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_Original Size_
THE Hit-im and Hold-im shire hunt balls had long been celebrated
for their matrimonial properties, as well for settling ripe
flirtations, as for bringing to a close the billing and cooing of
un-productive love, and opening fresh accounts with the popular
firm of “Cupid and Co.” They were the greenest spot on the
memory’s waste of many, on the minds of some whose recollections
carried them back to the romping, vigorous Sir Roger de Coverley
dances of Mr. Customer’s time,—of many who remembered the more
stately glide of the elegant quadrille of Lord Martingal’s reign,
down to the introduction of the once scandalising waltz and polka
of our own. Many “Ask Mamma’s” had been elicited by these balls,
and good luck was said to attend all their unions.
Great had been the changes in the manners and customs of the
country, but the one dominant plain gold ring idea remained fixed
and immutable. The Hit-im and Hold-im shire hunt ball was
expected to furnish a great demand for these, and Garnet the
silversmith always exhibited an elegant white satin-lined morocco
case full in his window, in juxtaposition with rows of the bright
dress-buttons of the hunt, glittering on beds of delicate
rose-tinted tissue paper.
All the milliners far and wide used to advertise their London and
Parisian finery for the occasion, like our friend Mrs.
Bobbinette,—for the railway had broken through the once
comfortable monopoly that Mrs. Russelton and the Hinton ones
formerly enjoyed, and had thrown crinoline providing upon the
country at large. Indeed, the railway had deranged the old order
of things; for whereas in former times a Doubleimnpshire or a
Neck-and-Crop shire sportsman was rarely to be seen at the balls,
aud those most likely under pressure of most urgent “Ask Mamma”
circumstances, now they came swarming down like swallows,
consuming a most unreasonable quantity of Champagne—always, of
course, returning and declaring it was all “gusberry.” Formerly
the ball was given out of the Hit-im and Hold-im shire hunt
funds; but this unwonted accession so increased the expense, that
Sir Moses couldn’t stand it, dom’d of he could; and he caused a
rule to be passed, declaring that after a certain sum allowed by
the club, the rest should be paid by a tax on the tickets, so
that the guest-inviting members might pay for their friends. In
addition to this, a sliding-seale of Champagne was adopted,
beginning with good, and gradually relaxing in quality, until
there is no saying but that some of the late sitters might get a
little gooseberry. Being, however, only a guest, we ought not
perhaps to be too critical in the matter, so we will pass on to
the more general features of the entertainment.
We take it a woman’s feelings and a man’s feelings with regard to
a ball are totally different and distinct.
Men—unmarried men, at least—know nothing of the intrinsic value
of a dress, they look at the general effect on the figure.
Piquant simplicity, something that the mind grasps at a glance
and retains—such as Miss Yammerton’s dress in the glove scene—is
what they like. Many ladies indeed seem to get costly dresses in
order to cover them over with something else, just as gentlemen
build handsome lodges to their gates, and then block them out of
sight by walls.
But even if ball-dresses were as attractive to the gentlemen as
the ladies seem to think them, they must remember the competition
they have to undergo in a ball-room, where great home beauties
may be suddenly eclipsed by unexpected rivals, and young
gentlemen see that there are other angels in the world besides
their own adored ones. Still balls are balls, and fashion is
fashion, and ladies must conform to it, or what could induce them
to introduce the bits of black of the present day into their
coloured dresses, as if they were just emerging from mourning.
Even our fair friends at Yammerton Grange conformed to the
fashion, and edged the many pink satin-ribboned flounces of their
white tulle dresses with narrow black lace—though they would have
looked much prettier without.
