( 192 ) 



THE LAST DAY OF THE SEASON. 



A PINK WEDDING AND AN AFTERNOON FOX. 



ITH the floor in good order for dancing, a first-rate 

 band (this latter a very important adjunct), a 

 nicely-done supper (Gunter for choice), irre- 

 proachable champagne, lots of pretty girls, and nearly every- 

 body in the room knowing everybody else, what more 

 enjoyable institution is there than a county ball ? 



Nor is that all. 



We are inclined to think that those terrible personages, 

 the match-making mammas of the period, find these 

 cheerful reunions uncommonly useful as well. Many a 

 man who has been dangling after a maiden the whole of 

 the hunting season, very likely not quite able to make up 

 his mind, or what is equally probable, afraid to '' pop the 

 question," is very apt on one of these festive occasions to 

 make up his mind with extraordinary alacrity. Perhaps not 

 being a good dancer, and aware of the fact, he watches with 

 feeUngs the reverse of pleasant his charmer being whirled 

 about in the troistemps by Jones of the Lancers, a first- 

 rate performer, and whom he hates like poison. (The green- 

 eyed monster comes in here as a wonderful assistant to the 

 wiles of the would-be mother-in-law.) 



He d ns Jones of the Lancers (in confidence, as the 



