and, resting a hand on Tom’s horse’s shoulder, whispers confidentially in his ear. The pedestrian sportsman of the country, too, has something to say; also a horse-breaker; while groups of awe-stricken children stand staring at the mighty Tom, thinking him the greatest man in the world.

Railways and fox-hunting make most people punctual, and in less than five minutes from the halting of the hounds by the Windmill, the various roads leading up to it emit dark-coated grooms, who, dismounting, proceed to brush off the mud sparks, and rectify any little derangement the horses or their accoutrements may have contracted on the journey. Presently Mr Sponge, and such other gentlemen as have ridden their own horses on, cast up, while from the eminence the road to Laverick Wells is distinctly traceable with scarlet coats and flys, with furs and flaunting feathers. Presently the foremost riders begin to canter up the hill, when

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 eyeglasses, while Mr Sponge sat looking as innocent 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 unpunctual. 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 of the head to Tom Towler, who forthwith whistled his hounds together, and attended by the whips, bustled from the scene.