done
with it; but this, it seems, would not do so
well; Lady Mary Vernon and I are therefore
to join.

The venerable rector of Ashby-on-the-
Hill died last week, and I have given the
living to Hugh Cameron; it is worth four
hundred a-year, so now he and Emily Clay
can marry and live happily ever afterwards.
When I was in Stockbridge last Monday I
met Emily, but as I was in the carriage and
she was walking on the pavement with several ladies,
she did not see me. She looked
prettier than ever; her face was always
refined and full of intelligence, and years have
improved it.

August the seventeenth.—The bazaar is
over. Lady Mary Vernon was a most active
saleswoman all the three days, but I did not
fill my post very well. The heat and bustle
were almost too much for me, and I was glad
when the whole affair came to a successful
conclusion. Mrs. Clay from Meadowlands
had the next stall to ours, and as Emily was
with her we had the opportunity of several
talks; she thanked me very fervently for
Hugh Cameron, and whispered that her
mother had at last been persuaded to
consent, and they were to be married in
September.

There was a beautiful dark-haired girl
with Emily. I inquired of Lady Mary who
she was, and she told me her name was
Hargrave, and she was going to marry one of
the Clays, but whether Herbert Clay or his