11 111 w JOHNA.SEAVERNS ttstater Family Library of Veterinary Mediae Ctommings School of Veterinary Medicine at Tufts University 200 Westboro Road North Grafton, MA 015o6 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR EDITED BY FRANK FORESTER, AUTHOR OF "FIELD SPOBTS : " " FISU AND FI6HIXG," ETC., ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN LEECH. NEW YORK : sTSEN 1856. STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 222 BROADWAY. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S56, by STEINGEE & TOWN8END, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New Tork. EDITOR'S PREFACE In introducing " Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour " to the acquaint- ance of niy friends of the reading, as well as the riding world of America, I have a few preliminary words to say ; since, although in some respects it may be considered as a genuine sporting book, and is undoubtedly the work of a thorough and genuine sportsman, horse- man, and foxhunter, one to the manner born, and familiar with the saddle and the spur as much, at least, as with the inkhorn and the quill, it yet differs materially and widely from any volume which I have ushered, at any time, to the notice of the public, whether in the quality of editor or author. In the first place, it is not, as it does not profess to be, either a veritable description and chronicle of sports and sporting adventures in the field, combined with the natural history and habits of the animals of chase, whether pursuers or pursued, and conveying in- formation to the reader as well as maxims to the sportsman — or yet a fictitious story, embracing the same features, aspiring to convey the same sort of information, and at the same time to enlist something of the feelings of the reader, by introducing an incidental romantic interest, as of real life, somewhat analogous to that of the modern novel of society. Nothing of this sort is " Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour ; " nor at any of these objects does it aim. It is rather a series of caste pictures of the most graphic kind, of character-paintings so droll and ludicrous that, but for their inimitable verisimilitude, their perfect naturalness and the breadth of their details and force of their colorings, they 5 editor's preface. might be almost called caricatures, than a connected story, with hero, heroine, regular plot, and regular denouement. The sporting parts of the work, though, as I have observed, per- fect in their accuracy, vividness of description, keenness of observa- tion and minuteness of detail, intimating the complete acquaintance of the author with his subject, are entirely subordinate to the general effect and point of the book, and aim at amusing rather than at instruct- ing, at presenting pictures and portraits than at inculcating precepts. And both the pictures and portraits will be found equally true and lifelike as they are telling and entertaining, and in both respects equally appreciable by the fair city lady and her ladylike exquisite, and by the Die-Vemon Amazon, and the veriest Nimrod of the day. The ball-room and the club-room of the fashionable watering-place, the manoeuvring mammas and the husband-hunting mademoiselles, are as presentably put on the canvas, and far more frequently, and I dare to say as humorously, as the kennel and the coverside, the jolly English yeoman, and the scoundrelly English horsedealer, the blossom-nosed, fox-hunting parson, and the rude, roaring, roistering, fox-hunting peer, the field huntsman and the fancy huntsman, the seedy screw and the spendthrift baronet with his crew of third-rate, ragamuffin swells dramatic, or lastly as the matchless " Sponge" him- self; for whom, in spite of his sponging and his screwing, his soaping of amphitryons ivith whom one may dine to-day, his circumventing of snobs and flats q^whom one may hope to dine to-morrow, and his attempts at surrounding heiresses, with whom one may hope to wed some day or other, we cannot but confess a sneaking liking. And more we think than a sneaking liking almost he deserves, for his dauntless pluck, his matchless horsemanship, his great native hunting qualities, his warfare against flats, screws, and snobs of all kinds, the daring impudence, by which he gets out of all scrapes as fast as he gets into them, and lastly for his possession of that " one touch of nature " which is so truly said to " make the whole world kii),'1 and which leads him, as the end of his adventures, sporting and matrimonial, to espouse the lovely and loving Lucy Glitters, though he well knows that she has not a sixpence in the world, and that he has no visible means of supporting her, only because she is such a pretty girl, such a trump, and such a rare hand to slow a whole hunting field the way over a park paling. editor's preface. 7 From Mr. Waffles of Laverick Wells, to Mr. Buckram of the snug little hiudependence of his hown, from the am-a-azin' specimen of a pop'lar man, Mr. Puffington, to my Lord Scamperdale blubber- ing over the untimely parted corpse of Jack Spraggon, because he may never hope to find again " so fine a natural bb-blackguard," from Jawleyford of Jawleyford Court, to Facey Romford and Farmer Springwheat, from the fashionable fair of the pump-rooms and ball- rooms of Laverick Wells, to my Lady Scattercash, nee Miss Spangle, Miss Harriet Howard alias Jane Brown, and beautiful, brave Lucy Glitters, with whom a better fellow than our friend Soapey Sponge might have wedded without derogation, the reader, whoever he or she may be, will not find one character, high or low, good or bad, but i3 painted to the very life, as, at some time, and in some place or other — with the sole exception, perhaps, of Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey — I myself can avouch, that I have seen them. Much farther than this your deponent sayeth not, but this he will say- That if there is some low life, there are no low thoughts, nothing offensive or hurtful to the feelings, much less prejudicial or seductive to the minds of the purest and most refined. If there be not much wisdom, I will be content to bear the blame if there be not found much wit, much keen comprehension of the world, and much scathing satire of all that is low, mean, dirty and degrading, in the Sporting Tour of Mr. Soapey Sponge. I will only add, that if my friends, to whom I recommend him, derive as much pleasure as I have done, from his companionship, I shall look to them for thanks, neither small nor stinted, for my intro- duction, not for a cold shoulder, much less for censure. Frank Forester. The Cedars. January 1, 1856. CONTENTS. PAGE OUR HERO, 13 MR. BENJAMIN BUCKRAM, . . 17 PETER LEATHER, 21 LAYEEICK WELLS, 28 MR. WAFFLES, 31 LAYEEICK WELLS, . • . 37 OUR IIERO ARRIVES AT LAYERICK WELLS, 41 OLD TOM TOWLER, 46 THE MEET THE FIND, AND THE FINISH, ...... 50 THE FEELER, 63 THE DEAL, AND THE DISASTER, 67 AN OLD FRIEND, 70 A NEW SCHEME, 78 JAWLEYFORD COURT, 83 THE JAWLEYFORD ESTABLISHMENT, 87 THE DINNER, 92 THE TEA, 95 THE EYENING's REFLECTIONS, . 98 THE WET DAY, 101 THE F. H. H., 109 A COUNTRY DINNER-PARTY, 115 THE F. H. H. AGAIN, 124 THE GREAT RUN, 131 LORD 8CAMPERDALE AT HOME, 142 MR. SPRAGGON'S EMBASSY TO JAWLEYFORD COURT, .... 149 ME. AND MRS. SPRINGWHEAT, 168 THE FINEST RUN THAT EYER WAS SEEN ! . . . e . .177 THE FAITHFUL GROOM, 182 THE CROSS-ROADS AT DALLINGTON BURN, 187 BOLTING THE BADGER, 193 MR. PUFFINGTON ; OR THE YOUNG MAN ABOUT TOWN, . . . 198 10 CONTENTS. PACE THE MAN OF P-E-O-E-PEETY, 203 A SWELL HUNTSMAN, 207 THE BEAUFOBT JUSTICE, 212 LORD SCAMPERDALE AT JAWLEYFOED COUET, .... 217 MR. BEAGG's KENNEL MANAGEMENT, 223 MR. PUFFINGTON's DOMESTIC AREANGEMENTS, .... 226 A DAY WITH PUFFINGTON's HOUNDS, 231 "WRITING A RUN, 238 A LITEEAET BLOOMEE, 249 A DINNER AND A DEAL, 252 THE MORNING'S REFLECTIONS, 262 ANOTnEE SICK HOST, 268 "WANTED A ElCn GOD-PAPA ! 272 TnE DISCOMFITED DIPLOMATIST, 277 PUDDINGPOTE BOWER, THE SEAT OF JOGGLEBUET OEOWDET, ESQ., . 285 A FAMILY BREAKFAST ON A HUNTING MOENING, .... 292 HUNTING TnE HOUNDS, 300 COUNTRY QUAETEES, 304 SIE HAEEY SCATTEECASH'S HOUNDS, 308 FARMER PEASTRAW's DINE MATINEE, . ' . . . . 318 A MOONLIGHT EIDE, 328 PUDDINGPOTE BOWEB, 330 FAMILY JARS, 334 THE TRIGGER, ......... 339 NONSUCH HOUSE AGAIN, 345 THE DEBATE, ••..... 354 FACEY ROMFORD, -57 THE ADJOURNED DEBATE, ...... 363 FACEY EOMFOED AT HOME, ..... 365 NONSUCH HOUSE AGAIN, 3f3 A FAMILY BEEAKFAST, . . ' . . , # 3Y(J THE EISING GENEEATION, 373 THE KENNEL AND THE 8TUD, 3gg THE HUNT, ggj Ml". SPONGE AT nOME, 404 HOW THEY GOT UP THE " GEAND AEISTOCRATIO STEEPLE-CHASE," . 405 HOW THE " GEAND AEISTOCEATIC " CAME OFF, 410 HOW OTHER TniNG8 CAME OFF, .... . 420 HOW LOED 6CAMPEEDALE AND CO. CAME OFF, 422 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS MR. SPONGE DECLARES IIIM3ELF, Frontispiece. MR. SPONGE AT JAWLEYFORD COURT, pp. 73 ONE OF MULTOM-IN-PARVO's " GOING " DAYS, .... 147 MR. SPONGE AT FARMER SPRINGTYHEAt's. HORROR OF LORD SCAMPER- DALE, 219 MR. SPONGE ARRIVES AT SIR DIAERy's, . . . . . . 291 LUCY GLITTERS SHOWING TIIE WAY, 363 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. CHAPTER I. OUR HERO. It was a murky October day that the hero of our tale, Mr. Sponge, or Soapey Sponge, as his good-natured friends call him, was seen mizzling along Oxford Street, wending his way to the West. Not that there was anything unusual in Sponge being seen in Oxford Street, for when in town his daily perambulations consist of a circuit, commencing from the Bantam Hotel in Bond Street into Piccadilly, through Leicester Square, and so on to Aldridge's, in St. Martin's Lane, thence by Moore's sporting-print-shop, and on through some of those ambiguous and tortuous streets that, appearing to lead all ways at once and none in particular, land the explorer, sooner or later, on the south side of Oxford Street. Oxford Street acts to the north part of London what the Strand does to the south ; it is sure to bring one up, sooner or later. A man can hardly get over either of them without knowing it. Well, Soapey having got into Oxford Street, would make his way at a squarey, in-kneed, duck-toed, sort of pace, regulated by the bonnets, the vehicles, and the equestrians he met to criticise ; for of women, vehicles, and horses, he had voted himself a consummate judge. Indeed he had fully established in his own mind that Kiddey Downey and he were the only men in London who really knew anything about horses, and fully impressed with that conviction, he would halt, and stand, and stare, in a way that with any other man would have been considered impertinent. Perhaps it was impertinent in Soapey — we don't mean to say it wasn't — but he had done it so long, and was of so sporting a gait and cut, that he felt himself somewhat privileged. Moreover, the majority of horsemen are so satisfied with the animals they bestride, that they cock up their jibs and ride along with a " find any fault with either me or my horse, if you can." sort of air. 14 MR. sponge's sporting tour. Thus Mr. Sponge proceeded leisurely along, now nodding to this man, now jerking his elbow to that, now smiling on a phaeton, now sneering at a 'bus. If he did not look in at Shackell's, or hartley's, or any of the dealers on the line, he was always to be found about half-past five at Cumberland Gate, from whence he would strike leisurely down the Park, and after coming to a long check at Rotten Row rails, from whence he would pass all the cavalry in the Park in review, he would wend his way-back to the Bantam, much in the style he had come. This was his summer proceeding. Mr. Sponge had pursued this enterprising life for some "seasons" — ten at least — and supposing him to have begun at twenty or one- and-twenty, he would be about thirty at the time we have the plea- sure of introducing him to our readers — a period of life at which men begin to suspect they were not quite so wise at twenty as they thought. Not that Mr. Sponge had any particular indiscretions to reflect upon, for he was tolerably sharp, but he felt that he might have made better use of his time, which may be shortly described as having been spent in hunting all the winter, and in talking about it all the summer. "With this popular sport he combined the diver* sion of fortune-hunting, though we are concerned to say that his success, up to the period of our introduction, had not been commen- surate with his deserts. Let us, however, hope that brighter days are about to dawn upon him. Having now introduced our hero to our male and female friends, under his interesting pursuits of fox and fortune-hunter, it becomes us to say a few words as to his qualifications for carrying them on. Mr. Sponge was a good-looking, rather vulgar-looking man. At a distance — say ten yards — his height, figure, and carriage gave him somewhat of a commanding appearance, but this was rather marred by a jerky, twitchy, uneasy sort of air, that too plainly showed he was not the natural, or what the lower orders call the real gentle- man. Not that Sponge was shy. Far from it. He never hesitated about offering to a lady, after a three days' acquaintance, or in asking a gentleman to take him a horse in over night, with whom he might chance to come in contact in the hunting-iield. And he did it all in such a cool, off-hand, matter-of-course sort of way, that people who would have stared with astonishment if anybody else had hinted at such a proposal, really seemed to come into the humour and spirit of the thing, and to look upon it rather as a matter of course than otherwise. Then his dexterity in getting into people's houses was only equalled by the difficulty of getting him out again, but this we must waive for the present in favour of his portraiture. In height, Mr. Sponge was above the middle size — five feet eleven or so — with a well borne up, not badly shaped, closely cropped oval head, a tolerably good, but somewhat receding forehead, bright hazel eyes, Roman nose, with carefully tended whiskers, reaching the cor- 15 ners of a well-formed mouth, and thence descending in semicircles into a vast expanse of hair beneath the chin. Having mentioned Mr. Sponge's grooniy gait and horsey propen- sities, it were almost needless to say that his dress was in the sporting style — you saw what he was by his clothes. Every article seemed to be made to defy the utmost rigour of the elements. His hat (Lincoln and Bennett) was hard and heavy. It sounded upon an entrance-hall table like a drum. A little magical loop in the lining explained the cause of its weight. Somehow, his hats were never either old or new — not that he bought them second-hand, but when he got a new one he took its "long coat" off, as he called it, with a singeing lamp, and made it look as if it had undergone a few proba- tionary showers. When a good London hat recedes to a certain point, it gets no worse ; it is not like a country-made thing that keeps going and going until it declines into a thing with no sort of resemblance to its original self. Barring its weight and hardness, the Sponge hat had no particular character apart from the Sponge head. It was not one of those punty ovals or Cheshire-cheese flats, or curly-sided things that enables one to say who is in a house and who is not, by a glance at the hats in the entrance ; but it was just a quiet, round hat, without anything remarkable, either in the binding, the lining, or the band, but still it was a very becoming hat when Sponge had it on. There is a great deal of character in hats. We have seen hats that bring the owners to the recollection far more forcibly than the generality of portraits. But to our hero. That there may be a dandified simplicity in dress, is exemplified every day by our friends the Quakers, who adorn their beautiful brown Saxony coats with little inside velvet collars and fancy silk buttons, and even the severe order of sporting costume adopted by our friend Mr. Sponge, is not devoid of capability in the way of tasteful adaptation. This Mr. Sponge chiefly showed in promoting a resemblance between his neckcloths and waistcoats. Thus, if he wore a cream-coloured cravat, he would have a buff-coloured waist- coat ; if a striped waistcoat, then the stavcher would be imbued with somewhat of the same colour and pattern. The ties of these varied with their texture. The silk ones terminated in a sort of coaching fold, and were secured by a golden fox-head pin, while the striped starchers, with the aid of a pin on each side, just made a neat, un- pretending tie in the middle, a sort of miniature of the flagrant, fly- away, Mile-End ones of aspiring youth of the present day. His coats were of the single-breasted cut-away order, with pockets out- side, and generally either Oxford mixture or some dark colour, that required you to place him in a favourable light to say what it was. His waistcoats, of course, were of the most correct form and material, generally either pale buff, or buff with a narrow stripe, 16 MR. SPONGE'S SrORTING TOUR. similar to the undress vests of the servants of the Koyal Family, only with the pattern run across instead of lengthways, as those worthies mostly have theirs, and made with good honest step collars, instead of the make-believe roll collars they sometimes convert their upright ones into. When in deep thought, calculating, perhaps, the value of a passing horse, or considering whether he should have beef- steaks or lamb chops for dinner, Sponge's thumbs would rest in the arm-holes of his waistcoat ; in wliich easy, but not very elegant, atti- tude, he would sometimes stand until all trace of the idea that ele- vated them had passed away from his mind. In the trouser line he adhered to the close-fitting costume of former days ; and many were the trials, the easings, and the alterings, ere he got a pair exactly to his mind. Many were the customers who turned away on seeing his manly figure filling the swing mirror in " Snip and Sneiders'," a monopoly that some tradesmen might object to, only Mr. Sponge's trousers being admitted to be perfect " triumphs of the art," the more such a walking advertisement was seen in the shop the better. Indeed, we believe it would have been worth Snip & Co.'s while to have let him have them for nothing. They were easy without being tight, or rather they looked tight without being so ; there wasn't a bag, a wrinkle, or a crease that there shouldn't be, and strong and storm-defying as they seemed, they were yet as soft and as supple as a lady's glove. They looked more as if his legs had been blown in them than as if such irre- proachable garments were the work of man's hands. Many were the nudges, and many the " look at this chap's trousers," that were given by ambitious men emulous of his appearance as he passed along, and many were the turnings round to examine their faultless fall upon his radiant boot. The boots, perhaps, might come in for a little of the glory, for they were beautifully soft and cool-looking to the foot, easy without being loose, and he preserved the lustre of their polish, even up to the last moment of his walk. There never was a better man for getting through dirt, either on foot or horseback, than our friend . To the frequenters of the " corner," it were almost superfluous to mention that he is a constant attendant. He has several volumes of " catalogues," with the prices the horses have brought set down in the margins, and has a rare knack at recognising old friends, altered, disguised, or disfigured as they may be — " I've seen that rip before," he will say, witli a knowing shake of the head, as some woe- begone devil goes, best leg foremost, up to the hammer, or, " What! is that old beast back? why he's here every day." No man can impose upon Soapey with a horse. He can detect the rough-coated plausibilities of the straw-yard, equally with the metamorphosis of the clipper or singer. His practised eye is not to be imposed upon either by the blandishments of the bang-tail, or the bereavements of MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 17 the dock. Tattersall will hail him from his rostrum with — " Here's a horse will suit you, Mr. Sponge ! cheap, good, and handsome ! come and buy him." But it is needless describing him here, for every out-of-place groom and dog-stealer's man knows him by sight. CHAPTER II. MR. BENJAMIN BUCKRAM. Having dressed and sufficiently described our hero, to enable our readers to form a general idea of the man, we have now to request them to return to the day of our introduction. Mr. Sponge had gone along Oxford Street at a somewhat improved pace to his usual wont — had paused for a shorter period in the " 'bus" perplexed " Circus," and pulled up seldomer than usual between the Circus and the limits of his stroll. Behold him now at the Edgeware road end, eyeing the 'busses with a wanting-a-ride like air, instead of the contemptuous sneer he generally adopts towards those uncouth productions. Bed, green, blue, drab, cinnamon-colour, passed and crossed, and jostled, and stopped, and blocked, and the cads telegraphed, and winked, and nodded, and smiled, and slanged, but Mr. Sponge regarded them not. He had a sort of '"bus" panorama in his head, knew the run of them all, whence they started, where they stopped, where they watered, where they changed, and, wonderful to relate, had never been entrapped into a sixpenny fare when he meant to take a three- penny one. In cab and "'bus" geography there is not a more learned man in London. Mark him as he stands at the corner. He sees what he wants, it's the chequered one with the red and blue wheels that the Bayswater or.es have got between them, and that the St. John's Wood and two Western Railway ones are trying to get into trouble by crossing. What a row ! how the ruffians whip, and stamp, and storm, and all but pick each other's horses' teeth with their poles, how the cads ges- ticulate, and the passengers imprecate ! now the bonnets are out of the windows, and the row increases. Six coachmen cutting and storming, six cads sawing the air, sixteen ladies in flowers screaming, six-and-twenty sturdy passengers swearing they will " fine them all," and Mr. Sponge is the only cool person in the scene. He doesn't rush into the throng and " jump in," for fear the 'bus should extricate itself and drive on without him ; he doesn't make confusion worse confounded by intimating his behest; he doesn't soil his bright boots by stepping off the curb-stone ; but, quietly waiting the evaporation 18 mr. sponge's sporting tour. of the steam, and the disentanglement of the vehicles, by the smallest possible sign in the world, given at the opportune moment, and a steady adhesion to the flags, the 'bus is obliged either to " come to," or lose the fare, and he steps quietly in, and squeezes along to the far end, as though intent on going the whole hog of the journey. Away they rumble up the Edgeware Road ; the gradual emer- gence from the brick and mortar of London being marked as well by the telling out of passengers as' by the increasing distances between the houses. First, it is all close huddle with both. Austere iron railings guard the subterranean kitchen areas, and austere looks indi- cate a desire on the part of the passengers to guard their own pockets ; gradually little gardens usurp the places of the cramped areas, and, with their humanising appearance, softer looks assume the place of frowning <2??fi-swell-mob ones. Presently a glimpse of green country or of distant hills may be caught between the wider spaces of the houses, and frequent settings down increase the space between the passengers ; gradually conserva- tories appear, and conversation strikes up ; then come the exclusive- ness of villas, some detached and others running out at last into real pure green fields studded with trees and picturesque pot-houses, before one of which latter a sudden wheel round and a jerk announces the journey done. The