Of all the balls given by the members of the Hit-im and Hold-im
shire hunt, none had perhaps excitcd greater interest than the
one about to take place, not only on account of its own intrinsic
merits as a ball, but because of the many tender emotions waiting
for solutions on that eventful evening. Among others it may be
mentioned that our fat friend the Woolpack, whose portrait adorns
page 241, had confided to Mrs. Rocket Larkspur, who kept a sort
of register-office for sighers, his admiration of the fair
auburn-haired Flora Yammerton; and Mrs. Rocket having duly
communicated the interesting fact to the young lady, intimating,
of course, that he would have the usual “ten thousand a year,”
Flora had taken counsel with herself whether she had not better
secure him, than contend with her elder sister either for Sir
Moses or Mr. Pringle, especially as she did not much fancy Sir
Moses, and Billy was very wavering in his attentions, sometimes
looking extremely sweet at her, sometimes equally so at Clara,
and at other times even smiling on that little childish minx
Harriet. Indeed Mrs. Rocket Larkspur, in the multiplicity of her
meddling, had got a sort of half-admission from that young owl,
Rowley Abingdon, that he thought Harriet very pretty, and she
felt inclined to fan the flame of that speculation too.
Then Miss Fairey, of Yarrow Court, was coming, and it was
reported that Miss de Glancey had applied for a ticket, in order
to try and cut her out with the elegant Captain Languisher, of
the Royal Hollyhock Hussars. Altogether it was expected to be a
capital ball, both for dancers and lookers-on.
People whose being’s end and aim is gaiety, as they call
converting night into day, in rolling from party to party, with
all the means and appliances of London, can have little idea of
the up-hill work it is in the country, getting together the
ingredients of a great ball. The writing for rooms, the fighting
for rooms—the bespeaking of horses, the not getting horses—the
catching the train, the losing the train—above all, the choosing
and ordering those tremendous dresses, with the dread of not
getting those tremendous dresses, of their being carried by in
the train, or not fitting when they come. Nothing but the
indomitable love of a ball, as deeply implanted in a woman’s
heart as the love of a hunt is in that of a man, can account for
the trouble and vexation they undergo.
But if ’tis a toil to the guests, what must it be to the givers,
with no friendly Grange or Gunter at hand to supply everything,
guests included, if required, at so much per head! Youth,
glorious youth, comes to the aid, aud enters upon the labour with
all the alacrity that perhaps distinguished their fathers.
Let us now suppose the absorbing evening come; and that
all-important element in country festivities, the moon shining
with silvery dearness as well on the railway gliders as on the
more patient plodders by the road. What a converging there was
upon the generally quiet town of Hinton; reminding the older
inhabitants of the best days of Lord Martingal and Mr. Customer’s
reigns. What a gathering up there was of shining satins and
rustling silks and moire antiques, white, pink, blue, yellow,
green, to say nothing of clouds of tulle; what a compression of
swelling eider-down and watch-spring petticoats; and what a
bolt-upright sitting of that happy pride which knows no pain, as
party after party took up and proceeded to the scene of hopes and
fears at the Fox and Hounds Hotel and Posting House.
The ball-room was formed of the entire suite of first-floor front
apartments, which, on ordinary occasions, did duty as private
rooms—private, at least, as far as thin deal partitions could
make them so—and the supper was laid out in our old acquaintance
the club-room, connected by a sort of Isthmus of Suez, with a
couple of diminutive steps towards the end to shoot the
incautious becomingly, headforemost, into the room.
Carriages set down under the arched doorway, and a little along
the passage the Blenheim was converted into a cloak-room for the
ladies, where the voluminous dresses were shook out, and the last
hurried glances snatched amid anxious groups of jostling
arrivals. Gentlemen then emerging from the commercial room
rejoined their fair friends in the passage, and were entrusted
with fans and flowers while, with both hands, they steered their
balloon-like dresses up the red druggetted staircase.
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Gentlemen’s balls have the advantage over those given by ladies,
inasmuch as the gentlemen must be there early to receive their
fair guests; and as a ball can always begin as soon as there are
plenty of gentlemen, there are not those tedious delays and
gatherings of nothing but crinoline that would only please Mr.
Spurgeon.
