The Harkaway Hunt Ball, loi 



Bachelors' Ball for the edification of his readers, spoke 

 of it as having been given by the '' Benedicts " of the 

 county.) 



''Sir'Arry and Lady 'Otspur — Lord George Spratt," 

 bawls the waiter stationed at the doorway of the ball- 

 room. Cunning little Joe shakes his head. '* No, no, 

 that won't do — that's an 'oax, that is," exclaims he. "Lord 

 George Spratt indeed ! — there's no such name as that in 

 the Peerage, I'll go bail." 



Lord George, a tall good-natured dandy, late of one 

 of Her Majesty's regiments of footguards, hearing his 

 name mentioned, turned round to find out what was 

 the cause. Needless to say he was highly amused. 

 '^ I can asshaw you my name is Lord George Spwatt," 

 said he, "at least so I was cwistened ; so, if it's wong, 

 don't blame me, dontcherknow." Many and profuse were 

 the man-of-letters' apologies, but for all that he was far 

 from being convinced that the Peerage contained the name 

 of Spratt within its aristocratic pages. 



And now, the room being pretty full, Messrs. Tootle 

 and Binney's renowned band strike up the opening bars 

 of a quadrille, and Lord Daisyfield, taking pretty Mrs. 

 Tom Chirpington under his scarlet wing, makes his way to 

 the far end of the room; Dolly Lightfoot and Lady Thomas- 

 ina Clinker follow as their vis-a-vis. Before you can say 

 Jack Robinson, fifty couples of dancers have taken their 

 places, the leader of the band stamps his foot, his merry 

 men strike up the music, and the ball begins in down- 

 right earnest. The quadrille over, waltzes, polkas, and 

 gallops follow one another in rapid succession, and the 

 fun gets fast and furious. Not a Flower of the Hunt is 

 absent. One would have thought a ball-room would be 