last passenger (if there is one) is then uncere- moniously turned loose upon the country. Our readers will have the kindness to suppose our hero, Mr. Sponge, shot out of an omnibus at .the sign of the Cat and Com- passes, in the full rurality of grass country, sprinkled with fallows and turnip-fields. We should state that this unwonted journey was a desire to pay a visit to Mr. Benjamin Buckram, the horse-dealer's farm at Scampley, distant some mile and a half from where he was set down, a space that he now purposed travelling on foot. Mr. Benjamin Buckram was a small horse-dealer, — small, at least, when he was buying, though great when he was selling. It would do a youngster good to see Ben filling the two capacities. He dealt in second hand, that is to say, past mark of mouth horses ; but on the present occasion Mr. Sponge sought his services in the capacity of a letter rather than a seller of horses. Mr. Sponge wanted to job a couple of plausible-looking horses, with the option of buying them, provided lie (Mr. Sponge) could sell them for more than he would have to give Mr. Buckram, exclusive of the hire. Mr. Buckram's job price, we should say, was as near twelve pounds a month, con- taining twenty-eight days, as he could screw, the hirer, of course, keeping the animals. Scampley is one of those pretty little suburban farms, peculiar to the north and northwest side of London — farms varying from fifty to a hundred acres of well-manured, gravelly soil ; each farm with its picturesque little buildings, consisting of small, honey-suckled, rose- MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 19 entwined brick-houses, with small, flat, pan-tiled roofs, and lattice- windows ; and, hard by, a large hay-stack, three times the size of the house, or a desolate barn, half as big as all the rest of the buildings. From the smallness of the holdings, the farm-houses are dotted about as thickly, and at such varying distances from the roads, as to look like inferior " villas" falling out of rank ; most of them have a half- smart, half-seedy sort of look. The rustics who cultivate them, or rather look after them, are neither exactly town nor country. They have the clownish dress and boorish gait of the regular " chaws," with a good deal of the quick, suspicious, sour sauciness of the low London resident. If you can get an answer from them at all, it is generally delivered in such a way as to show that the answerer thinks you are what they call " chaffing them," asking them what you know. These farms serve the double purpose of purveyors to the London stables, and hospitals for sick, overworked, or unsaleable horses. All the great job-masters and horse-dealers have these retreats in the country, and the smaller ones pretend to have, from whence, in due course, they can draw any sort of an animal a customer may want, just as little cellarless wine-merchants can get you any sort of wine from real establishments — if you only give them time. There was a good deal of mystery about Scampley. It was some- times in the hands of Mr. Benjamin Buckram, sometimes in the hands of his assignees, sometimes in those of his cousin Abraham Brown, and sometimes John Doe and Ilichard Boe were the occu- pants of it. Mr. Benjamin Buckram, though very far from being one, had the advantage of looking like a respectable man. There was a certain plump, well-fed rosiness about him, which, aided by a bright-coloured dress, joined to a continual fumble in the pockets of his drab trousers, gave him the air of a " weil-to-do-in- the- world " sort of man. Moreover, he sported a velvet collar to his blue coat, a more imposing ornament than it appears at first sight. To be sure, there are two sorts of velvet collars — the legitimate velvet collar, commencing with the coat, and the adopted velvet collar, put on when the cloth one gets shabby. Buckram's was always the legitimate velvet collar, new from the first, and, we really believe, a permanent velvet collar, adhered to in storm and in sunshine, has a very money-making impression on the world. It shows a spirit superior to feelings of paltry economy, and we think a person would be much more excusable for being victimised by a man with a good velvet collar to his coat, than by one exhibit- ing that spurious sign of gentility — a horse and gig. The reader will now have the kindness to consider Mr. Sponge arriving at Scampley. " Ah, Mr. Sponge ! " exclaimed Mr. Buckram, who, having seen our friend advancing up the little twisting approach from the road to 20 mr. sponge's sporting tour. his house through a little square window almost blinded with Irish ivy, out of which he was in the habit of contemplating the arrival of his occasional lodgers, Doe and Roe, " Ah, Mr. Sponge ! " exclaimed he, with well-assumed gaiety; "you should have been here yesterday ; sent away two sich osses — perfect 'unters — the werry best I do think I ever saw in my life ; either would have bin the werry oss for your money. But come in, Mr. Sponge, sir, come in," continued he, back- ing himself through a little sentry-box of a green portico, to a narrow passage which branched off into little rooms on either side. As Buckram made this retrograde movement, he gave a gentle pull to the wooden handle of an old-fashioned wire bell-pull, in the midst of buggy, four-in-hand, and other whips, hanging in the entrance, a touch that was acknowledged by a single tinkle of the bell in the stable-yard. They then entered the little room on the right, whose walls were decorated with various sporting prints, chiefly illustrative of steeple- chaces, with here and there a stunted fox-brush, tossing about as a duster. The ill-ventilated room reeked with the effluvia of stale smoke, and the faded green baize of a little round table in the centre was covered with filbert-shells and empty ale-glasses. The whole furniture of the room wasn't worth five pounds. Mr. Sponge, being now on the dealing tack, commenced in the poverty-stricken strain adapted to the occasion. Having deposited his hat on the floor, taken his left leg up to nurse, and given his hair a backward rub with his right hand, he thus commenced : " Now, Buckram," said he, " I'll tell you how it is. I'm deuced hard up, — regularly in Short's Gardens. I lost eighteen 'undred on the Derby, and seven on the Leger, the best part of my year's income, indeed; and I just want to hire two or three horses for the season, with the option of buying, if I like ; and if you supply me well, I may be the means of bringing grist to your mill ; you twig, eh ? " " Well, Mr. Sponge," replied Buckram, sliding several consecu- tive half-crowns down the incline plane of his pocket. " Well, Mr. Sponge, I shall be happy to do my best for you. I wish you'd come yesterday, though, as I said before, I jest had two of the neatest nags — a bay and a grey — not that colour makes any matter to a judge like you ; there's no sounder sayin' than that a good oss is not never of a bad colour; only to a young gemman, you know, it's well to have 'em smart, and the ticket, in short ; howsomever, I must do the best I can for you, and if there's nothin' in that tickles your fancy, why, you must give me a few days to see if I can arrange an exchange with some other gent ; but the present is like to be a werry haggiwatin' season; had more happlications for osses nor ever I remembers, and I've been a dealer now, man and boy, turned of eight-and-thirty years; but young gents is whimsical, and it was a young'un wot got these, and there's no sayin' but he mayn't like them — indeed, one's MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 21 raytker difficult to ride, — tkat's to say, tke grey, tke neatest of tke two, and ke may come back, and if so, you shall kave kim ; and a safer, sweeter oss was never seen, or one more like to do credit to a gent : but you knows wkat an oss is, Mr. Sponge, and can do justice to me, and I skould like to put summut good into your kands — that I should." Witk conversation, or ratker witk balderdasb, suck as tkis, Mr. Buckram beguiled tke few minutes necessary for removing tke band- ages, kiding tke bottles, and stirring up tke cripples about to be ex- amined, and tke keavy flap of tke coack-kouse door announcing tkat all was ready, ke fortkwitk led tke way tkrougk a door in tke brick wall into a little three-sides of a square yard, formed of stables and loose boxes, witk a dilapidated dove-cote above a pump in tke centre ; Mr. Buckram, not growing corn, could afford to keep pigeons. CHAPTER III. PETER LEATHER. Nothing bespeaks tke ckaracter of a dealer's trade more tkan tke servants and kangers-on of tke establiskment. Tke civiler in manner, and tke better tbey are " put on," tke kigker tke standing of tke master, and tke better tke stamp of tke korses. Tkose about Mr. Buckram's were of a very skady order. Dirty- skirted, sloggering, baggy-breecked, slangey-gaitered fellows, witk tke word " gin " indelibly imprinted on tkeir faces. Peter Leatker, tke kead man, was one of tke fallen angels of servitude. He kad once driven a Duke — tke Duke of Dazzleton — kaving notkino- wkatever to do but dress kimself and climb into kis well- indented rickly- fringed tkrone, witk a kelper at eack korse's kead to " let go " at a nod from kis broad laced tkree-cornered kat. Then kaving got in kis cargo (or rubbisk, as ke used to call tkem), ke would start off at a pace tkat was truly terrific, cutting out tkis vekicle, skooting past tkat, all but grazing a tkird, anatkematising tke 'busses, and abusing tke draymen. We don't know kow ke migkt be witk tke queen, but ke certainly drove as tkougk ke tkougkt nobody kad any business in tke street wkile tke Duckess of Dazzleton wanted it. Tke Duckess liked going fast, and Peter accommodated ker. Tke duke jobbed kis korses and didn't care about pace, and so tbings migkt kave gone on very com- fortably, if Peter one afternoon kadn't run kis pole into tke panel of a very plain but very neat yellow baroucke, passing tke end of New Bond-street, wkick kaving notking but a simple crest — a stag's kead 22 MR. sponge's sporting tour. on the panel — made him think it belonged to some bulky cit, taking the air with his rib, but who, unfortunately, turned out to be no less a person than Sir Giles Nabem, Knight, the great police magistrate, upon one of whose myrmidons in plain clothes, who came to the rescue, Peter committed a most violent assault, for which unlucky casualty his worship furnished him with rotatory occupation for his fat calves in the " H. of C," as- the clerk shortly designated the House of Correction. Thither Peter went, and in lieu of his lace-bedaubcd coat, gold-gartered plushes, stockings, and buckled shoes, he was dressed up in a suit of tight-fitting yellow and black-striped worsteds, that gave him the appearance of a wasp without wings. Peter Leather then tumbled regularly down the staircase of servitude, the greatness of his fall being occasionally broken by landing in some inferior place. From the Duke of Dazzleton's, or rather from the treadmill, he went to the Marquis of Mammon, whom he very soon left because he wouldn't wear a second-hand wig. From the marquis he got hired to the great Irish Earl of Coarsegab, who expected him to wash the carriage, wait at table, and do other incidentals never contemplated by a London coachman. Peter threw this place up with indignation on being told to take the letters to the post. He then lived on his " means " for a while, a thing that is much finer in theory than in practice, and having about exhausted his substance and placed the bulk of his apparel in safe keeping, he condescended to take a place as job coachman in a livery-stable — a " horses let by the hour, day, or month " one, in which he enacted as many charac- ters, at least made as many different appearances, as the late Mr. Matthews used to do in his celebrated "At Homes." One day Peter would be seen ducking under the mews' entrance in one of those greasy, painfully well-brushed hats, the certain precursors of soiled linen and seedy, most seedy-covered buttoned coats, that would puzzle a conjuror to say whether they were black, or grey, or olive, or invis- ible green turned visible brown. Then another day he might be seen in old Mrs. Gadabout's sky-blue livery, with a tarnished, gold-laced hat, nodding over his nose ; and on a third he would shine forth in Mrs. Major-General Flareup's cockaded one, with a worsted shoulder- knot, and a much over-daubed light drab livery coat, with crimson inexpressibles, so tight as to astonish a beholder how he ever got into them. Humiliation, however, has its limits as well as other things; and Peter having been invited to descend from his box — alas ! a regular country patent leather one, and invest himself in a Quaker- collared blue coat, with a red vest, and a pair of blue trousers with a broad red stripe down the sides, to drive the Honourable old Miss Wrinkle ton, of Harlcy-street, to Court in a " one oss pianoforte-case," as he called a Clarence, he could stand it no longer, and, chucking the nether garments into the fire, he rushed frantically up the area- steps, mounted his box, and quilted the old crocodile of a horse all 23 the way home, accompanying each cut with an imprecation such as " me make a guy of myself!" (whip) " me put on sich things ! " (whip, whip) " me drive down Sin Jimses-strcet ! " (whip, whip, whip), " I'd see her fust I" (whip, whip, whip), cutting at the old horse just as if he was laying it into Miss Wrinkleton, so that by the time he got home he had established a considerable lather on the old nag, which his master resenting, a row ensued, the sequel of which may readily be imagined. After assisting Mrs. Clearstarch, the Kilburn laundress, in getting in and taking out her washing, for a few weeks, chance at last landed him at Mr. Benjamin Buckram's, from whence he is now about to be removed to become our hero Mr. Sponge's Sancho Panza, in his fox-hunting, fortune-hunting career, and dissem- inate in remote parts his doctrines of the real honour and dignity of servitude. Now to the inspection. Peter Leather, having a peep-hole as well as his master, on seeing Mr. Sponge arrive, had given himself an extra rub over, and covered his dirty shirt with a clean, well-tied, white kerchief, and a whole col- oured scarlet waistcoat, late the property of one of his noble employers, in hopes that Sponge's visit might lead to something. Peter was about sick of the suburbs, and thought, of course, that he couldn't be worse off than where he was. " Here's Mr. Sponge wants some osses," observed Mr. Buckram, as Leather met them in the middle of the little yard, and brought his right arm round with a sort of military swing to his forehead ; "what 'ave we in?" continued Buckram, with the air of a man with so many horses that he didn't know what were in and what were out. " Vy we 'ave Rumbleton in," replied Leather thoughtfully, strok- ing down his hair as he spoke, " and we 'ave Jack o'Lanthorn in, and we 'ave the Camel in, and there's the little Hirish oss with the sprig tail — Jack-a-Dandy, as I calls him, and the Flyer will be in to-night, he's jest out a hairing, as it were, with old Mr. Callipash." " Ah, Rumbleton won't do for Mr. Sponge," observed Buckram, thoughtfully, at the same time letting go a tremendous avalanche of silver down his trouser pocket, " Rumbleton won't do," repeated he, "nor Jack-a-Dandy nouther." " Why, I wouldn't commend neither on 'em," replied Peter, taking his cue from his master, " only ven you axes me vot there's in, you knows vy I must give you a cor-rect answer, in course." " In course," nodded Buckram. Leather and Buckram had a good understanding in the lying line, and had fallen into a sort of tacit arrangement, that if the former was staunch about the horses he was at liberty to make the best terms he could for himself. Whatever Buckram said, Leather swore to, and they had established certain signals and expressions that each un- derstood. 24 mr. sponge's sporting tour. " I've an unkimmon nice oss," at length observed Mr. Buckram, •with a scrutinising glance at Sponge, " and an oss in hevery respect werry like your work, but he's an oss, I'll candidly state, I wouldn't put in every one's 'ands, for, in the fust place, he's wery -waiueous, and in the second, he requires an ossman to ride ; howsornever, as I knows that you can ride, and if you doesn't mind taking my 'cad man," jerking his elbow at Leather, "to look arter him, I wouldn't mind 'commodatin' on you, proicided we can 'gree upon terms." " Well, let's see him," interrupted Sponge, " and we can talk about terms after." " Certainly, sir, certainly," replied Buckram, again letting loose a re-accumulated rush of silver down his pocket. " Here, Tom ! Joe ! Harry ! where's Sam ? " giving the little tinkler of a bell a pull as he spoke. " Sam be in the straw 'ouse," replied Leather, passing through a stable into a wooden projection beyond, where the gentleman in ques- tion was enjoying a nap. " Sam ! " said he, " Sam ! " repeated he, in a louder tone, as he saw the object of his search's nose popping through the midst of the straw. " What now ! " exclaimed Sam, starting up, and looking wildly around ; " what now ? " repeated he, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. " Get out Ercles," said Leather, sotto voce. The lad was a mere stripling — some fifteen or sixteen years, per- haps;— tall, slight, and neat, with dark hair and eyes, and was dressed in a brown jacket — a real boy's jacket, without laps, white cords, and top-boots. It was his business to risk his neck and limbs at all hours of the day, on all sorts of horses, over any sort of place that any per- son chose to require him to put a horse at, and this he did with the daring pleasure of youth as yet undaunted by any serious fall. Sam now bestirred himself to get out the horse. The clambering of hoofs presently announced his approach. Whether Hercules was called Hercules on account of his amazing strength, or from a fanciful relationship to the famous horse of that name, we know not ; but his strength and his colour would favour either supposition. He was an immense, tall, powerful, dark brown, sixteen hands horse, with an arched neck and crest, well set on, clean, lean head, and loins that looked as if they could shoot a man into the next county. His condition was perfect. His coat lay as close and even as satin, with cleanly developed muscle, and altogether he looked as hard as a cricket-ball. He had a famous switch tail, reaching nearly to his hocks, and making him look less than he would other- wise have done. Mr. Sponge was too well versed in horse-flesh to imagine that such an animal would be in the possession of such a third-rate dealer MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 25 as Buckram, unless there was something radically wrong about him, and as Sam and Leather were paying the horse those stable atten- tions that always precede a show out, Mr. Sponge settled in his own mind that the observation about his requiring a horseman to ride him, meant that he was vicious. Nor was he wrong in his anticipations, for not all Leather's whistlings, or Sam's endearings and watchings, could conceal the sunken, scowling eye, that as good as said, " you'd better keep clear of me." Mr. Sponge, however, was a dauntless horseman. What man dared he dared, and as the horse stepped proudly and freely out of the stable, Mr. Sponge thought he looked very like a hunter. Nor were Mr. Buckram's laudations wanting in the animal's behalf. " There's an orse !" exclaimed he, drawing his right hand out of his trouser pocket, and nourishing it towards him. " If that orse were down in Leicestersheer," added he, "he'd fetch three 'under'd guineas. Sir Richard would have him in a minnit — that he would! " added he, with a stamp of his foot as he saw the animal beginning to set up his back and wince at the approach of the lad. (We may here mention by way of parenthesis, that Mr. Buckram had brought him out of Warwickshire for thirty pounds, where the horse had greatly distinguished himself, as well by kicking off sundry scarlet swells in the gaily thronged streets of Leamington, as by running away with divers others over the wide-stretching grazing-grounds of Southam and Dunchurch.) But to our story. The horse now stood staring on view : fire in his eye, and vigour in his every limb. Leather at his head, the lad at his side, Sponge and Buckram a little on the left. « W — h — o — a — a — y, my man, w — h — o — a — a—?/," continued Mr. Buckram, as a liberal show of the white of the eye was followed by a little wince and hoist of the hind quarters on the nearer approach of the lad. " Look sharp, boy" said he, in a very different tone to the sooth- ing one in which he had just been addressing the horse. The lad lifted up his leg for a hoist, Leather gave him one as quick as thought, and led on the horse as the lad gathered up his reins. They then made for a large field at the back of the house, with leaping-bars, hurdles, " on and offs," " ins and outs," all sorts of fancy leaps scattered about. Having got him fairly in, and the lad having got himself fairly set- tled in the saddle, he gave the horse a touch with the spur as Leather let go his head, and after a desperate plunge or two started off at a gallop. "He's fresh," observed Mr. Buckram confidentially to Mr. Sponge, " he's fresh — wants work,- in short — short of work — wouldn't put every one on him — wouldn't put one o' your timid cocknified chaps on him, for if ever he were to get the hupper 'and, vy I doesn't know as ow that we might get the hupper 'and o' him, agen, but the playful rogue 2 26 knows Ten he's got a workman on his back — see how he gives to the lad though he's only fifteen, and not strong of his hage nouther," continued Mr. Buckram, " and I guess if he had sich a consternation of talent as you on his back, he'd wery soon be as quiet as a lamb — not that he's wicious — far from it, only play — full of play, I may say, though to be sure, if a man gets spilt it don't argufy much whether it's done from play or from wice." During this time the horse was going through his evolutions, hop- ping over this thing, popping over that, making as little of every thing as practice makes them do. Having gone through the usual routine, the lad now walked the glowing coated, snorting horse back to where the trio stood. Mr. Sponge again looked him over, and still seeing no exception to take to him, bid the lad get off, and lengthen the stirrups for him to take a ride. That was the difficulty. The first two minutes always did it. Mr. Sponge, however, nothing daunted, borrowed Sam's spurs, and making Leather hold the horse by the head till he got well into the saddle, and then lead him on a bit ; he gave the animal such a dig in both sides as fairly threw him off his guard, and made him start away at a gallop, instead of standing and delivering, as was his wont. Away Mr. Sponge shot, pulling him about, trying all his paces, and putting him at all sorts of leaps. Emboldened by the nerve and dexterity displayed by Mr. Sponge, Mr. Buckram stood meditating a further trial of his equestrian ability, as he watched him bucketing " Ercles " about. Hercules had " spang- hewed " so many triers, and the hideous contraction of his resolute back had deterred so many from mounting, that Buckram had began to fear he would have to place him in the only remaining school for incurables, the 'Bus. Hack-horse riders are seldom great horsemen. The very fact of their being hack-horse riders shows they are little accustomed to horses, or they would not give the fee-simple of an an- imal for a few weeks' work. " I've a wonderful clever little oss," observed Mr. Buckram, as Sponge returned with a slack rein and a satisfied air on the late reso- lute animal's back. " Little I can 'ardly call 'im," continued Mr. Buckram, " only he's low ; but you knows that the 'eight of an oss has nothin' to do with his size. Now this is a perfect dray-oss in minia- ture. An 'Arrow gent, lookin' at him, t'other day christen'd him ' Multum inParvo.' But though he's so icr-men-dous strong, he has the knack o' goin', specially in deep ; and if you're not a-goin' to Sir Richard, but into some o' them plough sheers (shires), I'd 'commend him to you." " Let's have a look at him," replied Mr. Sponge, throwing his right-leg over Hercules' head, and sliding from the saddle on to the ground, as if he were alighting from the quietest shooting pony in the world. