l6o 77?^ Harkaway Hunt Steeplechases, 



dust flying about — one might almost imagine oneself 

 on the road to Epsom. Here comes Lord Daisyfield, 

 in. his well-appointed mail phaeton ; here comes Johnnie 

 Clinker, tooling a heavily-laden coach, with pretty little 

 Lady Thomasina, looking her brightest, on the box-seat. 



Wildoats is close behind on his, the roof filled with 

 dandies of the same pattern as himself. Then comes a 

 barouche, drawn by four horses, with postilions to match. 

 It is the Bobbin equipage, and the foot-people shout 

 '* Hooray ! " as it passes, much to the delight of old Bob- 

 bin, who bows in return, and rewards with a shilling a 

 ragged little Arab who is turning a series of catherine- 

 wheels at the side of the carriage. 



'' Hi, there ! " Another coach comes along, tooled by 

 that lively millionaire, Doddy Sparkler ; his wife, with a 

 cigar in her mouth, by his side, and what old Ralph 

 Duckworth, who is jogging along on the turf at the side 

 of the road on his rat-tailed nag, aptly described as rather 

 a mixed lot on the roof. Conspicuous amongst them is 

 that volatile gentleman Dolly Lightfoot. The "younger 

 son " is in splendid form to-day, and is the cause of much 

 hilarity amongst the occupants of the drag, judging from 

 the noise and laughter that emanate from it. '' Wo-ho ! 

 my boys," from the youthful Jehu, followed by," Why don't 

 you get out of the way, stoopid ? " from his lady wife, as 

 the leaders are all but atop of Bill Spriggins, the flying 

 higgler's spring-cart, which has suddenly lurched across 

 the road, its owner being already in a very advanced state 

 of inebriation, and in the very best of tempers. Need- 

 less to say, he is not a bit put out ; on the contrary, he 

 points to a large stone jar between his legs, and yells out 

 to the delighted Mrs. Sparkler, "Will you hev a drop, 



