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THE HARKAWAY HUNT BALL. 



ROM the number of carriages of all sorts that 

 come rolling into the usually quiet little town 

 of Bullerton, on this bright January afternoon, 

 a stranger of an observant nature would at once come to 

 the conclusion that something out of the common was 

 going on. Little Tommy Blobkins, traveller to Messrs. 

 Mulleygrubs, the celebrated pickle merchants, scuttling 

 briskly along from one grocer's shop to another in quest 

 of orders, is so struck by the general commotion and the 

 unusually busy look of the High Street, that, pulling up in 

 front of a smart-looking groom just emerging from the 

 stable-yard of the Daisyfield Arms, he accosts him with : 

 '' What's up to-day, do you know, Mister?" 



'"Arkaway 'Unt Ball, to be sure," was the reply, in 

 somewhat sneering tones, as much as to say, *' I should 

 have thought everybody knew that." 



"A once-a-year splash, I 'spose ? " said Tommy, as he 

 prepared to resume his walk. 



''Yes, it's a h'annual affair," replied the groom, 

 lighting his pipe, preparatory to a stroll through the 

 town. 



Next to the Hunt Steeplechases, the Hunt Ball, given 