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 27 All then was hurry, scurry, and scamper to get this second prodigy out. Presently he appeared. Multuni in Parvo certainly was all that Buckram described him. A long, low, clean-headed, clean-necked, big-hocked, chesnut, with a long tail, and great, large, flat, white legs, without mark or blemish upon them. Unlike Hercules, there was nothing indicative of vice or mischief about him. Indeed, he was rather a sedate, meditative looking animal ; and, instead of the watch- ful, arms'-length sort of way Leather and Co. treated Hercules, they jerked and punched Parvo about as if he were a cow. Still Parvo had his foibles. He was a resolute, head-strong ani- mal, that would go his own way in spite of all the pulling and hauling in the world. If he took it into his obstinate head to turn into a par- ticular field, into it he would be ; or against the gate-post he would bump the rider's leg in a way that would make him remember the difference of opinion between them. His was not a fiery, hot-headed spirit, with object or reason for its guide, but just a regular downright pig-headed sort of stupidity, that nobody could account for. He had a mouth like a bull, and would walk clean through a gate sometimes rather than be at the trouble of rising to leap it ; at other times he would hop over it like a bird. He could not beat Mr. Buckram's men, because they were always on the look out for objects of contention with sharp spur rowels, ready to let into his sides the moment he began to stop ; but a weak or a timid man on his back had no more chance than he would on an elephant. If the horse chose to carry him into the midst of the hounds at the meet, he would have him in — nay, he would think nothing of upsetting the master himself in the middle of the pack. Then the provoking part was, that the obstinate animal, after having done all the mischief, would just set to to eat as if nothing had happened. After rolling a sportsman in the mud, he would re- pair to the nearest hay-stack or grassy bank and be caught. He was now ten years old, or a leetle more perhaps, and very wicked years some of them had been. His adventures, his sellings and his return- ings, his lettings and unlettings, his bumpings and spillings, his slash- ings and crashings, on the road, in the field, in single and in double harness, would furnish a volume of themselves ; and in default of a more able historian, we purpose blending his future fortune with that of " Ercles," in the service of our hero Mr. Sponge, and his accom- plished groom, and undertaking the important narration of them our- selves. 28 mr. sponge's sporting tour. CHAPTER IV. LAVERICK WELLS. We trust our opening chapters will have enabled our readers to em- body such a Sponge in their mind's eye as will assist them in following us through the course of his peregrinations. We do not profess to have drawn such a portrait as will raise the same sort of Sponge in the minds of all, but we trust we have given such a general outline of style, and indication of character, as an ordinary knowledge of the world will enable them to imagine a good, pushing, free-and-easy sort of man, wishing to be a gentleman without knowing how. Far more difficult is the task of conveying to our readers such in- formation as will enable them to form an idea of our hero's ways and means. An accommodating world — especially the female portion of it — generally attribute ruin to the racer, and fortune to the fox- hunter ; but though Mr. Sponge's large losses on the turf, as detailed by him to Mr. Buckram on the occasion of their deal or " job," would bring him in the category of the unfortunates ; still that representa- tion was nearly, if not altogether, fabulous. That Mr. Sponge might have lost a trifle on the great races of the year, we don't mean to deny, but that he lost such a sum as eighteen hundred on the Derby, and seven on the Leger, we are in a condition to contradict, for the best of all possible reasons, that he hadn't it to lose. At the same time we do not mean to attribute falsehood to Mr. Sponge — quite the contrary — it is no uncommon thing for merchants and traders, men who "talk in thousands," to -declare that they lost twenty thousand by this, or forty thousand by that, simply meaning that they didn't make it, and if Mr. Sponge, by taking the longest of the long odds against the most wretched of the outsiders, might have won the sums he named, he surely had a right to say he lost them when he didn't get them. It never does to be indigenously poor, if we may use such a term, and when a man gets to the end of his tether, he must have some- thing or somebody to blame rather than his own extravagance or im- prudence, and if there is no "rascally lawyer" who has bolted with his title-deeds, or fraudulent agent who has misappropriated his funds, why then, railroads, or losses on the turf, or joint-stock banks that have shut up at short notice, come in as the scapegoats. Very willing hacks they are, too, railways especially, and so frequently ridden, that it is no easy matter to discriminate between the real and the fictitious loser. mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 29 But though we are able to contradict Mr. Sponge's losses on the turf, we are sorry we are not able to elevate him to the riches the character of a fox-hunter generally inspires. Still, like many men of whom the common observation is, " nobody knows how he lives," Mr. Sponge always seemed well to do in the world. There was no appear- ance of want about him. He always hunted ; sometimes with five horses, sometimes with four, seldom with less than three, though at the period of our introduction he had come down to two. Neverthe- less, those two, provided he could but make them " go," were well calculated to do the work of four. And hack horses, of all sorts, it may be observed, generally do double the work of private ones ; and if there is one man in the world better calculated to get the work out of them than another, that man most assuredly is Mr. Sponge. And this reminds us, that we may as well state that his bargain with Buckram was a sort of jobbing deal. He had to pay ten guineas a month for each horse, with a sort of sliding scale of prices if he chose to buy — the price of "Erclcs" (the big brown) being fixed at fifty, inclusive of hire at the end of the first month, and gradually rising according to the length of time he kept him beyond that; while " Multuin in Parvo," the resolute chesnut, was booked at thirty, with the right of buying at five more, a contingency that Buckram little expected. He, we may add, had got him for ten, and dear he thought him when he got him home. The world was now all before Mr. Sponge where to choose; and not being the man to keep hack-horses to look at, we must be setting him a-going. il Leicestersheer swells," as Mr. Buckram would call them, with their fourteen hunters and four hacks, will smile at the idea of a man going from home to hunt with only a couple of " screws," but Mr. Sponge knew what he was about; and didn't want any one to counsel him. He knew there were places where a man can follow up the effect produced by a red coat in the morning to great advantage in the evening; and if he couldn't hunt every day in the week, as he could have wished, he felt he might fill up his time perhaps quite as profitably in other ways. The ladies, to do them justice, are never at all suspicious about men — on the " nibble " — always taking it for granted, they are " all they could wish," and they know each other so well, that any cautionary hint acts rather in a man's favor than otherwise. Moreover, hunting men, as we said before, are all supposed to be rich, and as very few ladies are aware that a horse can't hunt every day in the week, they just class the whole " genus " fourteen-horse power men, ten-horse power men, five-horse power men, two-horse power men, together, and tying them in a bunch, label it " very rich" and proceed to take measures accordingly. Let us now visit one of the " strongholds " of fox and fortune- hunting. 30 mil. sponge's sporting tour. A sudden turn of a long, gently-rising, but hitherto uninteresting road, brings the posting traveller suddenly upon the rich, well-wooded, beautifully undulating vale of Fordingford, whose fine green pastures are brightened with occasional gleams of a meandering river, flowing through the centre of the vale. In the far distance, looking as though close upon the blue hills, though in reality several miles apart, sundry spires and taller buildings are seen rising above the gray mists towards which a straight, undeviating, matter-of-fact line of railway passing up the right of the vale, directs the eye. This is the famed Laverick Wells, the resort, as indeed all watering-places are, according to News- paper accounts, of " Knights and dames, And all that wealth and lofty lineage chum." At the period of which we write, however, " Laverick Wells" was in great feather — it had never known such times. Every house, every lodging, every hole and corner was full, and the great hotels, which more resemble Lancashire cotton-mills than English hostelries, were sending away applicants in the most off-hand, indifferent way. The Laverick Wells hounds had formerly been under the manage- ment of the well-known Mr. Thomas Slocdolager, a hard-riding, hard- bitten, hold-harding sort of sportsman, whose whole soul was in the thing, and who would have ridden over his best friend in the ardor of the chase. In some countries such a creature may be considered an acquisi- tion, and so long as he reigned at the Wells, people made the best they could of him, though it was painfully apparent to the livery- stable keepers, and others, who had the best interest of the place at heart, that such a red-faced, gloveless, drab-breeched, mahogany-booted buffer, who would throw off at the right time, and who resolutely set his great stubbly-cheeked face against all show meets and social in- tercourse in the field, was not- exactly the man for a civilised place. Whether time might have enlightened Mr. Slocdolager as to the fact, that continuous killing of foxes, after fatiguingly long runs, was not the way to the hearts of the Laverick Wells sportsmen, is unknown, for on attempting to realise as fine a subscription as ever appeared upon paper, it melted so in the process of collection, that what was realised was hardly worth his acceptance; so saying, in his usual blunt way, that if he hunted a country at his own expense he would hunt one that wasn't encumbered with fools, he just stamped his little wardrobe into a pair of old black saddle-bags, and rode out of town without saying " tar, tar," good-bye, carding, or P. P. C.-ing anybody. This was at the end of a season, a circumstance that considerably mitigated the inconvenience so abrupt a departure might have occa- sioned, and as one of the great beauties of Laverick Wells is, that it is just as much in vogue in summer as in winter, the inhabitants con- MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 31 soled themselves with the old aphorism-, that there is as " good fish in the sea as ever came out of it," and cast about in search of some one to supply his place at as small cost to themselves as possible. In a place so replete with money and the enterprise of youth, little diffi- culty was anticipated, especially when the old bait of " a name " being all that was wanted, " an ample subscription," to defray all expenses figuring in the background, was held out. CHAPTER V. MR. WAFFLES. Among a host of most meritorious young men — (any of whom would get up behind a bill for five hundred pounds without looking to see that it wasn't a thousand) — among a host of most meritorious young men who made their appearance at Laverick Wells towards the close of Mr. Slocdolager's reign, was Mr. Waffles; a most enterprising youth, just on the verge of arriving of age, and into the possession of a very considerable amount of charming ready money. Were it not that a " proud aristocracy," as Sir Robert Peel called them, have shown that they can get over any little deficiency of birth if there is sufficiency of cash, we should have thought it necessary to make the best of Mr Waffles' pedigree, but the tide of of opinion evidently setting the other way, we shall just give it as we had it, and let the proud aristocracy reject him if they like. Mr. Waffles' father, then, was either a great grazier or a brazier — which, we are unable to say, " for a small drop of ink having fallen," not " like dew," but like a black beetle, on the first letter of the word in our correspondent's communication, it may do for either — but in one of which trades he made " a mint of money," and latish on in life mar- ried a lady who hitherto had filled the honourable office of dairy-maid in his house ; she was a fine handsome woman, and a year or two after the birth of this their only child, he departed this life, nearer eighty than seventy, leaving an "inconsolable," &c, who unfortunately con- tracted matrimony with a master pork-butcher, before she got the fine flattering white monument up, causing young Waffles to be claimed for dry-nursing by that expert matron the High Court of Chancery ; who, of course, had him properly educated — where, it is immaterial to relate, as we shall step on till we find him at college. Our friend, having proved rather too vivacious for the Oxford Dons, had been recommended to try the effects of the Laverick Wells, or any other waters he liked, and had arrived with a couple of 32 MR. SPONGE'S SrOItTING TOUR. hunters and a hack, much to the satisfaction of the neighbouring master of hounds and his huntsman ; for Waffles had ridden over and maimed more hounds to his own share, during the two seasons he had been at Oxford, than that gentleman had been in the habit of > appropriating to the use of the whole university. Corresponding with that gentleman's delight at getting rid of him was Mr. Sloc- dolager's dismay at his appearance, for fully satisfied that Oxford was the seat of fox-hunting as well as of all the other arts and sciences, Mr. "Waffles undertook to enlighten him and his huntsman on the mysteries of their calling, and " Old Sloe," as he was called, being a very silent man, while Mr. Waffles was a very noisy one, Sloe was nearly talked deaf by him. Mr. Waffles was just in the hey-day of hot, rash, youthful indis- cretion and extravagance. He had not the slightest idea of the value of money, and looked at the fortune he was so closely approaching as perfectly inexhaustible. His room's, the most spacious and splendid at that most spacious and splendid hotel, the " Imperial," were filled with a profusion of the most useless but costly articles. Jewellery without end, pictures innumerable, pictures that represented all sorts of imaginary sums of money, just as they represented all sorts of imaginary scenes, but whose real worth or genuineness would never be tested till the owner wanted to u convert them." Mr. Waffles was a " pretty man." Tall, slim, and slight, with long curly light hair, pink and white complexion, visionary whiskers, and a tendency to moustache that could best be seen sideways. He had light blue eyes; while his features generally were good, but ex- pressive of little beyond great good-humour. In dress, he was both smart and various ; indeed, we feel a difficulty in fixing him in any particular costume, so frequent and opposite were his changes. He had coats of every cut and colour. Sometimes he was the racing man with a bright-button'd Newmarket brown cut-away, and white- cord trousers, with drab cloth-boots ; anon, he would be the officer, and shine forth in a fancy forage cap cocked jauntily over a profu- sion of well-waxed curls, a richly -braided surtout, with military over- alls strapped down over highly-varnished boots, whose hypocritical heels would sport a pair of large rowelled, long-necked, ringing, brass spurs. Sometimes he was a Jack tar, with a little glazed hat, a once- round tye, a checked shirt, a blue jacket, roomy trousers, and broad-stringed pumps ; and, before the admiring ladies had well di- gested him in that dress, he would be seen cantering away on a long- tailed white barb, in a pea-green duck-hunter, with cream-coloured leather and rose-tinted tops. He was "All things by turns, and nothing long." Such was the gentleman elected to succeed the silent, matter-of- fact Mr. Slocdolager in the important office of Master of the Laver- MR. SrONGE's SPORTING TOUR. 33 ick Wells Hunt ; and whatever may be the merits of either — upon which we pass no opinion — it cannot be denied that they were essen- tially different. Mr. Slocdolager was a man of few words, and not at all a ladies' man. He could not even talk when he was crammed with wine, and though he could hold a good quantity, people soon found out they might just as well pour it into a jug as down his throat, so they gave up asking him out. He was a man of few coats, as well as of few words ; one on, and one off, being the extent of his wardrobe. His scarlet was growing plum-colour, and the rest of his • hunting-costume has been already glanced at. He lodged above Sniallbones, the veterinary-surgeon, in a little back street, where he lived in the quietest way, dining when he came in from hunting, — dressing, or rather changing, only when he was wet, hunting each fox again over his brandy-and-water, and bundling off to bed long before many of his " field " had left the dining-room. He was little better than a better sort of huntsman. Waffles, as we said before, had made himself conspicuous towards the close of Mr. Slocdolager's reign, chiefly by his dashing costume, his reckless riding, and his off-hand way of blowing up and slander- ing people. Indeed, a stranger would have taken him for the master, a delu- sion that was heightened by his riding with a formidable-looking sherry-case, in the shape of a horn, at his saddle. Save when engaged in sucking this, his tongue was never at fault. It was jabber, jabber, jabber ; chatter, chatter, chatter ; prattle, prattle, prattle ; occasion- ally about something, oftener about nothing, but in cover or out, stiff country or open, trotting or galloping, wet day or dry, good scenting day or bad, Waffles' clapper never was at rest. Like all noisy chaps, too, he could not bear any one to make a noise but himself. In furtherance of this, he called in the aid of his Oxfordshire rhetoric. He would holloo at people, designating them by some peculiarity that he thought he could wriggle out of, if necessary, instead of attacking them by name. Thus, if a man spoke, or placed himself where Waffles thought he ought not to be (that is to say, any where but where Waffles was himself), he would exclaim, " Pray, sir, hold your tongue ! — you, sir ! — no, sir, not you — the man that speaks as if he had a brush in his throat ! " — or, " Do come away, sir ! — you, sir ! — the man in the mushroom-looking hat ! " — or, " that gentleman in the parsimonious boots ! " looking at some one with very narrow tops. Still he was a rattling, good-natured, harum-scarum fellow ; and masterships of hounds, memberships of Parliament — all expensive un- money-making offices, — being things that most men are anxious to foist upon their friends, Mr. Waffles' big talk and interference in the field procured him the honour of the first refusal. Not that he was the man to refuse, for he jumped at the offer, and, as he would be of age before the season came round, and would have got all his money 2* 34 mr. sponge's sporting tour. out of Chancery, he disdained to talk about a subscription, and boldly took the hounds as his own. He then became a very important per- sonage at Laverick Wells. He had always been a most important personage among the ladies, but as the men couldn't marry him, those who didn't want to borrow money of him, of course, ran him down. It used to be, " Look at that dandified ass, Watties, I declare the sight of him makes me sick ; " or, l' What a barber's apprentice that fellow is, with his ringlets all smeared with Macassar." Now it was Waffles this, and Waffles that, " Who dines with Waffles ? " " Waffles is the best fellow under the sun ! By Jingo, I know no such man as Waffles ! " " Most deserving young man ! " In arriving at this conclusion, their judgment was greatly assisted by the magnificent way he went to work. Old Tom Towler, the whip, who had toiled at his calling for twenty long years on fifty pounds and what he could " pick up," was advanced to a hundred and fifty, with a couple of men under him. Instead of riding worn-out, tumble-down, twenty-pound screws, he was mounted on hundred- guinea horses, for which the dealers were to have a couple of hun- dred, when they were paid. Every thing was in the same propor- tion. Mr. Waffles' succession to the hunt made a great commotion among the fair — many elegant and interesting young ladies, who had been going on the pious tack against the Reverend Solomon Wink- eyes, the popular bachelor-preacher of St. Margaret's, teaching in his schools, distributing his tracts, and collecting the penny subscriptions for his clothing club, now took to riding in fan-tailed habits and feathered hats, and talking about leaping and hunting, and riding over rails. Mr. Waffles had a pound of hat-strings sent him in a week, and muffatees innumerable. Some, we are sorry to say, worked him cigar-cases. He, in return, having expended a vast of toil and inge- nuity in inventing a " button;" now had several dozen of them worked up into brooches, which he scattered about with a liberal hand. It was not one of your matter-of-fact story-telling buttons — a fox with " Tally-ho," or a fox's head grinning in grim death — making a red coat look like a miniature butcher's shamble, but it was one of your queer twisting lettered concerns, that may pass either for a military button, or a naval button, or a club button, or even for a livery but- ton. The letters, two W's, were so skilfully entwined, that even a com- positor— and compositors arc people who can read almost anything — would have been puzled to dccypher it. The letters were gilt, riveted on steel, and the wearers of the button-brooches were very soon dub- bed by the non recipients, " Mr. Waffles' sheep." A fine button naturally requires a fine coat to put it on, and many were the consultations and propositions as to what it should be. Mr. Slocdolager had done nothing in the decorative department, and mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 35 many thought the failure of funds was a good deal attributable to that fact. Mr. Waffles was not the man to lose an opportunity of adding another costume to his wardrobe, and after an infinity of trouble, and trials of almost all the colours of the rainbow, he at length settled the following uniform, which, at least, had the charm of novelty to recommend it. The morning, or hunt coat, was to be scarlet, with a cream-coloured collar and cuffs; and the evening, or dress coat, was to be cream-coloured, with a scarlet collar and cuffs, and scarlet silk facings and linings, looking as if the wearer had turned the morning one inside out. Waistcoats, and other articles of dress, were