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 characterized 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.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN GREATGUN]

Epping Hunt, in its most palmy days could not equal the exhibition that now
took place. Some of the more lively of the horses, tired of waiting,
perhaps pinched by the cold, for most of them were newly clipped, evinced
their approbation of the move, by sundry squeals and capers, which being
caught by others in the neighbourhood, the infection quickly spread, and in
less than a minute there was such a scene of rocking, and rearing, and
kicking, and prancing, and neighing and shooting over heads, and rolling
over tails, and hanging on by manes, mingled with such screamings from the
ladies in the flys, and such hearty-sounding kicks against splash boards
and fly bottoms, from sundry of the vicious ones in harness, as never was
witnessed. One gentleman, in a bran-new scarlet, mounted on a flourishing
piebald, late the property of Mr. Batty, stood pawing and fighting the air,
as if in the saw-dust circle