means to return the compliment, his friends being
more intent upon drinking his health than upon supplying him with wine. At
last he caught the third of a bottle of 'chumpine,' and, emptying it into
his tumbler, held it up while he thus addressed them:

'Gen'lemen all!' said he, 'I thank you most 'ticklarly for this mark of
your 'tention (applause); it's most gratifying to my feelins to be thus
remembered (applause). I could say a great deal more, but the liquor won't
wait.' So saying, he drained off his glass while the wine effervesced.

'Well, and what d'ye (hiccup) of the weather now?' asked Sir Harry, as his
huntsman again deposited his tumbler on the sideboard.

'Pon my soul! Sir 'Arry,' replied Watchorn, quite briskly, 'I really think
we _might_ 'unt--we might try, at all events. The day seems changed,
some'ow,' added he, staring vacantly out of the window on the bright sunny
landscape, with the leafless trees dancing before his eyes.

'_I_ think so,' said Sir Harry. 'What do you think, Mr. Sponge?' added he,
appealing to our hero.

'Half an hour may make a great difference,' observed Mr. Sponge. 'The sun
will then be at its best.'

'We'll try, at all events,' observed Sir Harry.

'That's right,' exclaimed George Cheek, waving a scarlet bandana over his
head.

'I shall expect you to ride up to the 'ounds, young gent,' observed
Watchorn, darting an angry look at the speaker.

'Won't I, old boy!' exclaimed George; 'ride over you, if you don't get out
of the way.'

''Deed,' sneered the huntsman, whisking about to leave the room; muttering,
as he passed behind the large Indian screen at the door, something about
'jawing jackanapes, well called Cheek.'

''Unt in 'alf an hour!' exclaimed Watchorn, from the steps of the front
door; an announcement that was received by the little Raws, and little
Spooneys, and little Baskets, and little Bulgeys, and little Bricks, and
little others, with rapturous applause.

All was now commotion and hurry-scurry inside and out; glasses were
drained, lips wiped, and napkins thrown hastily away, while ladies and
gentlemen began grouping and talking about hats and habits, and what they
should ride.

'You go with me, Orlando,' said Lady Scattercash to our friend Bugles,
recollecting the quantity of diachylon plaster it had taken to repair the
damage of his former equestrian performance. 'You go with me, Orlando,'
said she, 'in the phaeton; and I'll lend Lucy,' nodding towards