left to the choice of the wearer, experience having proved that they are articles it is impossible to legislate upon with any effect. The old ladies, bless their disinterested hearts, alone looked on the hound freak with other than feelings of approbation. They thought it a pity he should take them. They wished he mightn't injure himself — hounds were expensive things — led to hab- its of irregularity — should be sorry to see such a nice young man as Mr. Waffles led astray — not that it would make any difference to them, but — (looking significantly at their daughters). No fox had been hunted by more hounds than Waffles had been by the ladies ; but though he had chatted and prattled with fifty fair maids — any one of whom he might have found difficult to resist, if " pinned " single- handed by, in a country house, yet the multiplicity of assailants com- pletely neutralized each other, and verified the truth of the adage that there is " safety in a crowd." If pretty, lisping, Miss Wordsworth thought she had shot an arrow home to his heart over night, a fresh smile and dart from lit- tle Mary Ogleby's dark eyes extracted it in the morning, and made him think of her till the commanding figure and noble air of the Honourable Miss Letitia Amelia Susannah Jemima de Jenkins, in all the elegance of first-rate millinery and dressmakership, drove her completely from his mind, to be in turn displaced by some one more bewitching. Mr. Waffles was reputed to be made of money, and he went at it as though he thought it utterly impossible to get through it. He wa3 greatly aided in his endeavours by the fact of its being all in the funds — a great convenience to the spendthrift. It keeps him constantly in cash, and enables him to " cut and come again," as quick as ever he likes. Land is not half so accommodating ; neither is money on mortgage. What with time spent in investigating a title, or giving notice to " pay in," an industrious man wants a second loan by the time, or perhaps before he gets the first. Acres are not easy of conversion, and the mere fact of wanting to sell implies a defi- ciency somewhere. With money in the funds, a man has nothing to do but lodge a power of attorney with his broker, and write up for four or five thousand pounds, just as he would write to his bootmaker 36 MR. for four or five pairs of boots, the only difference being, that in all probability the money would be down before the boots. Then, with money in the funds, a man keeps up his credit to the far end — the last thousand telling no more tales than the first, and making just as good a show. "We are almost afraid to say what Mr. Waffles' means were, but we really believe, at the time he came of age, that he had 100,000Z. in the funds, which were nearly at " par " — a term expressive of each hundred being worth a hundred, and not eight}T-nine or ninety pounds as is now the case, which makes a considerable difference in the melt- ing. Now a real bona fide 100,000Z. always counts as three in com- mon parlance, which latter sum would yield a larger income than gilds the horizon of the most mercenary mother's mind, say ten thousand a-year, which we believe is generally allowed to be " v — a — a — ry handsome." No wonder, then, that Mr. Waffles was such a hero. Another great recommendation about him was, that he had not had time to be much plucked. Many of the young men of fortune that appear upon town have lost half their feathers on the race-course or the gaming table before the ladies get a chance at them ; but here was a nice fresh- coloured youth, with all his downy verdure full upon him. It takes a vast of clothes, even at Oxford prices, to come to a thousand pounds, and if we allow four or five thousand for other extravagancies, he could not have done much harm to a hundred thousand. Our friend, soon finding that he was " cock of the walk," had no notion of exchanging his greatness for the nothingness of London, and, save going up occasionally to see about opening the flood-gates of his fortune, he spent nearly the whole summer at Laverick Wells. A fine season it was, too — the finest season the Wells had ever known. When at length the long London season closed, there was a rush of rank and fashion to the English watering-places, quite unparalleled in the " recollection of the oldest inhabitants." There were blooming widows in every stage of grief and woe, from the becoming cap to the fashionable corset and ball flounce — widows who would never forget the dear deceased, or think of any other man — unless he had at least five thousand a year. Lovely girls, who didn't care a farthing if the man was " only handsome ; " and smiling mammas " egging them on," who would look very different when they came to the horrid £. s. d. And this mercantile expression leads us to the observation that we know nothing so dissimilar as a trading town and a watering-place. In the one, all is bustle, hurry, and activity ; in the other, people don't seem to know what to do to get through the day. The city and west-end present somewhat of the contrast, but not to the extent of manufacturing or sea-port towns and watering- places. Bathing-places are a shade better than watering-places in the way of occupation, for people can sit staring at the sea, count- mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 37 ing the ships, or polishing their nails with a shell, "whereas at water- ing-places, they have generally little to do but to stare at and talk of each other, and mark the progress of the day, by alternately drinking at the wells, eating at the hotels, and wandering between the library and the railway-station. The ladies get on better, for where there are ladies there are always fine shops, and what between turning over the goods, and sweeping the streets with their trains, making calls, and arranging partners for balls, they get through their time very pleasantly ; but what is " life " to them is often death to men. CHAPTER VI. LAVERICK WELLS. The flattering accounts Mr. Sponge read in the papers of the dis- tinguished company -assembled at Laverick Wells, together with de- tails of the princely magnificence of the wealthy commoner, Mr. Waffles, who appeared to entertain all the world at dinner after each day's hunting, made Mr. Sponge think it would be a very likely place to suit him. Accordingly, thither he despatched Mr. Leather with the redoubtable horses by the road, intending to follow in as many hours by the rail as it took them days to trudge on foot. Railways have helped hunting as well as other things, and enable a man to glide down into the grass " sheers," as Mr. Buckram calls them, with as little trouble, and in as short a time almost, as it took him to accomplish a meet at Croydon, or at the Magpies at Staines. But to our groom and horses. Mr. Sponge was too good a judge to disfigure the horses with the miserable, pulpy, weather-bleached job-saddles and bridles of " livery," but had them properly turned out with well-made, slightly- worn London ones of his own, and nice, warm, brown woollen rugs, below broadly-bound, blue-and-white-striped sheeting, with richly- braided lettering, and blue and white cordings. A good saddle and bridle makes a difference of ten pounds in the looks of almost any horse. There is no need because a man rides a hack-horse to pro- claim it to all the world : a fact that few hack-horse letters seem to be aware of. Perhaps, indeed, they think to advertise them by means of their inferior appointments. Leather, too, did his best to keep up appearances, and turned out in a very stud-groomish-looking, basket-button'd, brown cut-away, with a clean striped vest, ample white cravat, drab breeches and boots, that looked as though they had brushed through a few bull- 38 mr. sponge's sporting tour. finches; and so they had, but not with Leather-legs in them, for he had bought them second-hand of a pad groom in distress. His hands were encased in cat's-skin sable gloves, showing that he was a gentle- man who liked to be comfortable. Thus accoutred, he rode down Broad Street at Laverick Wells looking like a fine, faithful old family servant, with a slight scorbutic affection of the nose. He had every- thing correctly arranged in true sporting marching order. The collar-shanks were neatly coiled under the headstalls, the clothing tightly rolled and balanced above the little saddle-bags on the led horse, " Multum in Parvo's " back, with the story-telling whip stick- ing through the roller. Leather arrived at Laverick Wells just as the first shades of a November night were drawing on, and anxious mammas and care- ful chaperons were separating their fair charges from their respective admirers and the dreaded night air, leaving the streets to the gas- light men and youths " who love the moon." The girls having been withdrawn, licentious youths linked arms, and bore down the broad pave, quizzing this person, laughing at that, and staring the pin- stickers and straw-chippers out of countenance. " Here's an arrival ! " exclaimed one. " Dash my buttons, who have we here ? " asked another, as Leather hove in sight. friend Mr. Sponge wending his way home moodily, after having lost his day at Larkhall Hill. Some of our readers will, perhaps, say, why didn't he clap on, and try to catch up the hounds at a check, or at all events rejoin them, for an afternoon fox ? Gentle reader ! Mr. Sponge did not hunt on those terms ; he was a front- rank or a " nowhere " man, and independently of catching hounds up, being always a fatiguing and hazardous speculation, especially on a fine-scenting day, the exertion would have taken more out of his horse than would have been desirable for successful display in a second run. Mr. Sponge, therefore, determined to go home. As he sauntered along, musing on the mishaps of the chase, won- dering how Miss Jawleyford would look, and playing himself an occasional tune with his Bpur against his stirrup, who should come trotting behind him but Mr. Leather on the redoubtable chestnut ? Mr. Sponge beckoned him alongside. The horse looked blooming and bright ; his eye was clear and cheerful, and there was a sort of Bpringy, graceful action that looked like easy going. MR. sponge's sporting- tour. 183 One always fancies a horse most with another man on him. We see all his good points without feeling his imperfections — his trippings, or startings, or snatchings, or borings, or roughness of action, and Mr. Sponge proceeded to make a silent estimate of Multum-in- Parvo's qualities as he trotted gently along on the grassy side of the somewhat wide road. " By Jove ! it's a pity but his lordship had seen him," thought Sponge, as the emulation of companionship made the horse gradually increase his pace, and steal forward with the lightest, freest action imaginable. " If he was but all right," continued Sponge, with a shake of the head, " he would be worth any money, for he has the strength of a dray-horse, with the symmetry and action of a racer." Then Sponge thought he shouldn't have an opportunity of show- ing the horse till Thursday, for Jack had satisfied him that the next day's meet was quite beyond distance from Jawleyford Court. " It's a bore," said he, rising in his stirrups, and tickling the piebald with his spurs, as if he were going to set-to for a race. He thought of having a trial of speed with the chestnut, up a slip of turf they were now approaching ; but a sudden thought struck him, and he desisted. " These horses have done nothing to-day," he said; " why shouldn't I send the chestnut on for to-morrow?" " Do you know where the cross-roads are ? " he asked his groom. " Cross-roads, cross-roads — what cross-roads ? " replied Leather. " Where the hounds meet to-morrow." " Oh, the cross-roads at Somethin' Burn," rejoined Leather, thoughtfully, — "no, 'deed, I don't," he added. "From all 'counts, they seem to be somewhere on the far side of the world." That was not a very encouraging answer ; and feeling it would require a good deal of persuasion to induce Mr. Leather to go in search of them without clothing and the necessary requirements for his horses, Mr. Sponge went trotting on, in hopes of seeing some place where he might get a sight of the map of the county. So they proceeded in silence, till a sudden turn of the road brought them to the spire and housetops of the little agricultural town of Barleyboll. It differed nothing from the ordinary run of small towns. It had a pond at one end, an inn in the middle, a church at one side, a fash- ionable milliner from London, a merchant tailor from the same place, and a hardware shop or two, where they also sold treacle, Dartford gunpowder, pocket handkerchiefs, sheep-nets, patent medicines, cheese, blacking, marbles, mole-traps, men's hats, and other miscellaneous articles. It was quite enough of a town, however, to raise a presump- tion that there would be a map of the county at the inn. u We'll just put the horses up for a few minutes, I think," said Sponge, turning into the stable-yard at the end of the Bed Lion Hotel and Posting House ; adding, " I want to write a' letter, and perhaps," said he, looking at his watch, " you may be wanting 3 our dinner." 184 mr. sponge's sporting tour. Having resigned his horse to his servant, Mr. Sponge walked in, receiving the marked attention usually paid to a red coat. Mine host left his bar, where he was engaged in the usual occupation of drinking with customers for the " good of the house." A map of the county, of such liberal dimensions, was speedily produced, as would have terrified any one unaccustomed to distances and scales on which maps are laid clown. For instance, Jawleyford Court, as the crow flies, was the same distance from the cross-roads at Dallington Burn as York was from London, in a map of England hanging beside it. " It's a goodish way," said Sponge, getting a lighter off the chimney-piece, and measuring the distances. " From Jawleyford Court to Billingsborough Rise, say seven miles; from Billingsborough Rise to Downington Wharf, other seven ; from Downington Wharf to Shapcot, which seems the nearest point, will be — say five or six, perhaps — nineteen or twenty in all. Well, that's my work," he observed, scratching his head, " at least, my hack's ; and from here, home," he continued, measuring away as he spoke, " will be twelve or thirteen. Well, that's nothing," he said. " Now for the horse," he continued, again applying the lighter in a different direction. "From here to Hardington, will be, say eight miles; from Harding- ton to Bewley, other five ; eight and five are thirteen ; and there, I should say, he might sleep. That would leave ten or twelve miles for the morning ; nothing for a hack hunter ; 'specially such a horse as that, and one that's done nothing for I don't know how long." Altogether, Mr. Sponge determined to try it, especially consider- ing that if he didn't get Tuesday, there would be nothing till Thurs- day ; and he was not the man to keep a hack hunter standing idle. Accordingly he sought Mr. Leather, whom he found busily engaged in the servants' apartment, with a cold round of beef and a foaming flagon of ale before him. " Leather," he said, in a tone of authority, " I'll hunt to-nior- row — ride the horse I should have ridden to-day." " Where at ? " asked Leather, diving his fork into a bottle of pickles, and fishing out an onion. " The cross-roads," replied Sponge. " The cross-roads be fifty mile from here ! " cried Leather. " Nonsense ! " rejoined Sponge ; " I've just measured the dis- tance. It's nothing of the sort." " How far do you make it, then ? " asked Leather, tucking in the beef. " Why, from here to Hardington, is about six, and from Harding- ton to Bewley, four — ten in all," replied Sponge. " You can stay at Bewley all night, and then it is but a few miles on in the morning." " And whativer am I to do for clothin' ? " asked Leather, add- ing, " I've nothin' with me — nothin' nouther for oss nor man." 185 " Oh, the ostler '11 lend you what you want," replied Sponge, in a tone of determination ; adding, " you can make shift for one night, surely ? " " One night, surely ! " retorted Leather. " D'ye think an oss can't be ruined in one night ? — humph ! " " I'll risk it," said Sponge. " But I won't," replied Leather, blowing the foam from the tank- ard, and taking a long swig at the ale. " I thinks I knows my duty to my gov'nor better nor that," continued he, setting it down. " I'll not see his waluable 'unters stowed away in pigsties — not I, indeed." The fact was, Leather had an invitation to sup with the servants at Jawleyford Court that night, and he was not going to be done out of his engagement, especially as Mr. Sponge only allowed him two shillings a day for expenses wherever he was. " Well, you're a cool hand, anyhow," observed Mr. Sponge, quite taken by surprise. " Cool 'and, or not cool 'and," replied Leather, munching away, " I'll do my duty to my master. I'm not one o' your coatless, char- acterless scamps wot 'ang about livery-stables ready to do anything they're bid. No, Sir, no," he continued, pronging another onion; "I have some regard for the hinterest o' my master. I'll do my duty in the station o' life in which I'm placed, and won't be 'fraid to face no man." So saying Mr. Leather cut himself a grand circumference of beef. Mr. Sponge was taken aback, for he had never seen a conscien- tious livery-stable helper before, and did not believe in the existence of such articles. However, here was Mr. Leather assuming a virtue, whether he had it or not ; and Mr. Sponge being in the man's power, of course durst not quarrel with him. It was clear that Leather would not go ; and the question was, what should Mr. Sponge do ? " Why shouldn't I go myself? " he thought, shutting his eyes, as if to keep his faculties free from outward distraction. He ran the thing quickly over in his mind. " What Leather can do, I can do," he said, remembering that a groom never demeaned himself by working where there was an ostler. " These things I have on will do quite well for to-morrow, at least among such rough-and-ready dogs as the Flat Hat men, who seem as if they had their clothes pitched on with a fork." His mind was quickly made up, and calling for pen, ink, and paper, he wrote a hasty note to Jawleyord, explaining why he would not cast up till the morrow ; he then got the chestnut out of the sta- ble, and desiring the ostler to give the note to Leather, and tell him to go home with his hack, he just rode out of the yard without giving Leather the chance of saying " nay." He then jogged on at a pace suitable to the accurate measurement of the distance. 186 mr. sponge's sporting tour. The horse seemed to like having Sponge's red coat on better than Leather's brown, and champed his bit, and stepped away quite gaily. " Confound it ! " exclaimed Sponge, laying the rein on its neck, and leaning forward to pat him ; " it's a pity but you were always in this humour— you'd be worth a mint of money if you were." He then resumed his seat in the saddle, and bethought him how he would show them the way on the morrow. " If he doesn't beat every horse on the field, it shan't be my fault," thought he ; and thereupon he gave him the slightest possible touch with the spur, and the horse shot away up a strip of grass like an arrow. " By Jove, but you can go ! " said he, pulling up as the grass ran out upon the hard road. Thus he reached the village of Hardington, which he quickly cleared, and took the well-defined road to Bewley — a road adorned with milestones and set out with a liberal horse-track at either side. Day had closed ere our friend reached Bewley, but the children returning from school, and the country folks leaving their work, kept assuring him that he was on the right line, till the lights of the town bursting upon him as he rounded the hill above, showed him the end of his journey. The best stalls at the head inn — the Bull's Head — were all full, several trusty grooms having arrived with the usual head-stalls and rolls of clothing on their horses, denoting the object of their mission. Most of the horses had been in some hours, and were now standing well littered up with straw, while the grooms were in the tap talking over their masters, discussing the merits of their horses, or arguing whether Lord Scamperdale was mad or not. They had just come to the con- clusion that his lordship was mad, but not incapable of taking care of his affairs, when the trampling of Sponge's horse's feet drew them out to see who was coming next. Sponge's red coat at once told his tale, and procured him the usual attention. Mr. Leather's fear of the want of clothing for the valuable hunter proved wholly ground- less, for each groom having come with a plentiful supply for his own horse, all the inn stock was at the service of the stranger. The stable, to be sure, was not quite so good as might be desired, but it was warm and water-tight, and the corn was far from bad. Altogether, Mr. Sponge thought he would do very well, and, having seen to his horse, proceeded to choose between beef-steaks and mutton-chops for his own entertainment, and with the aid of the old country paper and some very questionable port, he passed the evening in anticipation of the sports of the morrow. 187 CHAPTER XXIX. THE CR OSS- ROADS AT DALLINGTON BURN. "When his lordship and Jack mounted their hacks in the morning to go to the cross-roads at Dallington Burn, it was so dark that they could not see whether they were on bays or browns. It was a dull, murky day, with heavy spongy clouds overhead. There had been a great deal of rain in the night, and the horses poached and squashed as they went. Our sportsmen, however, were prepared as well for what had fallen as for what might come ; for they were encased in enormously thick boots, with baggy overalls, and coats and waistcoats of the stoutest and most abundant order. They had each a sack of a macintosh strapped on to their saddle fronts. Thus they went blobbing and groping their way along, varying the monotony of the journey by an occasional spurt of muddy water up into their faces, or the more nerve-trying noise of a floundering stumble over a heap of stones by the roadside. The country people stared with astonishment as they passed, and the muggers and tinkers, who were withdrawing their horses from the farmers' fields, stood trembling, lest they might be the " pollis" coming after them. " I think it'll be a fine day," observed his lordship, after they had bumped for some time in silence without its getting much lighter. " I think it will be a fine day," he said, taking his chin out of his great puddingy-spotted neckcloth, and turning his spectacled face up to the clouds. " The want of light is its chief fault," observed Jack ; adding, " it's deuced dark ! " " Ah, it'll get better of that," observed his lordship. " It's not much after eight yet," he added, staring at his watch, and with diffi- culty making out that it was half-past. " Days take off terribly about this time of year," he observed ; " T've seen about Christmas when it has never been rightly light all day long." They then floundered on again for some time further as before. " Shouldn't wonder if we have a large field," at length observed Jack, bringing his hack alongside his lordship's. " Shouldn't wonder if Puff himself was to come — all over brooches and rings as usual," replied his lordship. " And Charley Slapp, I'll be bound to say," observed Jack. " He's a regular hanger-on of Puff's." " Ass, that Slap," said his lordship ; " hate the sight of him ! " " So do I," replied Jack ; adding, " hate a hanger-on ! " 188 MR. sponge's sporting tour. " There are the hounds," said his lordship, as they now approached Culverton Dean, and a line of something white was discernible travel- ling the zig-zagging road on the opposite side. " Are they, think you ? " replied Jack, staring through his great spectacles ; " are they, think you ? - It looks to me more like a nock of sheep." " I believe you're right," said his lordship, staring too ; " indeed I hear the dog. The hounds, however, can't be far ahead." They then drew into single file to take the broken horse-track through the steep woody dean. " This is the longest sixteen miles I know," observed Jack, as they emerged from it, and overtook the sheep. " It is," replied his lordship, spurring his hack, who was now be- ginning to lag : " the fact is, it's eighteen," he continued ; " only if I was to tell Frosty it was eighteen, he would want to lay over-night, and that wouldn't do. Besides the trouble and inconvenience, it would spoil the best part of a five-pund note 5 and five-pund notes don't grow upon gooseberry- bushes — at least not in my garden." " Rather scarce in all gardens just now, I think," observed Jack ; " at least I never hear of anybody with one to spare." " Money's like snow," said his lordship, " a very meltable article ; and talking of snow," he said, looking up at the heavy clouds, " I wish we mayn't be going to have some — I don't like the look of things overhead." " Heavy," replied Jack; " heavy : however, it's due about now." " Due or not due," said his lordship, " it's a thing one never wishes to come; anybody may have my share of snow that likes — frost too." The road, or rather track, now passed over Blobbington Moor, and our friends had enough to do to keep their horses out of peat holes and bogs, without indulging in conversation. At length they cleared the moor, and, pulling out a gap at the corner of the inclo- sures, cut across a few fields, and got on to the Stumptington turn- pike. " The hounds are here," said Jack, after studying the muddy road for some time. " They'll not be there long," replied his lordship, " for Grabtintoll Gate isn't far a-head, and we don't waste our substance on pike3." His lordship was right. The imprints soon diverged up a muddy lane on the right, and our sportsmen now got into a road so deep and bottomless as to put the idea of stones quite out of the question. " Hang the road ! " exclaimed his lordship, as his hack nearly came on his nose, "hang the road! " repeated he, adding, " if Puff wasn't such an ass, I really think I'd give him up the cross-road country." 