The large highly-glazed, gilt-lettered, yellow card of
invitation, intimated nine o’clock as the hour; by which time
most of the Hinton people were ready, and all the outlying ones
were fast drawing towards the town. Indeed, there was nothing to
interfere with the dancing festivities, for dinner giving on a
ball night is not popular with the ladies—enough for the evening
being the dance thereof. Country ladies are not like London ones,
who can take a dinner, an opera, two balls, and an at-home in one
and the same night. As to the Hinton gentlemen, they were very
hospitable so long as nobody wanted anything from them; if they
did, they might whistle a long time before they got it. If, for
instance, that keeper of a house of call for Bores, Paul
Straddler, saw a mud-sparked man with a riding-whip in his hand,
hurrying about the town, he would after him, and press him to
dine off, perhaps, “crimped cod and oyster sauce, and a leg of
four year old mutton, with a dish of mince pies or woodcocks,
whichever he preferred;” but on a ball night, when it would be a
real convenience to a man to have a billet, Paul never thought of
asking any one, though when he met his friends in the ball, and
heard they had been uncomfortable at the Sun or the Fleece, he
would exclaim, with well-feigned reproach, “Oh dash it, man, why
didn’t you come to me?”
But let us away to the Fox and Hounds, and see what is going on.
To see the repugnance people have to being early at a ball, one
would wonder how dancing ever gets begun. Yet somebody must be
there first, though we question whether any of our fair readers
ever performed the feat; at all events, if ever they did, we will
undertake to say they have taken very good care not to repeat the
performance.
The Blurkinses were the first to arrive on this occasion, having
only themselves to think about, and being anxious, as they said,
to see as much as they could for their money. Then having been
duly received by Sir Moses and the gallant circle of fox-hunters,
and passed inwardly, they took up a position so as to be able to
waylay those who came after with their coarse compliments,
beginning with Mrs. Dotherington, who, Blurkins declared, had
worn the grey silk dress she then had on, ever since he knew her.
Jimmy Jarperson, the Laughing Hyæna, next came under his notice,
Blurkins telling him that his voice grated on his ear like a
file; asking if any body else had ever told him so.
Mrs. Rocket Larkspur, who was duly distended in flaming red
satin, was told she was like a full-blown peony; and young
Treadcroft was asked if he knew that people called him the
Woolpack.
Meanwhile Mrs. Blurkins kept pinching and feeling the ladies’
dresses as they passed, making a mental estimate of their cost.
She told Miss Yammerton she had spoilt her dress by the black
lace.
A continuously ascending stream of crinoline at length so
inundated the room, that by ten o’clock Sir Moses thought it was
time to open the ball; so deputing Tommy Heslop to do the further
honours at the door, he sought Lady Fuzball, and claimed the
favour of her hand for the first quadrille.
This was a signal for the unmated ones to pair; and forthwith
there was such a drawing on of gloves, such a feeling of ties,
such a rising on tiptoes, and straining of eyes, and running
about, asking for Miss This, and Miss That, and if anybody had
seen anything of Mrs. So-and-so.
At length the sought ones were found, anxiety abated, and the
glad couples having secured suitable _vis-à-vis_, proceeded to
take up positions.
At a flourish of the leader’s baton, the enlivening “La Traviata”
struck up, and away the red coats and black coats went sailing
and sinking, and rising and jumping, and twirling with the
lightly-floating dresses of the ladies.
The “Pelissier Galop” quickly followed, then the “Ask Mamma
Polka,” and just as the music ceased, and the now
slightly-flushed couples were preparing for a small-talk
promenade, a movement took place near the door, and the elegant
swan-like de Glancey was seen sailing into the room with her
scarlet-geranium-festooned dress set off with eight hundred yards
of tulle! Taking her chaperone Mrs. Roseworth’s arm, she came
sailing majestically along, the men all alive for a smile, the
ladies laughing at what they called her preposterous dimensions.
But de Glancey was not going to defeat her object by any
premature condescension; so she just met the men’s raptures with
the slightest recognition of her downcast eyes, until she
encountered the gallant Captain Languisher with lovely Miss
Fairey on his arm, when she gave him one of her most captivating
smiles, thinking to have him away from Miss Fairey in no time.
