The Last Day of the Season. 197 



out, on this auspicious morning, a sight unparalleled in 

 the memory of the oldest inhabitant of the hamlet. B}^ 

 half-past ten o'clock the sacred edifice, by no means a 

 large one, is crammed to the muzzle by probably the 

 most severely sporting congregation that ever assembled 

 inside a church ; for certainly three-fourths of the 

 assemblage, both male and female, are attired in hunting 

 costume. The entire hunt is there, in fact, from Lord 

 Daisyfield downwards. Outside, some two hundred hunters, 

 most of them of a superior order, are being led about 

 by grooms and lads of the village. The path leading from 

 the churchyard gate to the porch is lined by farmers and 

 others for whom there is not sufficient room inside the 

 church ; conspicuous amongst them being Tom Tootler 

 and the hunt servants, each adorned with a wedding 

 favour of gallant proportions. 



Ten minutes to eleven and a distant cheer informs 

 the sporting congregation that somebody of importance 

 has arrived. All eyes are turned towards the door, and 

 enter, gorgeous in scarlet coat, and leathers and tops quite 

 dazzling in appearance, Mr. Charles Wildoats, accom- 

 panied by his best man, similarly attired. They take up 

 a position on the altar rails forthwith. Hardly had they 

 done so when another cheer from outside announces 

 another arrival. It is the bridesmaids this time. Attired 

 in white satin riding habits of old fashioned cut, trimmed 

 with gold lace, and wearing hunting caps of white velvet, 

 they create a great sensation. Each of them carries a 

 gold mounted ivory handled riding whip, the gift of the 

 bridegroom, and a huge bouquet of camelias and white 

 violets made in the shape of a horse shoe. Hardly have 

 they got inside the church than a still louder cheer is 



