55 



All around is gay, men, horses, dogs, 

 And in each smiling countenance appears 

 Fresh blooming health and universal joy. 



Then the ladies mingle with the scene, some on horseback, some in 

 flys, all chatter and prattle as usual, some saying smart things, some 

 trying, all making themselves as agreeable as possible, and of course 

 as captivating. Some were in ecstasies at dear Miss Jumpheavy's 

 ball — she was such a nice creature — such a charming ball, and so 

 well managed, while others were anticipating the delights of Mrs. 

 Tom Hoppey's, and some again were asking which was Mr. Sponge. 

 Then up went the eye-glasses, while Mr. Sponge sat looking as inno- 

 cent and as killing as he could. " Dear me ! " exclaimed one, " he's 

 younger than I thought." " That's him, is it ! " observed another ; 

 " I saw him ride up the street ; " while the propriety-playing ones 

 praised his horse, and said it was a beauty. 



The hounds, which they all had come to see, were never looked at. 



Mr. Waffles, like many men with nothing to do, was most unpunc- 

 tual. He never seemed to know what o'clock it was, and yet he had 

 a watch, hung in chains, and gewgaws, like a lady's chatelaine. 

 Hunting partook of the general confusion. He did not profess to 

 throw off till eleven, but it was often nearly twelve before he cast 

 up. Then he would come up full tilt, surrounded by " scarlets," like 

 a general with his staff; and once at the meet, there was a prodigious 

 hurry to begin, equalled only by the eagerness to leave off. On this 

 auspicious day he hove in sight, coming best pace along the road, 

 about twenty minutes before twelve, with a more numerous retinue 

 than usual. In dress, Mr. Waffles was the light, butterfly order of 

 sportsman — once-round tie, French polish, paper boots, and so on. 

 On this occasion he sported a shirt-collar with three or four blue 

 lines, and then a white space followed by three or more blue lines, the 

 whole terminating in blue spots about the size of fourpenny pieces at 

 the points ; a once-round blue silk tie, with white spots and flying 

 ends. His coat was a light, jackety sort of thing, with little pockets 

 behind, something in the style of Mr. Sponge's (a docked dressing- 

 gown), but wanting the outside seaming, back strapping, and general 

 strength, that characterised Mr. Sponge's. His waistcoat, of course, 

 was a worked one — heart's-ease mingled with foxes' heads, on a true 

 blue ground, the gift of — we'll not say who — his leathers were of the 

 finest doe-skin, and his long-topped, pointed-toed boots so thin as to 

 put all idea of wet or mud out of the question. 



Such was the youth who now cantered up and took off his cap to 

 the rank, beauty, and fashion, assembled at Whirleypool Windmill. 

 He then proceeded to pay his respects in detail. At length, having 

 exhausted his " nothings," and said the same thing over again in a 

 dozen different ways, to a dozen different ladies, he gave a slight jerk 