But Miss de Glancey was too late! The Captain had just “popped
the question,” and was then actually on his way to “Ask Mamma,”
and so returned her greeting with an air of cordial indifference,
that as good as said, “Ah, my dear, you’ll not do for me.”
Miss de Glancey was shocked. It was the first time in her life
that she had ever missed her aim. Nor was her mortification
diminished by the cool way our hero, Mr. Pringle, next met her
advances. She had been so accustomed to admiration, that she
could ill brook the want of it, and the double blow was too much
for her delicate sensibilities. She felt faint, and as soon as
she could get a fly large enough to hold herself and her
chaperone, she withdrew, the mortification of this evening far
more than counterbalancing all the previous triumphs of her life.
One person more or less at a ball, however, is neither here nor
there, and the music presently struck up again, and the whirling
was resumed, just as if there was no such person as Miss de
Glancey in existence. And thus waltz succeeded polka, and polka
succeeded quadrille, with lively rapidity—every one declaring it
was a most delightful ball, and wondering when supper would be.
At length there was a lull, and certain unmistakeable symptoms
announced that the hour for that superfluous but much talked of
meal had arrived, whereupon there was the usual sorting of
consequence to draw to the cross table at the top of the room,
with the pairing off of eligible couples who could be trusted
alone, and the shirking of Mammas by those who were not equally
fortunate. Presently a movement was made towards the Isthmus of
Suez, on reaching which the rotund ladies had to abandon their
escorts to pilot their petticoats through the straits amid the
cries of “take care of the steps!” “mind the steps at the end!”
from those who knew the dangers of the passage. And thus the
crinoline came circling into the supper room—each lady again
expanding with the increased space, and reclaiming her beau.
Supper being as we said before a superfluous meal, it should be
light and airy, something to please the eye and tempt the
appetite; not composed of great solid joints that look like a
farmer’s ordinary, or a rent-day dinner with “night mare”
depicted on every dish. The Hit-im and Hold-im shire hunt balls
had always been famous for the elegance of their supper, Lord
Ladythorne kindly allowing his Italian confectioner, Signor
Massaniello, to superintend the elegancies, that excited such
admiration from the ladies as they worked their ways or wedged
themselves in at the tables, but whose beauty did not save them
from destruction as the evening advanced. At first of course the
solids were untouched, the tongues, the hams, the chickens, the
turkeys, the lobster salads, the nests of plover eggs, the
clatter patter being relieved by a heavy salvo of Champagne
artillery. Brisk was the demand for it at starting, for the
economical arrangement was as well known as if it had been
placarded about the room. When the storm of corks had subsided
and clean plates been supplied, the sweets, the jellies, the
confectionery were attacked, and occasional sly sorties were made
against the flower sugar vases and ornaments of the table. Then
perspiring waiters came panting in with more Champagne fresh out
of the ice, and again arm-extended the glasses hailed its coming,
though some of the Neck-and-Crop-shire gentlemen smacked their
lips after drinking it, and pronounced it to be No. 2.
Nevertheless they took some more when it came round again. At
length the most voracious cormorant was appeased, and all eyes
gradually turned towards the sporting president in the centre of
the cross table.
We have heard it said that the House of Commons is the most
appalling and critical assembly in the world to address, but we
confess we think a mixed party of ladies and gentlemen at a
sit-down supper a more formidable audience.
We don’t know anything more painful than to hear a tongue-tied
country gentleman floundering for words and scrambling after an
idea that the quick-witted ladies have caught long before he
comes within sight of his subject. Theirs is like the sudden dart
of the elastic greyhound compared to the solemn towl of the old
slow-moving “southern” hound after its game.
