five o'clock
`` Great are the doings of the Laard , '' he said , `` and wonderful in our saight ! '' He was hoisted on his horse by an ostler and two local sots from the tap-room , his valise was strapped none too securely before him , and with a farewell , which was meant to be gracious but was only foolish , he tittuped into the rain . He was as drunk as an owl , though he did not know it . All afternoon he had been mixing strong Cumberland ale with the brandy he had got from the Solway free-traders , and by five o'clock had reached that state when he saw the world all gilt and rosy and himself as an applauded actor on a splendid stage . He had talked grandly to his fellow topers , and opened to their rustic wits a glimpse of the great world . They had bowed to a master , even those slow Cumbrians who admired little but fat cattle and blood horses . He had made a sensation , had seen wonder and respect in dull eyes , and tasted for a moment that esteem which he had singularly failed to find elsewhere .