1 " It's bad to get at from us," observed Jack, who didn't like such trashing distances. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 189 " Ah ! but it's a rare good country when you get to it," replied his lordship, shortening his rein and spurring his steed. The lane being at length cleared, the road became more practica- ble, passing over large pastures where a horseman could choose his own ground, instead of being bound by the narrow limits of the law. But though the road improved, the day did not ; a thick fog came drifting up from the south-east in aid of the general obscurity of the scene. " The day's gettin' wuss" observed Jack, snuffling and staring about. " It'll blow over," replied his lordship, who was not easily disheart- ened. " It'll blow over," repeated he, adding, " often rare scents such days as these. But we must put on," continued he, looking at his watch, " for it's half-past, and we are a mile or more off yet." So saying, he clapped spurs to his hack and shot away at a canter, followed by Jack at a long drawn u hammer and pincers" trot. A hunt is something like an Assize circuit, where certain great guns show every where, and smaller men drop in here and there, snatch- ing a day or a brief, as the case may be. Sergeant Bluff and Sergeant Huff rustle and wrangle in every court, while Mr. Meeke and Mr. Sneeke enjoy their frights on the forensic arenas of their respective towns, on behalf of simple neighbours, who look upon them as thorough Solomons. So with hunts. Certain men who seem to have been sent into the world for the express purpose of hunting, arrive at every meet, far and near, with a punctuality that is truly surprising, and rarely associated with pleasure. If you listen to their conversation, it is generally a dissertation on the previous day's sport, with inquiries as to the nearest way to cover the next. Sometimes it is seasoned with censure of some other pack they have been seeing. These men are mounted and appointed in a manner that shows what a perfect profession hunting is with them. Of course they come cantering to cover, lest any one should suppose they ride their horses on. The " Cross Roads" was like two hunts or two circuits joining, for it generally drew the picked men from each, to say nothing of outriggers and chance customers. The regular attendants of either hunt were sufficiently distinguishable as well by the flat hats and baggy garments of the one, as by the dandified, Jemmy Jessamy air of the other. If a lord had not been at the head of the Flat Hats, the Pnffington women would have considered them insufferable snobs. But to our day. As usual, where hounds have to travel a long distance, the field were assembled before they arrived. Almost all the cantering gen- tlemen had cast up. One cross-road meet being so much like another, it will not be worth while describing the one at Dallington Burn. The reader will 190. . have the kindness to imagine a couple of roads crossing an open common, with an armless sign-post on one side, and a rubble-stone bridge, with several of the coping-stones lying in the shallow stream below, on the other. The country round about, if any country could have been seen, would have shown wild, open, and cheerless. Here a patch of wood, there a patch of heath, but its general aspect bare and unfruitful. The commanding outline of Beechwood Forest was not visible for the weather. Time now, let us suppose, half-past ten, with a full muster of horsemen and a fog making unwonted dulness of the scene — the old sign-pole being the most conspicuous object of the whole. Hark ! what a clamour there is about it. It's like a betting-post at Newmarket. How loud the people talk ! what's the news ? Queen Ann dead, or is there another French revolution, or a fixed duty on corn? Reader, Mr. Pumngton's hounds have had a run, and the Flat Hat men are disputing it. " Nothing of the sort ! nothing of the sort ! " exclaims Fossick, " I know every yard of the country, and you can't make more nor eight of it anyhow, if eight." " Well, but I've measured it on the map," replied the speaker (Charley Slapp himself), " and it's thirteen, if it's a yard." " Then the country's grown bigger since my day," rejoins Fossick, " for I was dropped at Stubgrove, which is within a mile of where you found, and I've walked, and I've ridden, and I've driven every yard of the distance, and you can't make it more than eight, if it's as much. Can you, Capon ? " exclaimed Fossick, appealing to another of the " flat brims," whose luminous face now shone through the fog. " No," replied Capon ; adding, " not so much, I should say." Just then up trotted Frostyface with the hounds. " Good morning, Frosty ! good morning ! " exclaimed half-a-dozen voices, that it would be difficult to appropriate from the denseness of the fog. Frosty and the whips make a general salute with their caps. " Well, Frosty, I suppose you've heard what a run we had yester- day ? " exclaims Charley Slapp, as soon as Frosty and the hounds are settled. " Had they, sir — had they ? " replies Frosty, with a slight touch of his cap and a sneer. " Glad to hear it, sir — glad to hear it. Hope they killed sir — hope they killed ? " with a still slighter touch of the cap. " Killed, aye ? — killed in the open just below Crabstone Green, in your country ; " adding, " It was one of your foxes, I believe." " Glad of it, sir — glad of it, sir," replies Frosty. " They wanted blood sadly — they wanted blood sadly. Quite welcome to one of our foxes, sir — quite welcome. That's a brace and a 'alf they've killed.'' " Brace and a ha-r-r-f ! " drawls Slapp, in well-feigned disgust ; " brace and a ha-r-r-f ! — why, it makes them ten brace, and six run to ground." MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 191 " Oh, don't tell me" retorts Frosty, with a shake of disgust ; " don't tell me. I knows better — I knows better. They'd only killed a brace siuce they began hunting up to yesterday. The rest were all cubs, poor things — all cubs, poor things ! Mr. Puffington's hounds are not the sort of animals to kill foxes : nasty, skirtin', flashy, jealous divils ; alway starin' about for holloas and assistance. I'll be d — d if I'd give eighteen pence for the 'ole lot on 'em." A loud guffaw from the Flat Hat men greeted this wholesale condemnation. The Puffing-ton men looked unutterable things, and there is no saying what disagreeable comparisons might have been instituted (for the Puffingtonians mustered strong) had not his lord- ship and Jack cast up at the moment. Hats off and politeness was then the order of the day. " Mornin'," said his lordship, with a snatch of his hat in return, as he pulled up and stared into the cloud-enveloped crowd ; " Morn- in', Fyle ; mornin', Fossick," he continued, as he distinguished those worthies, as much by their hats as anything else. " Where are the horses ? " he said to Frostyface. " Just beyond there, my lord," replied the huntsman, pointing with his whip to where a cockaded servant was " to-and-froing " a couple of hunters — a brown and a chestnut. " Let's be doing," said his lordship, trotting up to them and throwing himself off his hack like a sack. Having divested himself of his muddy overalls, he mounted the brown, a splendid sixteen hands horse in tip-top condition, and again made for the field in all the pride of masterly equestrianism. A momentary gleam of sun- shine shot o'er the scene; a jerk of the head acted as a signal to throw off, and away they all moved from the meet. Thorneybush Gorse was a large eight-acre cover, formed partly of gorse and partly of stunted blackthorn, with here and there a sprinkling of Scotch firs. His lordship paid two pound a-year for it, having vainly tried to get it for thirty shillings, which was about the actual value of the land, but the proprietor claimed a little compen- sation for the trampling of horses about it ; moreover, the Puffington men would have taken it at two pounds. It was a sure find, and the hounds dashed into it with a scent. The field ranged themselves at the accustomed corner, both hunts full of their previous day's run. Frostyface's " Yoicks, wind him ! " " Yoicks, push him up ! " was drowned in a medley of voices. A loud clear shrill " Tally-ho, away ! " from the far side of the cover caused all tongues to stop, and all hands to drop on the reins. Great was the excitement ! Each hunt was determined to take the shine out of the other. "Twang, twang, twang!" "Tweet, tweet, tweet!'1'' went his lordship's and Frostyface's horns, as they came bounding over the 192 mr. sponge's sporting tour. gorse to the spot, with the eager pack rushing at their horses' heels. Then, as the hounds crossed the line of scent, there was such an out- burst of melody in cover, and such gathering of reins and thrusting on of hats outside ! The hounds dashed out of cover as if somebody was kicking them. A man in scarlet was seen flying through the fog, producing the usual hold-hardings, " Hold hard sir ! " " God bless you, hold hard sir ! " with inquiries as to " who the chap was that was going to catch the fox." " It's Lumpleg ! " exclaimed one of the Flat Hat men. " No, it's not ! " roared a Pufnngtonite ; " Lumpleg's here." "Then it's Charley Slapp ; he's always doing it," rejoined the first speaker. " Most jealous man in the world." " Is he ! " exclaimed Slapp, cantering past at his ease on a thorough-bred grey, as if he could well afford to dispense with a start. Reader ! it was neither Lumpleg nor Slapp, nor any of the Puffington snobs, or Flat Hat swells, or Pufimgton swells, or Flat Hat snobs. It was our old friend Sponge ; Monsieur Tonson again ! Having arrived late, he had posted himself, unseen, by the cover side, and the fox had broke close to him. Unfortunately, he had headed him back, and a pretty kettle of fish was the result. Not only had he headed him back, but the resolute chestnut, having taken it into his head to run away, had snatched the bit between his teeth, and carried him to the far side of a field ere Sponge managed to manoeuvre him round on a very liberal semicircle, and face the now flying sportsmen, who came hurrying on through the mist like a charge of yeomanry after a salute. All was excitement, hurry- scurry, and horse-hugging, with the usual spurring, elbowing, and exertion to get into places ; Mr. Fossick considering he had as much right to be before Mr.' Fyle, as Mr. Fyle had to be before old Capon. It apparently being all the same to the chestnut which way he went so long as he had his run, he now bore Sponge back as quickly as he had carried him away, and with y awning mouth, and head in the air, he dashed right at the coming horsemen, charging Lord Scamperdale full tilt as he was in the act of returning his horn to its case. Great was the collision ! His lordship flew one way, his horse another, his hat a third, his whip a fourth, his spectacles a fifth ; in fact, he was scattered all over. In an instant he lay the centre of a circle, kicking on his back like a lively turtle. " Oh ! I'm kilt ! " he roared, striking out as if he was swimming, or rather floating. " I'm kilt ! " he repeated. " He's broken my back, — he's broken my legs, — he's broken my ribs, — he's broken my collar-bone, — he's knocked my right eye into the heel of my left boot. Oh! will nobody catch him anil kill him? Will nobody do for him ? Will you see an English nobleman knocked about like a nine-pin?" added his lordship, scrambling up to go in pursuit of MR. sponge's sporting tour. 193 Mr. Sponge himself, exclaiming, as lie stood shaking his fist at him, " Rot ye, Sir ! hangings too good for ye ! you should he condemned to hunt in Berwickshire the rest of your life ! " CHAPTER XXX. BOLTING THE BADGER. \ "When a man and his horse differ seriously in public, and the man feels the horse has the best of it, it is wise for the man to appear to accommodate his views to those of the horse rather than risk a defeat. It is best to let the horse go his way, and pretend it is yours. There is no secret so close as that between a rider and his horse. Mr. Sponge, having scattered Lord Scamperdale in the summary way described in our last chapter, let the chestnut gallop away, con- soling himself with the idea that even if the hounds did hunt, it would be impossible for him to show his horse to advantage on so dark and unfavourable a day. He, therefore, just let the beast gallop till he began to flag, and then he spurred him, and made him gallop on his account. He thus took his change out of him, and arrived at Jawleyford Court a little after luncheon time. Brief as had been his absence, things had undergone a great change. Certain dark hints respecting his ways and means had worked their way from the servants' hall to my lady's chamber, and into the upper regions generally. These had been augmented by Leathers the trusty groom's, overnight visit, in fulfilment of his engagement to sup with the servants. Nor was Mr. Leather's anger abated by the unceremonious way Mr. Sponge rode off with the horse, leaving him to hear of his departure from the ostler. Having broken faith with him, he considered it his duty to be " upsides with him, and tell the servants all he knew about him. Accordingly he let out, in strict confidence of course, to Spigot, that so far from Mr. Sponge being a gentleman of " fortin," as he called it, with a dozen or two hunters planted here and there, he was nothing but the hirer of a couple of hacks, with himself as a job-groom, by the week. Spigot, who was on the best of terms with the " cook-house-keeper," and had his clothes washed on the sly in the laundry, could not do less than communicate the intelligence to her, from whom it went to the lady's-maid, and thence circulated in the upper regions. Juliana, the maid, finding Miss Amelia less indisposed to hear Mr. Sponge run down than she expected, proceeded to add her own observations to the information derived from Leather, the groom. 9 194 MR. SPONGE'S SrORTING TOUR. "Indeed, she couldn't say that she thought much of Mr. Sponge herself; his shirts were coarse, so were his pocket-handkerchiefs; and she never yet saw a real gent without a valet." Amelia, without any positive intention of giving up Mr. Sponge, at least not until she saw further, had nevertheless got an idea that she was destined for a much higher sphere. Having duly considered all the circumstances of Mr. Spraggon's visit to Jawleyford Court, conned over several mysterious coughs and half-finished sentences he had indulged in, she had about come to the conclusion that the real object of his mission was to negotiate a matrimonial alliance on behalf of Lord Scamperdale. His lordship's constantly expressed intention of getting married, was well calculated to mislead one whose experience of the world was not sufficiently great to know that those men who are always talking about it are the least likely to get mar- ried, just as men who are always talking about buying horses are the men who never do buy them. Be that, however, as it may, Amelia was tolerably easy about Mr. Sponge. If he had money she could take him, if he hadn't, she could let him alone. Jawleyford, too, who was more hospitable at a distance, and in imagination than in reality, had had about enough of our friend. Indeed, a man whose talk was of hunting, and his reading " Mogg," was not likely to have much in common with a gentleman of taste and elegance, as our friend set up to be. The delicate inquiry that Mrs. Jawleyford now made, as to " whether he knew Mr. Sponge to be a man of fortune," set him of at a tangent. " Me know he's a man of fortune ! I know nothing of his for- tune. You asked him here, not me," exclaimed Jawleyford, stamping furiously. " No, my dear," replied Mrs. Jawleyford, mildly; "he asked himself, you know; but I thought, perhaps, you might have said something that " "Me say anything!" interrupted Jawleyford; "/never said anything — at least, nothing that any man with a particle of sense would think anything of," continued he, remembering the scene in the billiard-room. " It's one thing to tell a man, if he comes your way, you'll be glad to see him, and another to ask him to come bag and baggage, as this impudent Mr. Sponge has done," added he. " Certainly," replied Mrs. Jawleyford, who saw where the shoe was pinching her bear. " I wish he was off," observed Jawleyford, after a pause. " He bothers me excessively — 111 try and get rid of him by saying we are going from home." " Where can you say we are going to ? " asked Mrs. Jawleyford. "Oh, anywhere," replied Jawleyford; "he doesn't know the people about here ; the Tewkesburys, the Woolertons, the Browns, • — anybody." mr. sponge's sporting tour. 195 Before tliey had got any definite plan of proceeding arranged, Mr. Sponge returned from the chase. " Ah, my dear sir ! " exclaimed Jawleyford, half gaily, half mood- ily, extending a couple of fingers as Sponge entered his study ; " we thought you had taken French leave of us, and were off." Mr. Sponge asked if his groom had not delivered his note. " No," replied Jawleyford, boldly, though he had it in his pocket ; " at least, not that I've seen. Mrs. Jawleyford, perhaps, may have got it," added he. "Indeed! " exclaimed Sponge; "it was very idle of him." He then proceeded to detail to Jawleyford what the reader already knows, how he had lost his day at Larkhall Hill, and had tried to make up for it by going to the cross-roads. " Ah ! " exclaimed Jawleyford, when he was done ; " that's a pity — great pity — monstrous pity — never knew anything so unlucky in my life." " Misfortunes will happen," replied Sponge, in a tone of un- concern. " Ah, it wasn't so much the loss of the hunt I was thinking of," replied Jawleyford, " as the arrangements we have made in conse- quence of thinking you were gone." " What are they ? " asked Sponge. " Why, my Lord Barker, a great friend of ours — known him from a boy — just like brothers, in short — sent over this morning to ask us all there — shooting party, charades, that sort of thing — and we accepted." "But that need make no difference," replied Sponge; "I'll go too." Jawleyford was taken aback. He had not calculated upon so much coolness. " Well," stammered he, " that might do, to be sure ; but — if — I'm not quite sure that I could take any one " " But if you're as thick as you say, you can have no difficulty," replied our friend. "True," replied Jawleyford; "but then we go a large party ourselves — two and two's four," said he, " to say nothing of servants ; besides, his lordship mayn't have room — house will most likely be full." " Oh, a single man can always be put up ; shake down — anything does for him," replied Sponge. " But you would lose your hunting," replied Jawleyford. " Bark- ington Tower is quite out of Lord Scamperdale's country." "That doesn't matter," replied Sponge; adding, " I don't think I'll trouble his lordship much more. These Flat Hat gentlemen are not over and above civil, in my opinion." "Well," replied Jawleyford, nettled at this thwarting of bis attempt, " that's for your consideration. However, as you've come? 196 mr. sponge's sporting tour. I'll talk to Mrs. Jawleyford, and see if we can get off the Barking- ton expedition." " But don't get off on my account," replied Sponge. " I can stay here quite well. I dare say you'll not be away long." This was worse still ; it held out no hope of getting rid of him. Jawleyford therefore resolved to try and smoke and starve him out. When our friend went to dress he found his old apartment, the state- room, put away, the heavy brocade curtains brown-hollanded, the jugs turned upside down, the bed stripped of its clothes, and the looking-glass laid a-top of it. The smirking housemaid, who was just rolling the fireirons up in the hearth-rug, greeted him with a " Please, sir, we've shifted you into the brown room, east," leading the way to the condemned cell that "Jack" had occupied, where a newly-lit fire was puffing out dense clouds of brown smoke, obscuring even the gilt letters on the back of " Mogg's Cab Fares," as the little volume lay on the toilet- table. " What's happened now ? " asked our friend of the maid, putting his arm around her waist, and giving her a hearty squeeze. " What's happened now, that you've put me into this dog-hole ? " asked he. "Oh! I don't know," replied she, laughing; "I s'pose they're afraid you'll bring the old rotten curtains down in the other room with smokin'. Master's a sad old wife," added she. A great change had come over everything. The fare, the lights, the footmen, the everything, underwent grievous diminution. The lamps were extinguished : and the transparent wax gave way to Pal- mer's composites, under the influence of whose unsearching light the young ladies sported their dashed dresses with impunity. Competi- tion between them, indeed, was about an end. Amelia claimed Mr. Sponge, should he be worth having, and should the Scamperdale scheme fail ; while Eniity, having her mamma's assurance that he would not do for either of them, resigned herself complacently to what she could not help. Mr. Sponge, on his part, saw that all things portended a close. He cared nothing about the old willow-pattern set usurping the place of the Jawleyford-armed china ; but the contents of the dishes were bad, and the wine, if possible, worse. Most palpable Marsala did duty for sherry, and the corked port was again in requisition. Jawleyford was no longer the brisk, cheery-hearted Jawleyford of Laverick Wells, but a crusty, fidgetty, fire-stirring sort of fellow, desperately given to his Morning Post. Worst of all, when Mr. Sponge retired to his den to smoke a cigar and study his dear cab fares, he was so suffocated with smoke that he was obliged to put out the fire, notwithstanding the weather was cold, indeed inclining to frost. He lit his cigar notwithstanding ; and, as he indulged in it, he ran all the circumstances of his situation mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 197 through his mind. His pressing invitation — his magnificent recep- tion— the attention of the ladies — and now the sudden change every- thing had taken. He couldn't make it out, somehow; but the consequences were plain enough. " The fellow's a humbug," at length said he, throwing the cigar-end away, and turning into bed, when the information Watson the keeper gave him, on arriving, recurred to his mind, and he was satisfied that Jawleyford was a humbug. It was clear Mr. Sponge had made a mistake in coming ; the best thing he could do now was to back out, and see if the fair Amelia would take it to heart. In the midst of his cogitations Mr. Puffignton's pressing invitation occurred to his mind, and it appeared to be the very thing for him, affording him an immediate asylum within reach of the fair lady, should she be likely to die. Next day he wrote to volunteer a visit. Mr. Pufiington, who was still in ignorance of our friend's real character, and still believed him to be a second " Nimrod " out on a u tour," was overjoyed at his letter ; and strange to relate, the same post that brought his answer jumping at the proposal, brought a letter from Lord Scamperdale to Jawleyford, saying that, " as soon as Jawleyford was quite alone (scored under) he would like to pay him a visit." His lordship, we should inform the reader, notwith- standing his recent mishap, still held out against Jack Spraggon's recommendation to get rid of Mr. Sponge by buying his horses, and he determined to try this experiment first. His lordship thought at one time of entering into an explanation, telling Mr. Jawleyford the damage Sponge had done him, and the nuisance he was entailing upon him by harbouring him ; but not being a great scholar, and several hard words turning up that his lordship could not well clear in the spelling, he just confined himself to a laconic ; which, as it turned out, was a most fortunate course. Indeed, he had another difficulty besides the spelling, for the hounds having as usual had a great run after Mr. Sponge had floored him — knocking his right eye into the heel of his left boot, as he said — in the course of which run his lord- ship's horse had rolled over him on a road, he was like the railway people — unable to distinguish between capital and income — unable to say which were Sponge's bangs and which his own ; so, like a hard cricket-ball sort of a man as he was, he just pocketed all, and wrote as we have described. His lordship's and Puffington's letters diffused joy into a house that seemed likely to be distracted with trouble. So then endeth our thirtieth chapter, and a very pleasant ending for we leave every one in perfect good humour and spirits. Sponge pleased at having got a fresh billet, Jawleyford delighted at the coming of the lord, and each fair lady pratising in private how to sign her christian name in conjunction with " Scamperdale." 