And in Polchester itself! Everyone--even those who had shuddered most at the fair's iniquities--was indignant.

Give up the fair! One of the few signs left of that jolly Old England whose sentiment is cherished by us, whose fragments nevertheless we so readily stamp upon.

No, the fair must remain and will remain, I have no doubt, until the very end of our national chapter.
Nowadays it has shed, very largely, I am afraid, the character that it gloriously maintained thirty years ago.

Then it was really an invasion by the seafaring element of the County.

All the little country ports and harbours poured out their fishermen and sailors, who came walking, driving, singing, laughing, swearing; they filled the streets, and went peering, like the wildest of ancient Picts, into the mysterious beauties of the Cathedral, and late at night, when the town should have slept, arm in arm they went roaring past the dark windows, singing their songs, stamping their feet, and every once and again ringing a decent door-bell for their amusement.