Sir Moses, however, as our readers know, was not one of the
tongue-tied sort—on the contrary, he had a great flow of words
and could palaver the ladies as well as the gentlemen. Indeed he
was quite at home in that room where he had coaxed and wheedled
subscriptions, promised wonders, and given away horses without
the donees incurring any “obligation.” Accordingly at the fitting
time he rose from his throne, and with one stroke of his hammer
quelled the remaining conversation which had been gradually dying
out in anticipation of what was coming. He then called for a
bumper toast, and after alluding in felicitous terms to the happy
event that so aroused the “symphonies” of old Wotherspoon, he
concluded by proposing the health of her Majesty the Queen, which
of course was drunk with three times three and one cheer more.
The next toast, of course, was the ladies who had honoured the
Ball with their presence, and certainly if ever ladies ought to
be satisfied with the compliments paid them, it was on the
present occasion, for Sir Moses vowed and protested that of all
beauties the Hit-im and Hold-im shire beauties were the fairest,
the brightest, and the best; and he said it would be a downright
reflection upon the rising generation if they did not follow the
Crown Prince of Prussia’s excellent example, and make that ball
to be the most blissful and joyous of their recollections. This
toast being heartily responded to, Sir Moses leading the cheers,
Sir Harry Fuzball rose to return thanks on behalf of the ladies,
any one of whom could have done it a great deal better; after
which old Sir George Persiflage, having arranged his lace-tipped
tie, proposed the health of Sir Moses, and spoke of him in very
different terms to what Sir Moses did of Sir George at the hunt
dinner, and this, answer affording Sir Moses another
opportunity—the good Champagne being exhausted—he renewed his
former advice, and concluded by moving an adjournment to the
ball-room. Then the weight of oratory being off, the school broke
loose as it were, and all parties paired off as they liked. Many
were the trips at the steps as they returned by the narrow
passage to the ball-room. The “Ask Mamma” Polka then
appropriately struck up, but polking being rather beyond our
Baronet’s powers he stood outside the ring rubbing his nose and
eyeing the gay twirlers, taking counsel within himself what he
should do. The state of his household had sorely perplexed him,
aud he had about come to the resolution that he must either marry
again or give up housekeeping and live at Hinton. Then came the
question whom he should take? Now Mrs. Yammerton was a noted good
manager, and in the inferential sort of way that we all sometimes
deceive ourselves, he came to the conclusion that her daughters
would be the same. Clara was very pretty—dom’d if she wasn’t—She
would look very well at the head of his table, and just at the
moment she came twirling past with Billy Pringle, the pearl loops
of her pretty pink wreath dancing on her fair forehead. The
Baronet was booked; “he would have her, dom’d if he wouldn’t,”
and taking courage within himself as the music ceased, he claimed
her hand for the next quadrille, and leading her to the top of
the dance, commenced joking her about Billy, who he said would
make a very pretty girl, and then commenced praising herself. He
admired her and everything she had on, from the wreath to her
ribbon, and was so affectionate that she felt if he wasn’t a
little elevated she would very soon have an offer. Then Mammas,
and Mrs. Rocket Larkspurs, and Mrs. Dotherington, and Mrs.
Impelow, and many other quick-eyed ladies followed their
movements, each thinking that they saw by the sparkle of Clara’s
eyes, and the slight flush of her pretty face, what was going on.
But they were prématuré. Sir Moses did not offer until he had
mopped his brow in the promenade, when, on making the second slow
round of the room, a significant glance with a slight inclination
of her handsome head as she passed her Mamma announced that she
was going to be Lady Mainchance!
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Hoo-ray for the Hunt Ball!
Sold again and the money paid! as the trinket-sellers say at a
fair.
Another offer and accepted say we. Captain and Mrs. Languisher,
Sir Moses and Lady Mainchance. Who wouldn’t go to a
Hit-im-and-Hold-im-shire hunt ball?
Then when the music struck up again, instead of fulfilling her
engagements with her next partner. Clara begged to be excused—had
got a little headache, and went and sat down between her Mamma
and her admiring intended; upon which the smouldering fire of
surmise broke out into downright assertion, and it ran through
the room that Sir Moses had offered to Miss Yammerton. Then the
indignant Mammas rose hastily from their seats and paraded slowly
past, to see how the couple looked, pitying the poor creature,
and young gentlemen joked with each other, saying—“Go thou and do
likewise.” and paired off to the supper room to acquire courage
from the well iced but inferior Champagne.
