h old, half-thatched, half-tiled cottages--one of those dismal wide
streets where dirt and misery have no long shadows thrown on them to
soften their ugliness. Here, about half-past five o'clock, Silly Caleb,
an idiot well known in Dog Lane, but more of a stranger in the Bridge
Way, was seen slouching along with a string of boys hooting at his heels;
presently another group, for the most part out at elbows, came briskly in
the same direction, looking round them with an air of expectation; and at
no long interval, Deb Traunter, in a pink flounced gown and floating
ribbons, was observed talking with great affability to two men in
seal-skin caps and fustian, who formed her cortege. The Bridge Way began
to have a presentiment of something in the wind. Phib Cook left her
evening wash-tub and appeared at her door in soap-suds, a bonnet-poke,
and general dampness; three narrow-chested ribbon-weavers, in rusty black
streaked with shreds of many-coloured silk, sauntered out with their
hands in their pockets; and Molly Beale, a brawny old virago, descrying
wiry Dame Ricketts peeping out from her entry, seized the opportunity of
renewing the morning's skirmish. In short, the Bridge Way was in that
state of excitement which is understood to announce a 'demonstration' on
the part of the British public; and the afflux of remote townsmen
increasing, there was soon so large a crowd that it was time for Bill
Powers, a plethoric Goliath, who presided over the knot of beer-drinkers
at the Bear and Ragged Staff, to issue forth with his companions, and,
like the enunciator of the ancient myth, make the assemblage distinctly
conscious of the common sentiment that had drawn them together. The
expectation of the delegates' chaise, added to the fight between Molly
Beale and Dame Ricketts, and the ill-advised appearance of a lean
bull-terrier, were a sufficient safety-valve to the popular excitement
during the remaining quarter of an hour; at the end of which the chaise
was seen approaching along the Whitlow road, with oak boughs ornamenting
the horses' heads; and, to quote the account of this interesting scene
which was sent to the _Rotherby Guardian_, 'loud cheers immediately
testified to the sympathy of the honest fellows collected there, with the
public-spirited exertions of their fellow-townsmen.' Bill Powers, whose
bloodshot eyes, bent hat, and protuberant altitude, marked him out as the
natural leader of the assemblage, undertook to interpre