Now, for the hiccup day.

It is generally a frost on New Year’s Day; -- however wet and sloppy the weather may be up to the end of the year, it generally turns over a new leaf on that day. New Year’s Day is generally a bright, bitter, sunshiny day, with starry ice, and a most decided anti-hunting feeling about it -- light, airy, ringy, anything but cheery for hunting.

Thus it was in Sir Harry Scattercash’s county. Having smoked and drank the old year out, the captains and company retired to their couches without thinking about hunting. Mr Sponge, indeed, was about tired of asking when the hounds would be going out. It was otherwise, however, with the rising generation, who were up betimes, and began pouring in upon Nonsuch House in every species of garb, on every description of steed, by every line and avenue of approach.

‘Halloo! what’s up now?’ exclaimed Lady Scattercash, as she caught view of the first batch rounding the corner to the front of the house.

‘Who have we here?’ asked Miss Glitters, as a ponderous, particoloured clown, on a great, curly-coated cart-horse, brought up the rear.

‘Early callers,’ observed Captain Seedeybuck, eating away complacently.

‘Friends of Mr Sponge’s, most likely,’ suggested Captain Quod.

‘Some of the little Sponge’s come to see their pa, p’raps,’ lisped Miss Howard, pretending to be shocked after she had said it.

‘Bravo, Miss Howard!’ exclaimed Captain Cutitfat, clapping his hands.

‘I said nothing, captain,’ observed the young lady with becoming prudery.

‘Here we are again!’ exclaimed Captain Quod, as a troop of various-sized urchins, in pea-jackets, with blue noses and red comforters, on very shaggy ponies, the two youngest swinging in panniers over an ass, drew up alongside of the first comers.

‘Whose sliding-scale of innocence is that, I wonder!’ exclaimed Miss Howard, contemplating the variously sized chubby faces through the window.

‘He, he, he! ho, ho, ho!’ giggled the guests.

Another batch of innocence now hove in sight.

‘Oh, those are the little (hiccup) Raws,’ observed Sir Harry, catching sight of the sky-blue collar of the servant’s long drab coat. ‘Good chap, old Johnny Raw; ask them to (hiccup) in,’ continued he, ‘and give them some (hiccup) cherry brandy;’ and thereupon Sir Harry began nodding and smiling, and making signs to them to come in. The youngsters, however, maintained their position.

‘The little stupexes!’ exclaimed Miss Howard, going to the window, and throwing up the sash. ‘Come in, young gents!’ cried she, in a commanding tone, addressing herself to the last comers. ‘Come in, and have some toffee and lollypops! D’ye hear?’ continued she, in a still louder voice, and motioning her head toward the door.

The boys sat mute.

‘You little stupid monkeys,’ muttered she in an undertone, as the cold air struck upon her head. ‘Come in, like good boys,’ added she, in a louder key, pointing with her finger towards the door.