Of a Breakfast, A Roman Parent, and a Kiss

Bright rose the sun upon the "White Hart" tavern that stands within
Eltham village, softening its rugged lines, gilding its lattices,
lending its ancient timbers a mellower hue.

This inn of the "White Hart" is an ancient structure and very
unpretentious (as great age often is), and being so very old, it has
known full many a golden dawn. But surely never, in all its length
of days, had it experienced quite such a morning as this. All night
long there had been a strange hum upon the air, and now, early though
the hour, Eltham village was awake and full of an unusual bustle and
excitement. And the air still hummed, but louder now, a confused
sound made up of the tramp of horse-hoofs, the rumble of wheels, the
tread of feet and the murmur of voices. From north and south, from
east and west, a great company was gathering, a motley throng of
rich and poor, old and young: they came by high road and by-road, by
lane and footpath, from sleepy village and noisy town,--but, one and
all, with their faces set towards the ancient village of Eltham.
For to-day is the fateful fifteenth of July; to-day the great
Steeplechase is to be run--seven good miles across country from point
to point; to-day the very vexed and all-important question as to
which horse out of twenty-three can jump and gallop the fastest over
divers awkward obstacles is to be settled once and for all.

Up rose the sun higher and higher, chasing the morning mists from
dell and dingle, filling the earth with his glory and making glad
the heart of man, and beast, and bird.