WYLDER'S HAJVD. 207
perplexity. But somehow, generally things came pretty
right in the end. One way or another, the gay belles
and elderly spinsters, and fat village chaperons, were in-
vested in suitable costume by the appointed hour, and in
a few weeks Miss Williams' mind recovered its wonted
tone, and her countenance its natural expression.
The great night had now arrived. Gylingden was
quite in an uproar. Rural families of eminence came in.
Some in old fashioned coaches; others, the wealthier,
more in London style. The stables of the "Brandon
Arms," of the " George Inn," of the " Silver Lion," even
of the "White House," though a good way off, and gen-
erally every vacant standing for horses in or about the
town were crowded; and the places of entertainment
were vocal with the talk of flunkies, patrician with pow-
dered heads, and splendent in variegated liveries. 1
The front of the Town Hall resounded with the ring
of horse-hoofs, the crack of whips, the bawling of coach-
men, the clank of carriage steps, and clang of coach
doors. A promiscuous mob of the plebs and profanum
vulgus of Gylingden - beset the door, to see the ladies —
the slim and the young in white muslins and artificial
flowers, and their stout guardian angels, of maturer years,
in satins and velvets, and jewels — some real, and some
just as good, of paste.
When the Crutchleighs, of Clay Manor, a good, old,
formal family, were mounting the stairs in solemn proces-
sion — they were always among the early arrivals — they
heard a piano and a tenor performing in the supper-room.
Now, Old Lady Chelford chose to patronise Mr. Page,
the Dollington professor, and partly, I fancy, to show that
she could turn things topsy-turvy in this town of Gyling-
den, had made a point, with the rulers of the feast, that
her client should sing half-a-dozen songs in the supper-
room before dancing commenced.