And so the ardent ball progressed, some laying the foundations
for future offers, some advancing their suits a step, others
bringing them to we hope, a happy termination. Never was a more
productive hunt ball known, and it was calculated that the little
gentleman who rides so complacently on our first page exhausted
all his arrows o the occasion.
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_Original Size_
When the mortified Miss de Glancey returned to her lodgings at
Mrs. Sarsnet the milliner’s, in Verbena Crescent, she bid Mrs.
Roseworth good-night, and dismissing her little French maid to
bed, proceeded to her own apartment, where, with the united aid
of a chamber and two toilette-table candles, she instituted a
most rigid examination, as well of her features as her figure, in
her own hand-mirror and the various glasses of the room, and
satisfied herself that neither her looks nor her dress were any
way in fault for the indifference with which she had been
received. Indeed, though she might perhaps be a little partial,
she thought she never saw herself looking better, and certainly
her dress was as stylish and looming as any in the ball-room.
Those points being satisfactorily settled, she next unclasped the
single row of large pearls that fastened the bunch of scarlet
geraniums into her silken brown hair; and taking them off her
exquisitely modelled head, laid them beside her massive scarlet
geranium bouquet and delicate kid gloves upon the toilette-table.
She then stirred the fire; and wheeling the easy-chair round to
the front of it, took the eight hundred yards of tulle
deliberately in either hand and sunk despondingly into the depths
of the chair, with its ample folds before her. Drawing her dress
up a little in front, she placed her taper white-satined feet on
the low green fender, and burying her beautiful face in her
lace-fringed kerchief, proceeded to take an undisturbed
examination of what had occurred. How was it that she, in the
full bloom of her beauty and the zenith of her experience, had
failed in accomplishing what she used so easily to perform? How
was it that Captain Langnisher seemed so cool, and that
supercilious Miss eyed her with a side-long stare, that left its
troubled mark behind, like the ripple of the water after a boat.
And that boy Pringle, too, who ought to have been proud and
flattered by her notice, instead of grinning about with those
common country Misses?
All this hurt and distressed our accomplished coquette, who was
unused to indifference and mortification. Then from the present
her mind reverted to the past; aud stirring the fire, she
recalled the glorious recollections of her many triumphs,
beginning with her school-girl days, when the yeomanry officers
used to smile at her as they met the girls out walking, until
Miss Whippey restricted them to the garden during the eight days
that the dangerous danglers were on duty. Next, how the triumph
of her first offer was enhanced by the fact that she got her old
opponent Sarah Snowball’s lover from her—who, however, she
quickly discarded for Captain Capers—who in turn yielded to Major
Spankley.
Dicer, and the grave Mr. Woodhouse all in tow together, each
thinking himself the happy man and the others the cat’s-paw,
until the rash Hotspur Smith exploded amongst them, and then
suddenly dwindled from a millionaire into a mouse. Other names
quickly followed, recalling the recollections of a successful
career. At last she came to that dread, that fatal day, when,
having exterminated Imperial John, and with the Peer well in
hand, she was induced, much against her better judgment, to
continue the chase, and lose all chance of becoming a Countess.
Oh, what a day was that! She had long watched the noble Earl’s
increasing fervour, and marked his admiring eye, as she sat in
the glow of beauty and the pride of equestrianism; and she felt
quite sure, if the chase had ended at the check caused by the
cattle-drover’s dog, he would have married her. Oh, that the run
should ever have continued! Oh, that she should ever have been
lured on to her certain destruction! Why didn’t she leave well
alone? And at the recollection of that sad, that watery day, she
burst into tears and sobbed convulsively. Her feelings being thus
relieved, and the fire about exhausted, she then got out of her
crinoline and under the counterpane.