198 MR. SPONGE S SPOP.TING TOUR. CHAPTER XXXI. MR. PUFFINGTON ; OR, THE YOUNG MAN ABOUT TOWN. Mr. Puffington took the Mangeysterne, now the Hanby hounds, because he thought they would give him consequence. Not that he was particularly deficient in that article ; but being a new man in the county, he thought that taking them would make him popular, and give him standing. He had no natural inclination for hunting, but seeing friends who had no taste for the turf take upon themselves the responsibility of stewardships, he saw no reason why he should not make a similar sacrifice at the shrine of Diana. Indeed, Puff was not bred for a sportsman. His father, a most estimable man, and one with whom we have spent many a convivial evening, was a great starchmaker at Stepney ; and his mother was the daughter of an eminent Worcestershire stone-china maker. Save such ludicrous hunts as they might have seen on their brown jugs, we do not believe either of them had any acquaintance whatever with the chase. Old Puffington was, however, what a wise heir esteems a greal deal more — an excellent man of business, and amassed mountains of money. To see his establishment at Stepney, one would think the whole world was going to be starched. Enormous dock-tailed dray-horses emerged with ponderous waggons heaped up to the very skies, while others would come rumbling in laden with wheat, potatoes, and other starch- making ingredients. Puffington's blue roans were well known about town, and were considered the handsomest horses of the day ; quite equal to Barclay and Perkins's piebalds. Old Puffington was not like a sportsman. He was a little, soft, rosy, round-about man, with stiff resolute leg3 that did not look as if they could be bent to a saddle. He was great, however, in a gig, and slouched like a sack. Mrs. Puffington, we Smith, was a tall, handsome woman, who thought a good deal of herself. When she and her spouse married, they lived close to the manufactory, in a sweet little villa replete with every elegance and convenience — a pond, which they called a lake ; laburnums without end ; a yew clipped into a , dock-tailed waggon- horse ; standing for three horses and gigs, with an acre and a half of land for a cow. Old Puffington, however, being unable to keep those dearest documents of a British merchant, his balance-sheets, to himself, and Mrs. Puffington finding a considerable sum going to the " good " every year, insisted, on the birth of their only child, our friend, upon migrating to the " west," as she called it, and at one bold stroke they mr. sponge's sporting tour. 199 established themselves in Heathcote-street, Mecklenburgh-square. Novelists had not then written this part down as " Mesopotamia," and it was quite as genteel as Harley or Wimpole-street are now. Their chief object then was to increase their wealth and make their only son a "gentleman." They sent him to Eton, and in due time to Christ Church, where, of course, he established a red coat, to per- secute Sir Thomas Mostyn's and the Duke of Beaufort's hounds, much to the annoyance of their respective huntsmen, Stephen Good- all and Philip Payne, and the aggravation of poor old Griff. Lloyd. What between the field and college, young Puffington made the acquaintance of several very dashing young sparks — Lord Fire- brand, Lord Mudlark, Lord Deuceace, Sir Harry Blueun, and others, whom he always spoke of as " Deuceace," " Blueun," &c, in the easy style that marks the perfect gentleman.* How proud the old people were of him ! How they would sit listening to him, flashing, and telling how Deuceace and he floored a Charley, or Blueun and he pitched a snob out of the boxes into the pit. This was in the old Tom-and-Jerry days, when fistycuffs were the fashion. One evening, after he had indulged us with a more than usual dose, and was leav- ing the room to dress for an eight o'clock dinner at Long's, " Buzzer! " exclaimed the old man, clutching our arm, as the tears started to his eyes, " Buzzer! that's an amaazin instance of a pop'lar man ! " And certainly, if a large acquaintance is a criterion of popularity, young Puffington, as he was then called, had his fair share. He once did us the honour — an honour we never shall forget — of walking down Bond-street with us, in the spring-tide of fashion, of a glorious sum- mer's day, when you could not cross Conduit-street under a lapse of a quarter of an hour, and carriages seemed to have come to an inter- minable lock at the Piccadilly end of the street. In those days great people went about like great people, in handsome hammer- clothed, arms-emblazoned coaches, with plethoric three-corner-hatted coachmen, and gigantic, lace-bedizened, quivering-calved Johnnies, instead of rumbling along like apothecaries in pill-boxes, with a handle inside to let themselves out. Young men, too, dressed as if they were dressed — as if they were got up with some care and attention — instead of wearing the loose, careless, flowing, sack-like garment they do now. We remember the day as if it were but yesterday ; Puffington overtook us in Oxford-street, where we were taking our usual saunter- ing stare into the shop windows, and instead of shirking or slipping behind our back, he actually ran his arm up to the hilt in ours, and turned us into the middle of the flags, with an " Ah, Buzzer, old boy, what are you doing in this debauched part of the town ? come along with me, and I'll show you Life ! " * Query, " snob ? " — Printer's DeviL 200 MR. sponge's sporting tour. So saying we linked arms, and pursuing our course at a proper kill-time sort of pace, we were at length brought up at the end of Vere-street, along which there was a regular rush of carriages, cutting away as if they were going to a fire instead of to a finery shop. Many were the smiles, and bows, and nods, and finger kisses, and bright eyes, and sweet glances, that the^fair flyers shot at our friend as they darted past. We were lost in astonishment at the sight. " Verily," said we, '• but the old man was right. This is an amaazin instance of a pop'lar man." Young Puflmgton was then in the heyday of youth, about one- and-twenty or so, fair-haired, fresh-complexioned, slim, and standing, with the aid of high-heeled boots, little under six feet high. He had taken after his mother, not after old Tom Trodgers, as they called his papa. At length we crossed over Oxford-street, and taking the shady side of Bond-street, were quickly among the real swells of the world — men who crawled along as if life was a perfect burden to them — men with eye-glasses fixed and tasseled canes in their hands, scarcely less ponderous than those borne by the footmen. Great Heavens ! but they were tight, and smart, and shiny ; and Puflmgton was just as tight, and smart, and shiny as any of them. He was as much in his element here as he appeared to be out of it in Oxford- street. It might be prejudice, or want of penetration on our part, but we thought he looked as high-bred as any of them. They all seemed to know each other, and the nodding, and winking, and jerking, began as soon as we got across. Puff kindly acted as cicerone , or we should not have been aware of the consequence we were encountering. " Well, Jemmy ? " exclaimed a debauched-looking youth to our friend, " how are you ? — breakfasted yet ? " " Going to," replied Puflmgton, whom they called Jemmy because his name was Tommy. " That," said he, in an undertone, "is a capital fellow, — Lord Legbail, eldest son of the Marquis of Loosefish — will be Lord Loose- fish. We were at the Finish together till six this morning — such fun ! — bonneted a Charley, stole his rattle, and broke an early break- fast-man's stall all to shivers." Just then up came a broad-brimmed hat, above a confused mass of great coats and coloured shawls. " Holloa, Jack ? " exclaimed Mr. Puflmgton, laying hold of a mother-of-pearl button, nearly as large as a tart-plate. — " not off yet?" " Just going," replied Jack, with a touch of his hat, as he rolled on ; adding, " want aught down the road ? " u What coachman is that ? " "Coachman!" replied Puff, with a snort; " that's Jack Linch- pin— Honourable Jack Linchpin — son of Lord Spliuterbars, — best gentleman coachman in England. So Puflmgton sauntered along good morninging " Sir Harrys," mh. sponge's sporting tour. 201 and " Sir Jameses," and " Lord Johns," and " Lord Toms," till see- ing a batch of irreproachable dandies flattening their noses against the windows of the Sailors' Old Club, in whose eyes, he perhaps thought, our city coat and country gaiters would not find much favour, he gave us a hasty parting squeese of the arm, and bolted into Long's just as a mountainous hackney-coach was rumbling between us and them. But to the old man. Time rolled on, and at length old Puffington paid the debt of nature — the only debt, by the way, that he was slow in discharging, and our friend found himself in possession, not only of the starch manufactory, but of a very great accumulation of consols — so great that, though starch is as inoffensive a thing as a man can well deal in, a thing that never obtrudes itself, or, indeed, appears in a shop, unless it is asked for ; notwithstanding all this, and though it was bringing him in lots of money, our friend determined to " cut the shop " and be done with trade altogether. Accordingly, he sold the premises and good-will, with all the stock of potatoes and wheat, to the foreman, old Soapsuds, at some- thing below what they were really worth, rather than make any row in the way of advertising ; and the name of " Soapsuds, Brothers, and Co." reigns on the blue-and-whity-brown parcel-ends, where formerly that of Puffington stood supreme. It is a melancholy fact, which those best acquainted with London society can vouch for, that her " swells " are a very ephemeral race. Take the last five-and-twenty years, — say from the days of the Golden Ball and Pea-grden Hayne down to those of Molly C 1 and Mr. D — 1 — f — Id, — and see what a succession of joyous — no, not joyous, but rattling, careless, dashing, sixty-per-centing youths we have had. And where are they all now ? Some dead, some at Boulogne-sur- Mer, some in Dennian Lodge, some perhaps undergoing the polite at- tentions of Mr. Commissioner Phillips, or figuring in Mr. Hemp's periodical publication of gentlemen "who are wanted." In speaking of " swells," of course we are not alluding to men with reference to their clothes alone, but to men whose dashing, and perhaps eccentric, exteriors are but indicative of their general system of extravagance. The man who rests his claims to distinction solely on his clothes will very soon find himself in want of society. Many things contribute to thin the ranks of our swells. Many, as we said before, outrun the constable. Some get fat, some get married, some get tired, and a few get wiser. There is, however, always a fine push- ing crop coming on. A man like Puffington, who starts a dandy (in contradistinction to a swell), and adheres steadily to clothes — talking eternally of the cuts of coats or the ties of cravats — up to the sober age of forty, must be always falling back on the rising genera- tion for society. Puffington was not what the old ladies called a profligate young u 202 MR. sponge's sporting tour. man. On the contrary, he was naturally a nice, steady young man ; and only indulged in the vagaries we have described because they were indulged in by the high-born and gay. Tom and Jerry had a great deal to answer for in the way of lead- ing soft-headed young men astray ; and old Puffington having had the misfortune to christen our friend " Thomas," of course his compan- ions dubbed him %' Corinthian Tom ; " by which name he has been known ever since. A man of such undoubted wealth could not be otherwise than a great favourite with the fair, and innumerable were the invitations that poured into his chambers in the Albany — dinner parties, evening parties, balls, concerts, bones for the opera ; and as each succeeding season drew to a close, invitations to those last efforts of the despe- rate, boating and white-bait parties. Corinthian Tom went to them all — at least, to as many as he could manage — always dressing in the most exemplary way, as though he had been asked to show his fine clothes instead of to make love to the ladies. Manifold were the hopes and expectations that he raised. Puff could not understand that, though it is all very well to be " an amaazin instance of a pop'lar man " with the men, that the same sort of thing does not do with the ladies. We have heard that there were six mammas, bowling about in their barouches, at the close of his second season, inuendoing, nod- ding, and hinting to their friends, " that, &c," when there wasn't one of their daughters who had penetrated the rhinoceros-like hide of his own conceit. The consequence was, that all these ladies, all their daughters, all the relations and connections of this life, thought it incumbent upon them to "blow" our friend Puff — proclaim how infamously he had behaved — all because he had danced three supper dances with one girl ; brought another a fine bouquet from Co vent Garden ; walked a third away from her party at a pic-nic at Erith ; begged the mamma of a fourth to take her to" a Woolwich ball ; sent a fifth a ticket for a Toxopholite meeting ; and dangled about the carriage of the sixth at a review at the Scrubbs. Poor Puff never thought of being more than an amaazin instance of a pop'lar man ! Not that the ladies' denunciations did the Corinthian any harm at first — old ladies know each other better than that ; and each new mamma had no doubt but Mrs. Depecarde or Mrs. Mainchance, as the case might be, had been deceiving herself — " was always doin<* so, indeed ; her ugly girls were not likely to attract any one — certainly not such an elegant man as Corinthian Tom."' But as season after season passed away, and the Corinthian still played the old game — still went the old rounds — the dinner and ball invitations gradually dwindled away, till he became a mere stop-gap at the one, and a landing-place appendage at the other. MR. sponge's sporting tour. 203 CHAPTER XXXII. THE MAN OF P-R-O-R-PERTY. And now behold Mr. Pufrmgton, fat, fair, and rather more than forty — Pufimgton, no longer the light limber lad who patronised us in Bond-street, but Pufimgton a plump, portly sort of personage, filling his smart clothes uncommonly full. Men no longer hailing him heartily from bay windows, or greeting him cheerily in short but familiar terms, but bowing ceremoniously as they passed with their wives, or perhaps turning down streets or into shops to avoid him. What is the last rose of summer to do under such circumstances ? What, indeed, but retire into the country ? A man may shine there long after he is voted a bore in town, provided none of his old friends are there to proclaim him. Country people are tolerant of twaddle, and slow of finding things out for themselves. Puff now turned his attention to the country, or rather to the advertisements of estates for sale, and immortal George Robbins soon fitted him with one of his earthly paradises ; a mansion replete with every modern elegance, luxury, and convenience, situated in the heart of the most lovely scenery in the world, with eight hundred acres of land of the finest quality, capable of growing forty bushels of wheat after turnips. In addition to the estate there was a lordship or reputed lordship to shoot over, a river to fish in, a pack of fox-hounds to hunt with, and the acl- vertisments gave a sly hint as to the possibility of the property influ- encing the representation of the neighbouring borough of Swilling- ford, if not of returning the member itself. This was Hanby House, and though the description undoubtedly partook of George's usual high-flown couleur-de-rose style, the manor being only a manor provided the owner sacrificed his interest in Swillingford by driving off its poachers, and the river being only a river when the tiny Swill was swollen into one, still Hanby House was a very nice attractive sort of place, and seen in the rich foliage of its summer dress, with alll its roses and flowering shrubs in full blow, the description was not so wide of the mark as Robbins's de- scriptions usually were. Puff bought it, and became what he called " a man of p-r-o-r-perty." To be sure, after he got possession he found that it was only an acre here and there that would grow forty bushels of wheat after turnips, and that there was a good deal more to do at the house than he expected, the furniture of the late occu- pants having hidden many defects, added to which they had walked off with almost everything they could wrench down, under the name of 204 mr. sponge's sporting tour. fixtures ; indeed, there was not a peg to hang up his hat when he entered. This, however, was nothing, and Puff very soon made it into one of the most perfect bachelor residences that ever was seen. Not but that it was a family house, with good nurseries and offices of every description ; but Puff used to take a sort of wicked pleasure in telling the ladies who came trooping over with their daughters, pretending they thought he was from home, and wishing to see the elegant furniture, that there was nothing in the nurseries, which he was going to convert into billiard and smoking rooms. This, and a few similar sallies, earned our friend the reputation of a wit in the country. There was a great rush of gentlemen to call upon him ; many of th^e mammas seemed to think that first come would be first served, and sent their husbands over, before he was fairly squatted. Various and contradictory were the accounts they brought home. Men are so stupid at seeing and remembering things. Old Mr. Muddle came back bemused with sherry, declaring that he thought Mr. Puffington was as old as he was (sixty-two), while Mrs. Mousetrap thought he wasn't more than thirty at the outside. She described him as " pain- fully handsome." Mr. Slowan couldn't tell whether the drawing- room furniture was chintz, or damask, or what it was ; indeed, he wasn't sure that he was in the drawing-room at all ; while Mr. Gapes insisted that the carpet was a Turkey carpet, whereas it was a royal cut pile. It might be that the smartness and freshness of everything confused the bucolic minds, little accustomed to wholesale grandeur. Mr. Puffington quite eclipsed all the old country families with their " company rooms " and put-away furniture. Then, when he began to grind about the country in his lofty mail-phaeton, with a pair of spanking, high-stepping bays, and a couple of arm-folded, lolling grooms, shedding his cards in return for their calls, there was such a talk, such a commotion as had never been known before. Then, indeed, he was appreciated at his true worth. " Mr. Puffington was here the other day," said Mrs. Smirk to Mrs. Smooth, in the well-known " great-cleal-morc-meant-than-said " style. " Oh such a charming man ! Such ease ! such manners ! such knowledge of high life ! " Puff had been at his old tricks. He had resuscitated Lord Leg- bail, now Earl of Loosefish ; imported Sir Harry Blueun from some- where Geneva, whither he had retired on marrying his mistress ; and resuscitated Lord Mudlark, who had broken his neck many years before from his tandem in Piccadilly. Whatever was said, Puff always had a duplicate or illustration involving a nobleman. The great names might be rather far-fetched at times, to be sure, but when people are inclined to be pleased, they don't keep putting that and that together to see how they fit, and whether they come na- turally, or are lugged in neck and heels. Puff's talk was very telling. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 205 One great man to a house is the usual country allowance, and many are not very long in letting out who theirs are ; but Puftmg- ton seemed to have the whole of the peerage, baronetage, and knight- age at command. Old Mrs. Slyboots, indeed, thought that he must be connected with the peerage some way ; his mother, perhaps, had been the daughter of a peer, and she gave herself an infinity of trouble in hunting through the " matches " — with what success it is not neces- sary to say. The old ladies unanimously agreed that he was a most agreeable, interesting young man ; and though the young ones did pretend to run him down among themselves, calling him ugly, and so on, it was only in the vain hope of dissuading each^her from think- ing of him. "" ' Mr. Pumngton still stuck to the " amaazin' pop'k'r man " char- acter ; a character that is not so convenient to support in the country as it is in town. The borough of Swillingforcl, as we have already intimated, was not the best conducted borough in*#te world ; indeed, when we say that the principal trade of the place was poaching, our country readers will be able to form a very accurate opinion on that head. When Puff took possession of Hanby there was a fair show of pheasants about the house, and a good sprinkling of hares and partridges over the estate and manor generally; but refusing to prosecute the first poachers that were caught, the rest took the hint, and cleared everything off in a week, dividing the plunder among them. They also burnt his river and bagged his fine Dorking fowls, and all these feats being accomplished with impunity, they turned their attention to his fat sheep. " Poacher " is only a mild term for " thief." Puff was a perfect milch-cow in the way of generosity. He gave to everything and everybody, and did not seem to be acquainted with any smaller sum than a five-pound note : a five-pound note to replace (riles Jolter's cart-horse (that used to carry his own game for the poachers to the poulterers at Plunderston) — five pounds to buy Dame Doubletongue another pig, though she had only just given three pounds for the one that died — five -pounds towards the fire at farmer Scratchley's, though it had taken place two years before Puff came into the country, and Scratchley had been living upon it ever since — and sundry other five pounds to other equally deserving and amiable people. He put his name down for fifty to the Mangey- sterne hounds without ever being asked ; which reminds us that we ought to be directing our attention to that noble establishment. It is hard to have to go behind the scenes of an ill-supported hunt, and we will be as brief and tender with the cripples as we can. The Mangeysterne hounds wanted that great ingredient of prosperity, a large nest-egg subscriber to whom all others could be tributary — paying or not as might be convenient. The consequence was they were always up the spout. They were neither a scratch pack nor a 206 MR. sponge's sporting tour. regular pack, but something betwixt and between. They were hunted by a saddler, who found his own horses, and sometimes he had a whip aM sometimes he hadn,'t. The establishment died as often as old Mantalini himself. Every season that came to a close was proclaimed to be their last, but somehow or other they always managed to scramble into existence on the approach of another. It is a way, indeed, that delicate packs have of recruiting their finances. Nevertheless, the Mangeysternes did look very like coming to an end about the time that Mr. Pufiington bought Hanby House. The saddler huntsman had failed ; John Doe had taken one of his screws, and Richard &^ the other, and anybody might have the hounds that liked : l^^fflfton then turned up. * Great w^PBI joy diffused throughout the Mangeysterne country when it trs^ispired, through the medium of his valet, Louis Berga- uiotl^, that " his lor' had beaucovp habit rouge " in his wardrobe. Not onl^ia^nV r^pe, but habit blue and buff, thai he used to sport with " Old Beaufoot " and the Badminton hunt — coats that he cer- tainly had no chance of ever getting into again, but still which he kept as memorials of the past — souvenirs of the days when he was young and slim. The bottle conjuror could just as soon have got into his quart bottle as Puff could into the Beaufort coat at the time of whi^h we are writing. The intelligence of their existence was quickly followed by the aforesaid fifty-pound cheque. A meet- ing of the Mangej«sterne mint was called at the sign of the Thirsty Freeman in Swillingford — Sir Charles Figgs, Knight — a large-pro- mising but badly-paying subscriber — in the chair, when it was pro- posed and carried unanimously that Mr. Pufiragton was eminently qualified for the mastership of the hunt, ana that it be offered to him accordingly. Puff " bit." He recalled his early exploits with " Mostyn and old Beaufoot," and resolved that the hunt had taken a right view of his abilities.- In coming to this decision he, perhaps, was not altogether uninfluenced by a plausible subscription list, which seemed about equal to the ordinary expenses, supposing that any reliance could be placed on the figures and calculations of Sir Charles. All those, however, who have had anything to do with subscription lists — and in these days of universal testimonialising who has not ? — well know that pounds upon paper and pounds in the pocket are very different things.. Above all, Puff felt that he was a new man in the' country, and that taking the hounds would give him weight. The " Mangeysterne dogs " then began to " look up; " Mr. Puff- ington took to them in earnest ; bought a " Beckford," and shortened his military stirrups to a hunting seat. MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 207 CHAPTER XXXIII. A SWELL HUNTSMAN. One evening the rattle of Puff's pole-chains, brought, in addition to the usual rush of shirt-sleeved helpers, an extremely smart, dapper little man, who might be either a jockey or a gentleman, or both, or neither. He was a clean-shaved, close-trimmed, spruce little fellow ; remarkably natty about the legs — indeed,, all over. His close- napped hat was carefully brushed, and what little hair appeared be- low its slightly curved brim was of the pepper and-salt-mixture of — say, fifty-years. His face, though somewhat wrinkled and weather- beaten, was bright and healthy ; and there was a twinkle about his little grey eyes that spoke of quickness and watchful observation. Altogether, he was a very quick-looking little man — a sort of man that would know what you were going to say before you had well broke ground. He wore no gills ; and his neatly-tied starcher had a white ground with small black spots, about the size of currants. The slight interregnum betweem it and his step-collared striped vest (blue stripe on a canary-coloured ground) showed three golden foxes' heads, acting as studs to his well-washed, neatly-plaited shirt ; while a sort of careless turn back of the right cuff showed similar orna- ments at his wrists. His single-breasted, cut-away coat was Oxford mixture, with a thin cord binding, and very natty light kerseymere mother-cf'-pearl buttoned breeches, met a pair of bright, beautifully- fitting, rose-tinted tops, that wrinkled most elegantly down to the Jersey-patterned spur. He was a remarkably well got-up little man, and looked the horseman all over. As he emerged from the stable, where he had been mastering the ins and outs of the establishment, learning what was allowed and what was not, what had not been found fault with and, therefore, might "be presumed upon, and so on, he carried the smart dogskin leather glove of one hand in the other, while the fox's head of a mas- sive silver-mounted jockey-whip peered from under his arm. On a ring round the fox's neck was the following inscription : — " From Jack Bragg to his cousin Dick." Mr. Puffington having drawn up his mail-phaeton, and thrown the ribbons to the active grooms at the horses' heads in the true coaching style, proceeded to descend from his throne, and had reached the ground ere he was aware of the presence of a stranger. Seeing him then, he made the sort of half obeisance of a man that does not know whether he is addressing a gentleman or a servant, or, may 208 be, a scamp, going about with a prospectus. Puff had been bit in the matter of some maps in London, and was wary, as all people ought to be, of these birds. The stranger came sidling up with a half bow, half touch of the hat, drawling out, "'Sceuuse me, sir — 'sceuuse me, sir," with another half bow and another half touch of the hat. " I'm Mister Bragg, sir — Mister Richard Bragg, sir ; of whom you have most likely heard." " Bragg — Richard Bragg," repeated our friend, thoughtfully, while he scanned the man's features, and run his sporting acquaint- ance through his mind's eye. " Bragg, Bragg," repeated he, without hitting him off. " I was huntsman, sir, to my Lord Reynard, sir," observed the stranger, with a touch of the hat to each " sir." " Thought p'raps you might have known his ludship, sir. Before him, sir, I held office, sir, under the Duke of Downeybird, sir, of Downeybird Castle, sir, in Downeybirdshire, sir." " Indeed?" replied Mr. Puffington, with a half bow and a smile of politeness. " Hearing, sir, you had taken these Mangeysterne dogs, sir," con- tinued the stranger, with rather a significant emphasis on the word " dogs " — " hearing, sir, you had taken these Mangeysterne dogs, sir, it occurred to me that possibly I might be useful to you, sir, in your new calling, sir ; and if you were of the same 'pinion, sir, why, sir, I should be glad to negotiate a connexion, sir." " Hem ! — hem ! — hem ! " coughed Mr. Puffington. " In the way of a huntsman do you mean ? " afraid to talk of servitude to so fine a gentleman. " Just so," said Mr. Bragg, with a chuck of his head — "just so. The fact is, though I'm used to the grass countries, sir, and could go to the Marquis of Maneylies, sir, to-morrow, sir, I should prefer a quiet place in a somewhat inferior country, sir, to a five-days-a-week one in the best. Five and six days a-week, sir, is a terrible tax, sir, on the constitution, sir ; and though, sir, I'm thankful to say, sir, I've pretty good 'ealth, sir, yet, sir, you know, sir, it don't do, sir, to take too great liberties with oneself, sir ; " Mr. Bragg sawing away at his hat as he spoke, measuring off a touch, as it were, to each " sir," the action becoming quick towards the end. " Why, to tell you the truth," said Puff, looking rather sheepish — " to tell you the truth — I intended — I thought at least of— of — of — hunting them myself." " Ah ! that's another pair of shoes altogether as we say in France," replied Bragg, with a low bow and a copious round of the hand to the hat. " That's another pair of shoes altogether," repeated he, tapping his boot with his whip. " Why, I thought of it," rejoined Puff, not feeling quite sure whether he could or not. MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 209 " Well," said Mr. Brags:, drawing on his dog-skin glove as if to be off. " My friend Swellcove does it," observed Puff. " True," replied Bragg, " true ; but my Lord Swellcove is one of a thousand. See how many have failed for one that has suc- ceeded. Why even my Lord Scamperdale was 'bliged to give it up, and no man rides harder than my Lord Scamperdale — always goes as if he had a spare neck in his pocket. But he couldn't 'unt a pack of 'ounds. Your gen'l'men 'untsmen are all very well on fine scentin' days when everything goes smoothly and well, and the 'ounds are tied to their fox as it were ; but see them in difficulties — a failing scent, 'ounds pressed upon by the field, fox chased by a dog, storm in the air, big brook to get over to make a cast. Oh, sir, sir, it makes even me, with all my acknowledged science and experience, shudder to think of the ordeal one undergoes ! " " Indeed," exclaimed Mr. Puffington, staring, and beginning to think it mightn't be quite so easy as it looked. " I don't wish sir, to dissuade you, sir, from the attempt, sir," continued Mr. Bragg ; "far from it, sir — for he, sir, who never makes an effort, sir, never risks a failure, sir, and in great attempts, sir, 'tis glorious to fail, sir ; " Mr. Bragg sawing away at his hat as he spoke, and then sticking the fox-head handle of his whip under his chin. Puff stood mute for some seconds. " My Lord Scamperdale," continued Mr. Bragg, scrutinising our friend attentively, " was as likely a man, sir, as ever I see'd, sir, to make a 'untsman, for he had a deal of ret (rat) ketchin' cunnin' about him, and, as I said before, didn't care one dim for his neck ; but a more signal disastrous failure was never recognised. It was quite lamentable to witness his proceedin's." jj How ? " asked Mr. Puffington. ■ How, sir ? " repeated Mr. Bragg ; " why, sir, in all wayses. He had no dog language, to begin with — he had little idea of makin' a cast — no science, no judgment, no manner — no nothin' — I'm dim'd if ever I see'd sich a mess as he made." Puff looked unutterable things. " He never did no good, in fact, till I fit him with Frostyface. / taught Frosty," continued Mr. Bragg. " He whipped in to me when I 'unted the Duke of Downeybird's 'ounds — nice, 'cute, civil chap he was — of all my pupils — and I've made some first-rate 'unts- men, I'm dim'd if I don't think Frostyface does me about as much credit as any on 'em. Ah, sir," continued Mr. Bragg, with a shake of his head; " take my word for it, sir, there's nothin' like a profes- sional. S-c-e-u-s-e me, sir," added he, with a low bow and a sort of military salute of his hat ; "but dim all gen'l'men 'untsmen say I." Mr. Bragg had talked himself into several good places, Lord 210 mr. sponge's sporting tour. Reynard's and the Duke of Downeybird's among others. He had never been able to keep any beyond his third season, his sauce or his science being always greater than the sport he showed. Still he kept up appearances, and was nothing daunted, it being a maxim of his, that " as one door closed another opened." Mr. Puffington's was the door that now opened for him. What greater humiliation can a free-born Briton be subjected to than paying a man eighty or a hundred pounds a-year, and finding him house, coals, and candles, and perhaps a cow, to be his master ? Such was the case with poor Mr. Puffington, and such we grieve to say, is the case with nine-tenths of the men who keep hounds ; with all, indeed, save those who can hunt themselves, or who are blessed with an aspiring whip, ready to step into the huntsman's boots if he seems inclined to put them off in the field. How many portly butlers are kept in subjection by having a footman ready to supplant them. Of all cards in the servitude pack, however, the huntsman's is the most difficult one to play. A man may say, " I'm dim'd if I won't clean my own boots or my own horse, before I'll put up with such a fellow's impudence; " but ^hen it comes to hunting his own hounds, it is quite another pair of shoes, as Mr. Bragg would say. Mr. Bragg regularly took possession of poor Puff; as regularly as a policeman takes possession of a prisoner. The reader knows the sort of feeling one has when a lawyer, a doctor, an architect, or any one whom we have called in to assist, takes the initiative, and treats one as a nonenity, pooh-poohing all one's pet ideas, and upsetting all one's well-considered arrangements. Bragg soon saw he had a greenhorn to deal with, and treated Puff accordingly. If a " perfect servant " is only to be got out of the establishments of the great, Mr. Bragg might be looked upon as a paragon of perfection, and now combined in his own person all the bad practices of all the places he had been in. Having " accepted Mr. Puffington's situation," as the elegant phraseology of servitude goes, he considered that Mr. Puffington had nothing more to do with the hounds, and that any interference in "his department " was a piece of impertinence. Puffington felt like a man who had bought a good horse, but which he finds on riding is rather more of a horse than he likes. He had no doubt that Bragg was a good man, but he thought he was rather more of a gentleman than he required. On the other hand, Mr. Bragg's opinion of his master may be gleaned from the following letter which he wrote to his successor, Mr. Brick, at Lord Reynard's : — " Ilanby House, Swillingford. " Dear Brick, " If your old man is done darning with your draft, I should like to have the pick of it. I'm with one Mr. Puffington, a city gent. MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 211 His father was a great confectioner in the Poultry, just by the Man- sion House, and made his money out of Lord Mares. I shall only stay with him till I can get myself suited in the rank of life in which I have been accustomel to move ; but in the mean time I consider it necessary for my own credit to do things as they should be. You know my sort of hound ; good shoulders, deep chests, strong loins, straight legs, round feet, with plenty of bone all over. I hate a weedy animal ; a small hound, light of bone, is only fit to hunt a kat in a kitchen. " I shall also want a couple of whips — not fellows like waiters from Crawley's hotel, but light, active men, not boys. I'll have nothing to do with boys ; every boy requires a man to look arter him. No ; a couple of short, light, active men — say from five-and- twcnty to thirty, with bow-legs and good cheery voices, as nearly of the same make as you can find them. I shall not give them large wages, you know; but they will have opportunities of improving themselves under me and qualifying themselves for high places. But mind, they must be steady — I'll keep no unsteady servants; the first act of drunkenness, with me, is the last. " I shall also want a second horseman ; and here I wouldn't mind a mute boy who could keep his elbows down and never touch the curb ; but he must be bred in the line ; a huntsman's second horse- man is a critical article, and the sporting world must not be put in mourning for Dick Bragg. The lad will have to clean my boots, and wait at table when I have company — yourself for instance. " This is only a poor, rough, ungentlemanly sort of shire, as far as f have seen of it ; and how ever they got on with the things I found that they called hounds I can't for the life of me imagine. I understand they went stringing over the country like a flock of wild geese. However, I have rectified that in a manner by knocking all the fast 'uns and slow 'uns on the head ; and I shall require at least twenty couple before I can take the field. In your official report of what your old file puts back, you'll have the kindness to cobble us up good long pedigrees, and carry half of them at least back to the Beau- fort Justice. My man has got a crotchet into his head about that hound, and I'm dimmed if he doesn't think half the hounds in Eng- land are descended from the Beaufort Justice. These hounds are at present called the Mangeysternes, a very proper title, I should say, from all I've seen and heard. That, however, must be changed ; and we must have a button struck, instead of the plain pewter plates the men have been in the habit of hunting in. " As to horses, I'm sure I don't know what we are to do in that line. Our pastrycook seems to think that a hunter, like one of his pa's pies, can be made and baked in a clay. He talks of going over to Rowdedow Fair, and picking some up himself; but I should say a gentleman demeans himself sadly who interferes with the just prero- 212 MR. sponge's sporting tour. gative of the groom. It lias never been allowed I know in any place I have lived ; nor do I think servants do justice to themselves or their order who submit to it. Howsomever, the crittur has what Mr. Cob den would call the ' raw material' for sport — that is to say, plenty of money — and I must see and apply it in such a way as will produce it. I'll do the thing as it should be, or not at all. " I hope your good lady is well— also all the little Bricks. I purpose making a little tower of some of the best kennels as soon as the drafts are arranged, and will spend a day or two with you, and see how you get on without me. Dear Brick, " Yours to the far end. " Richard Bragg. " To Benjamin Brick, Esq,, Huntsman to the Right Hon. the Earl of Reynard, Turkeypout Park. " P. S. I hope your old man keeps a cleaner tongue in his head than he did when I was premier. I always say there was a good bargeman spoiled when they made him a lord. " R. B." CHAPTER XXXIV. THE BEAUFORT JUSTICE. There is nothing more indicative of real fine people than the easy indifferent sort of way they take leave of their friends. They never seem to care a farthing for parting. Our friend Jawleyford was quite a man of fashion in this respect. He saw Sponge's preparations for departure with an unconcerned air, and a — " sorry you're going," was all that accompanied an imitation shake, or rather touch of the hand, on leaving. There was no " I hope we shall see you again soon," or " Pray look in if you are pass- ing our way," or " Now that you've found your way here, we hope you'll not be long in being back," or any of those blarneyments that fools take for earnest and wise men for nothing. Jawleyford had been bit once, and he was not going to give Mr. Sponge a second chance. Amelia, too, we are sorry to say, did not seem particularly distressed, though she gave him just as much of a sweet look as he squeezed her hand, as said, " Now, if you should be a man of money, and my Lord Scamperdale does not make me my lady, you may," &c. There is an old saying, that it is well to be " off with the old love before one is on with the new," and Amelia thought it was well to be 213 on with the new love before she was off with the old. Sponge, there- fore, was to be in abeyance. We mentioned the delight infused into Jawleyford Court by the receipt of Lord Scamperdale's letter, volunteering a visit, nor was his lordship less gratified at hearing in reply that Mr. Sponge was on the eve of departure, leaving the coast clear for his reception. His lordship was not only delighted at getting rid of his horror, but at proving the superiority of his judgment over that of Jack, who had always stoutly maintained that the only way to get rid of Mr. Sponge was by buying his horses. " Well, that's good" said his lordship, as he read the letter; " that's good" repeated he with a hearty slap of his thigh. " Jaw's not such a bad chap after all ; worse chaps in the world than Jaw." And his lordship worked away at the point till he very nearly got him up to be a good chap. They say it never rains but it pours, and letters seldom come singly, at least if they do, they are quickly followed by others. As Jack and his lordship were discussing their gin, after a repast of cow-heel and batter-pudding, Baggs entered with the old brown weather-bleached letter-bag, containing a county paper, the second- hand copy of BelVs Life, that his lordship and Frostyface took in between them, and a very natty " thick cream-laid " paper note. 11 That must be from a lady," observed Jack, squinting ardently at the writing, as his lordship inspected the fine seal. " Xot far wrong," replied his lordship. " From a ladylike fellow, at all events," said he, reading the words " Kanby House " in the wax. " What can old Puffey be wanting now ? " inquired Jack. " Some bother about hounds, most likely," replied his lordship, breaking the seal, adding, " the thing's always amusing itself with playing at sportsman. Hang his impudence ! " exclaimed his lord- ship, as he opened the note. " What's happened now ? " asked Jack. " How d'ye think he begins ? " asked his lordship, looking at his friend. " Can't tell, I'm sure," said Jack, squinting his eyes inside out. " Dear Scamp ! " exclaimed his lordship, throwing out his arms. " Dear Scamp ! " repeated Jack in astonishment. " It must be a mistake. It must be dear Frost, not dear Scamp." " Dear Scamp is the word," repliedhis lordship, again applying himself to the letter. " Dear Scamp," repeated he, with a snort, adding, " the impudent button-maker ! I'll dear Scamp him ! ' Dear Scamp, our friend Sponge ! ' Bo-o-y the powers, just fancy that ! " exclaimed his lordship, throwing himself back in his chair, as if thoroughly overcome with disgust. " Our friend Sponge ! the man who nearly knocked me into the middle of the week after next — the 214 man who, first and last, has broken every bone in my skin — the man who I hate the sight of, and detest afresh every time I see — the 'bom- ination of all 'boniinations ; and then to call him onr friend Sponge ! ' Our friend Sponge,' " continued his lordship, reading, " ' is coming on a visit of inspection to my hounds, and I should be glad if you would meet him.' " u