Books of all classes, huddled into a heap, may be seen in the
corner of each bedroom, making _sock_ for the mice till the return
of their purveyors with lots of plum-cake and savoury tarts. The more
mature are now busily engaged in settling the fashion of their costume
for the approaching gala; in receiving a visit from an elder brother, or
a young Oxonian, formerly of Eton, who has arrived post to take _sock_
with him, and enjoy the approaching festivities. Here a venerable
domestic, whose silver locks are the truest emblem of his trusty
services, arrives with the favorite pony to convey home the infant heir
and hope of some noble house.
Now is Garraway as lively as my lord mayor's steward at a Guildhall
feast-day; and the active note of preparation for the good things of
this world rings through the oaken chambers of the Christopher. Not even
the _sanctum sanctorum_ is forgotten, where, in times long past, I have
quaffed my jug of Bulstrode, "in cool grot," removed from the scorching
heat of a July day, and enjoyed many a good joke, secure from the prying
observations of the _domine_. One, and one only, class of persons wear
a sorrowful face upon these joyous occasions, and these are the
confectioners and fruitresses of Eton; with them, election Saturday
and busy Monday are like the herald to a Jewish black fast, or a stock
exchange holiday: they may as well _sport their oaks_ (to use an Oxford
phrase) till the
~54~~
return of the oppidans to school, for they seldom see the colour of a
customer's cash till the, to them, happy period arrives.
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