194 ^^^ ^^^t D^y of ^he Season. 



it was currently reported at an early period of the evening 

 (on the authority of a lynx-eyed maiden lady answering to 

 the name of Mouser) that " at last " (that is how she and 

 others genially put it) our friend, the volatile Charles Wild- 

 oats, had proposed to pretty Blanche Bluebell. The astute 

 Mouser was perfectly correct. Before the Town Hall 

 clock had struck two, the bride elect and the man of her 

 choice had been congratulated by half the people in the 

 room. 



We rather think that it was Lady Thomasina Clinker, of 

 the fertile mind, who, on learning the fact that the wedding 

 was likely to come off shortly after Lent, immediately 

 suggested that it was an opportunity not to be lost 

 for a *' Pink Wedding." '' I'll go and consult Lord 

 Daisyfield about it this instant," said she, in her usual 

 impetuous manner, '' and tell him he must make a special 

 meet for that day at the bride's house. I know he will if I 

 ask him prettily." 



'^ Bet you ten to one he don't. Lady Tommy," remarked 

 Major Moustache ; ^' my lord hates all that sort of thing, 

 you know." 



'' Done with you in gloves," replied her ladyship. ''Sixes 

 tny size, and I should like sixteen buttons, please. You*ll 

 excuse me. Major Moustache, I know, but let me tell you 

 you don't know Lord Daisyfield quite so well as I do. 

 He'll do anything for me^ bless you ! won't he, Johnnie ? 

 (appealing to her husband). Yes, Lord Daisyfield shall 

 bring his hounds, and then we'll all go to the church in our 

 hunting costumes, see Charlie turned off, go back to 

 Houghton Manor for breakfast, see the happy pair start 

 for their honeymoon, mount our fiery steeds once more, 

 and proceed to draw Mr. Bluebell's coverts for a fox. 