Shouldn't wonder ! " exclaimed Jack. li Meet him! " snapped his lordship ; " I'd go ten miles to avoid him." " ' Glad if you would meet him,' " repeated his lordship, return- ing to the letter, and reading as follows : " ' If you bring a couple of nags or so we can put them up, and you may get a wrinkle or two from Bragg.' A wrinkle or two from Bragg! " exclaimed his lord- ship, dropping the letter and rolling in his chair with laughter. " A wrinkle or two from Bragg ! — he — he — he — he ! The idea of a wrinkle or two from Bragg ! — haw — haw — haw — haw ! " " That beats cockfightin'," observed Jack, squinting frightfully. " Doesn't it ? " replied his lordship. " The man who's so brimful of science that he doesn't kill above three brace of foxes in a season." " Which Puff calls thirty," observed Jack. "Th-i-r-ty!" exclaimed his lordship ; adding, " I'll lay he'll not kill thirty in ten years." His lordship then picked the letter from the floor, and resumed where he had left off. " < I expect you will meet Tom Washball, Lumpleg, and Charley Slapp.' " " A very pretty part}'," observed Jack; adding, "Wouldn't be seengoin' to a bull-bait with any on 'em." " Nor I," replied his lordship. " Birds of a feather," observed Jack. " Just so," said his lordship, resuming his reading. " ' I think I have a hound that may be useful to you — ' The devil you have ! " exclaimed his lordship, grinding his teeth with dis- gust. " Useful to me, you confounded haberdasher ! — you hav'n't a hound in your pack that I'd take. ' I think I have a hound that may be useful to you — ' " repeated his lordship. " A Beaufort Justice one, for a guinea ! " interrupted Jack , adding, " He got the name into his head at Oxford, and has been harping upon it ever since." " ' I think I have a hound that may be useful to you — ' " resumed his lordship, for the third time. " ' It is Old Merriman, a remarkably stout, true line hunting hound ; but who is getting slow for me — ' Slow for you, you beggar ! " exclaimed his lordship ; "I should have thought nothin' short of a wooden ?un would have have been too slow for you. ' He is a six-season hunter, and is by Fitzwilliam's Sing- well, out of his Darling. Singwell was by the Rutland Ilallywood, 215 out of Tavistock's Rhapsody. Rallywood was by Old Lonsdale's — ' Old Lonsdale's ! — the snob ! " sneered Lord Scamperdale — " ' Old Lonsdale's Palafox, out of Anson's — ' " Anson's ! — curse the fel- low," again muttered his lordship — " c out of Anson's Madrigal. Darling was by old Grafton's Bolivar, out of Blowzy. Bolivar was by the Brocklesby ; that's Yarborough's — ' That's Yarborough's ! " sneered his lordship, " as if one didn't know that as well as him — ' by the Brocklesby ; that's Yarborough's Marmion out of Petre's Match- less; and Marmion was by that undeniable hound, the — ' the — what? " asked his lordship. " Beaufort Justice, to be sure ! " replied Jack. " ' The Beaufort Justice!' " read his lordship, with due emphasis. " Hurrah ! " exclaimed Jack, waving the dirty, egg-stained, mus- tardy copy of Bell's Life over his head. " Hurrah ! I told you so." " But hark to Justice ! " exclaimed his lordship, resuming his reading. " c I've always been a great admirer of the Beaufort Justice blood—' " " No doubt," said Jack ; " it's the only blood you know." " ' It was in great repute in the Badminton country in Old Beau- fort's time, with whom I hunted a great deal many years ago, I'm sorry to say. The late Mr. Warde, who, of course, was very justly partial to his own sort, had never any objection to breeding from this Beaufort Justice. He was of Lord Egremont's blood, by the New Forest Justice ; Justice by Mr. Gilbert's Jasper ; and Jasper, bred by Egremont — ' Oh, the hosier ! " exclaimed his lordship ; "he'll be the death of me." " Is that all ? " asked Jack, as his lordship seemed lost in medi- tation. a All ? — no ! " replied he, starting up, adding : " Here's some- thing about you." 'rMe ! " exclaimed Jack. " ' If Mr. Spraggon is with you, and you like to bring bim, I can manage to put him up too,' " read his lordship. " What think you of that ? " asked his lordship, turning to our friend, who was now squinting his eyes inside out with anger. " Think of it ! " retorted Jack, kicking out his legs — " think of it ! — why, I think he's a dim'd impittant feller, as Bragg would say." " So he is," replied his lordship ; " treating my friend Jack so." " I've a good mind to go," observed Jack, after a pause, thinking he might punish Puff, and try to do a little business with Sponge. " I've a good mind to go," repeated he ; " just by way of paying Master Puff off. He's a consequential jackass, and wants taking down a peg or two." " I think you may as well go and do it," replied his lordship, after thinking the matter over ; " I think you may as well go and do it. Not that he'll be good to take the conceit out of, but you may vex 216 mr. sponge's sporting tour. him a bit ; and also learn something of the movements of his friend Sponge. If he sarves Puff out as he's sarved me," continued his lordship, rubbing his ribs with his elbows, he'll very soon have enough of him." " Well," said Jack, " I really think it will be worth doing. I've never been at the beggar's shop, and they say he lives well." " Well, aye ! " exclaimed his lordship ; "fat o' the land — dare say that man has fish and soup every day." " And wax candles to read by, most likely," observed Jack, squinting at the dim mutton-fats that Baggs now brought in. " Not so grand as that" observed his lordship, doubting whether any man could be guilty of such extravagance ; " Composites, p'raps." It being decided that Jack should answer Mr. Pumngton's invi- tation as well and saucily as he could, and a sheet of very inferior paper being at length discovered in the sideboard drawer, our friends forthwith proceeded to concoct it. Jack having at length got all square, and the black-ink lines introduced below, dipped his pen in the little stone ink-bottle, and, squinting up at his lordship, said, " How shall I begin ? " " Begin ? " replied he. " Begin — oh, let's see — begin — begin, 1 Dear Puff,' to be sure." " That'll do," said Jack, writing away. (" Dear Puff ! " sneered our friend, when he read it ; " the idea of a fellow like that writing to a man of my p-r-o-r-perty that way.") " Say ' Scamp,' " continued his lordship, dictating again, " ' is en- gaged, but I'll be with you at feeding time.' " (" Scamp's engaged," read Puffington, with a contemptuous curl of the lip — " Scamp's engaged : I like the impudence of a fellow like that calling noblemen nicknames.") The letter concluded by advising Puffington to stick to the Beau- fort Justice blood, for there was nothing in the world like it. And now, having got both our friends booked for visits, we must yield precedence to the nobleman, and accompany him to Jawleyford Court. mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 217 CHAPTER XXXV. LORD SCAMPERDALE AT JAWLEYFORD COURT. Although we have hitherto depicted Lord Scamperdale either in his great uncouth hunting-clothes, or in the flareup red and yellow Stun- ner tartan, it must not be supposed that he had not fine clothes when he chose to wear them, only he wanted to save them, as he said, to be married in. That he had fine ones, indeed, was evident from the rig-out he lent Jack, when that worthy went to Jawleyford Court, and, in addition to those which were of the evening order, he had an uncommonly smart Stultz frock-coat, with a velvet collar, facings, and cuffs, and a silk lining. Though so rough and ready among the men* he was quite the dandy among the ladies, and was as anxious about his appearance as a girl of sixteen. He got himself clipped and trimmed, and shaved with the greatest care, curving his whiskers high on to the cheek-bones, leaving a great breadth of bare fallow below. Baggs the butler was despatched betimes to Jawleyford Court with the dog-cart frieghted with clothes, driven by a groom to attend to the horses, while his lordship mounted his galloping grey hack towards noon, and dashed through the country like a comet. The people, who were only accustomed to see him in his short, country- cut hunting- coats, baggy breeches, and shapeless boots, could hardly recognise the frock-coated, fancy-vested, military-trousered swell, as Lord Scamperdale. Even Titus Grabbington, the superintendent of police, declared that he wouldn't have known him but for his hat and specs. The latter we need hardly say were the silver ones — the pair that he would not let Jack have when he went to Jawleyford Court. So his lordship went capering and careering along; avoiding, of course, all the turnpike-gates, of which he had a mortal aversion. Jawleyford Court was in full dress to receive him — everything was full fig. Spigot appeared in buckled shorts and black silk stock- ings ; while vases of evergreens and winter flowers mounted sentry on passage tables and landing-places. Everything bespoke the elegant presence of the fair. To the credit of Dame Fortune let us record that everything went smoothly and well Even the kitchen fire behaved as it ought. Neither did Lord Scamperdale arrive before he was wanted, a very common custom with people unused to public visiting. He cast up just when he was wanted. His ring of the door-bell acted like the little tinkling bell at the theatre, sending all parties to their places, for the curtain to rise. 10 218 Spigot and his two footmen answered the summons, while his lord- ship's groom rushed out of a side-door, with his mouth full of cold meat, to take his hack. Having given his fiat hat to Spigot, his whip-stick to one foot- man, and his gloves to the other, he .proceeded to the family tableau in the drawing-room. Though his lordship lived so much by himself he was neither gauche nor stupid when he went into society. Unlike Mr. Spraggon, he had a tremendous determination of words to the mouth, and went best pace with hi3 tongue instead of coughing and hemming, and stammering and stuttering, wishing himself " well out of it," as the saying is. His seclusion only seemed to sharpen his faculties and make him enjoy society more. He gushed forth like a pent-up fountain. He was not a bit afraid of the ladies — rather the contrary; indeed, he would make love to them all — all that were good-looking, ^t least, for he always candidly said that he " wouldn't have anything to do with the ugly 'uns." If anything he was rather too vehement, and talked to the ladies in such an earnest interested sort of way, as made even bystanders think there was i: something in it," whereas, in point of fact, it was mere manner. He began as soon as ever he got to Jawleyford Court, — at least as soon as he had paid his respects all round and got himself partially thawed at the fire ; for the cold had struck through his person, his fine clothes being a poor substitute for his thick double-milled red coat, blankety waistcoat, and Jersey shirt. There are some good-natured well-meaning people in this world, who think that fox-hunters can talk of nothing but hunting, and who put themselves to very serious inconvenience in endeavouring to get up a little conversation for- them. We knew a bulky old boy of this sort, who invariably, after the cloth was drawn, and he had given each leg a kick-out to see if they were on, commenced with " "Well, I suppose Mr. Harkington has a fine set of dogs this season ? " "A fine set of dogs this season ! " What an observation ! How on earth could any one hope to drive a conversation on the subject with such a commencement ? Some ladies are equally obliging in this respect. They can stoop to almost any subject that they think will procure them husbands. Music ! — if a man is fond of music, they will sing themselves into his good graces in no time. Painting ! — oh, they adore painting — though in general they don't profess to be great hands at it them- selves. Balls, boating, archery, racing, — all these they can take a livety interest in ; or, if occasion requires, can go on the serious tack and hunt a parson with penny subscriptions for a clothing club or soup-kitchen. Fox-hunting ! — we do not know that fox-hunting is so safe a speculation for young ladies aa any of the foregoing. There are 219 many pros and cons in the matter of the chase. A man may think — especially in these hard times, with "wheat below forty," as Mr. Springwheat would say — that it will be as much as he can do to mount himself. Again, he may not think a lady looks any better for running down with perspiration, and being daubed with mud. Above all, if he belongs to the worshipful company of Craners, he may not like for his wife to be seen beating him across country. Still, there are many ways that young ladies may insinuate them- selves into the good graces of sportsmen without following them into the hunting-field. Talking about their horses, above all admiring them, — taking an interest in their sport, — seeing that they have nice papers of sandwiches to take out with them,- — or recommending them to be bled when they come home with dirty faces after falls. Miss Amelia Jawleyford, who was most elegantly attired in a sea- green silk dress with large imitation pearl buttons, claiming the usual privilege of seniority of birth, very soon led the charge against Lord* Scamperdale. " Oh, what a lovely horse that is you were riding," observed she, as his lordship kept stooping with both his little red fists close into the bars of the grate. " Isn't it ! " exclaimed he, rubbing his hands heartily together. " Isn't it ! " repeated he ; adding, " That's what I call a clipper." " Why do you call it so ? " asked she. "Oh, I don't mean that clipper is its name," replied he; "in- deed, we call her Cherry Bounce in the stable, — but she's what they call a clipper — a good 'un to go, you know," continued he, staring at the fair speaker through his great, formidable spectacles. "We believe there is nothing frightens a woman so much as staring at her through spectacles. A barrister in barnacles is a far more formidable cross-examiner than one without. But, to his lordship's hack. " AY ill he eat bread out of your hand ? " asked Amelia ; adding, " I should so like a horse that would eat bread out of my hand." " Oh, yes ; or cheese either," replied his lordship, who was a bit of a wag, and as likely to try a horse with one as the other. " Oh, how delightful ! what a charming horse ! " exclaimed Amelia, turning her fine eyes up to the ceiling. " Are you fond of horses ? " asked his lordship, smacking one hand against the other, making a noise like the report of a pistol. u Oh, so fond ! " exclaimed Amelia, with a start ; for she hadn't got through her favourite, and, as she thought, most attractive atti- tude. " Well, now, that's nice" said his lordship, giving his other hand a similar bang ; adding, " I like a woman that's fond of horses." " Then 'Melia and you'll 'gree nicely," observed Mrs. Jawleyford, 220 MR. sponge's sporting tour. who was always ready to give a helping hand to her own daughters at least. '• I don't doubt it ! " replied his lordship, with emphasis, and a third bang of his hand, louder if possible than before. " And do you like horses ? " asked his lordship, darting sharply round on Emily, who had been yielding, or rather submitting, to the precedence of her sister. " Oh, yes ; and hounds too ! " replied she, eagerly. " And hounds, too ! " exclaimed his lordship with a start, and another hearty bang of the fist; adding, " Well, now, I like a woman that likes hounds." Amelia frowned at the unhandsome march her sister had stolen upon her. Just then in came- Jawleyford, much to the annoyance of all parties. A host should never show before the dressing-bell rings. When that glad sound was at length heard, the ladies, as usual, immediately withdrew ; and of course the first thing Amelia did when she got to her room was to run to the glass to see how she had been looking ; when, grievous to relate, she found an angry hot spot in the act of breaking out on her nose. What a distressing situation for a young lady, especially one with a spectacled suitor. " Oh, dear! " she thought, as she eyed it in the glass, " it will look like Vesuvius itself through his formidable in- quisitors." Worst of all, it was on the side she would have next him at dinner, should he choose to sit with his back to the fire. How- ever, there was no help for it, and the maid kindly assuring her, as she worked away at her hair, that it "would never be seen," she ceased to watch it, and turned her attention to her toilette. The fine, new broad-lace flounced, light blue satin dress — a dress so much like a ball-dress as to be only appreciable as a dinner one by female eyes — was again in requisition; while her fine arms were encircled with chains and armlets of various brilliance and devices. Thus attired, with a parting inspection of the spot, she swept down stairs, with as smart a bouquet as the season would afford. As luck would have it, she encountered his lordship himself wandering about the passage in search of the drawing-room, of whose door he had not made a sufficient observation on leaving. He, too, was uncommonly smart, with the identical dress-coat Mr. Spraggon wore, a white waist- coat with turquoise buttons, a lace-frilled shirt, and a most extensive once-round Joinville. He had been eminently successful in accom- plishing a tie that would almost rival the sticks farmers put upon truant geese to prevent their getting through gaps or under gates. Well, Miss Amelia having come to his lordship's assistance, and eased him of his candle, now showed him into the drawing-room ; and his hands being disengaged, like a true Englishman, he must be doing, and accordingly he commenced an attack on her bouquet. MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 221 " That's a fine nosegay ! " exclaimed he, staring and running his snub nose into the midst of it. " Let me give you a piece," replied Amelia, proceeding to detach some of the best. " Do," replied his lordship, banging one hand against the other ; adding, " I'll wear it next my heart of hearts." In sidled Miss Emily just as his lordship was adjusting it in his button-hole, and the inconstant man immediately chopped over to her. " Well, now, that is a beautiful nosegay ! " exclaimed he, turning upon her in precisely the same way, with a bang of the hand and a dive of his nose into Emily's. She did not offer him any, and his lordship continued his atten- tion to her until Mrs. Jawleyford entered. Dinner was presently announced ; but his lordship, instead of choosing to sit with his back to the fire, took the single chair opposite, which gave him a commanding view of the young ladies. He did not, however, take any advantage of his position during the repast, neither did he talk much, his maxim being to let his meat stop his mouth. The preponderance of his observations, perhaps, were ad- dressed to Amelia, though a watchful observer might have seen that the spectacles were oftener turned upon Emily. Up to the with- drawal of the cloth, however, there was no perceptible advantage on either side. As his lordship settled to the sweets, at which he was a great hand at dessert, Amelia essayed to try her influence with the popular subjeet of a ball. " I wish the members of your hunt would give us a ball, my lord," observed she. " Ah, hay, hum, ball," replied he, ladling up the syrup of some preserved peaches that he had been eating ; " ball, ball, ball. No place to give it — no place to give it," repeated he. " Oh, give it in the town-hall, or the long room at the Angel," replied she. " Town-hall — long room at the Angel — Angel at the long room of the town-hall — oh, certainly, certainly, certainly," muttered he, scraping away at the contents of his plate. " Then that's a bargain, mind," observed Amelia, significantly. " Bargain, bargain, bargain — certainly," replied he ; " and I'll lead off with you, or you'll lead off with me — whichever way it is — meanwhile, 111 trouble you for a piece of that gingerbread." Raving supplied him with a most liberal slice, she resumed the subject of the ball. " Then we'll fix it so," observed she. " Oh, fix it so, certainly — certainly fix it so," replied his lordship, filling his mouth full of gingerbread. 222 mr. " Suppose we have it on the day of the races?" continued Amelia. " Couldn't be better," replied his lordship ; " couldn't be better," repeated he, eyeing her intently through his formidable specs. His lordship was quite in the assenting humour, and would have agreed to anything — anything short of lending one a five-pound note. Amelia was charmed with her success. Despite the spot on her nose, she felt she was winning. His lordship sat like a target, shot at by all, but making the most of his time, both in the way of eating and staring between questions. At length the ladies withdrew, and his lordship having waddled to the door to assist their egress, now availed himself of Jawleyford's invitation to occupy an arm-chair during the enjoyment of his " Wintle." Whether it was the excellence of the beverage, or that his lord- ship was unaccustomed to wine-drinking, or that Jawleyford's con- versation was unusually agreeable, we know not, but the summons to tea and coffee was disregarded, and when at length they did make their appearance, his lordship was what the ladies call rather elevated, and talked thicker than there was any occasion for. He was very voluble at first — told all how Sponge had knocked him about, how he detested him, and wouldn't allow him to come to the hunt ball, &c. ; but he gradually died out, and at last fell asleep beside Mrs. Jawleyford on the sofa, with his little legs crossed, and a half-emptied coffee-cup in his hand, which Mr. Jawleyford and she kept anxiously watching, expecting the contents to be over the fine satin furniture every moment. In this pleasant position they remained till he awoke himself with a hearty snore, and turned the coffee over on to the carpet. Fortu- nately there was little damage done, and, it being nearly twelve o'clock, his lordship waddled off to bed. Amelia, when she came to think matters over in the retirement of her own room, was well satisfied with the progress she had made. She thought she only wanted opportunity to capture him. Though she was most anxious for a good night in order that she might appear to advantage in the morning, sleep forsook her eyelids, and she lay awake long thinking what she would do when she was my lady — how she would warm Woodmansterne, and what a dashing equipage she would keep. At length she dropped off, just as she thought she was getting into her well-appointed chariot, showing a becoming portion of her elegantly turned ankles. In the morning she attired herself in her new light satin blue robe, corsage Albanaise, with a sort of three-quarter sleeves, and muslin under ones — something, we believe, out of the last book of fashion. She also had her hair uncommonly well arranged, and sported a pair of clean primrose-coloured gloves. " Now for victory," 223 said she, as she took a parting glance at herself in general, and the hot spot in particular. Judge of her disgust on meeting her mamma on the staircase at learning that his lordship had got up at six o clock, and had gone to meet his hounds on the other side of the county. That Baggs had boiled his oatmeal porridge in his bedroom, and his lordship had eaten it as he was dressing. It may be asked, what was the maid about not to tell her. The fact is, that ladies'-maids are only numb hands in all that relates to hunting, and though Juliana knew that his lordship was up, she thought he had gone to have his hunt before breakfast, just as the young gentlemen in the last place she lived in used to go and have a bathe. Baggs, we may add, was a married man, and Juliana and he had not had much conversation. CHAPTER XXXVI. MR. BRAGG'S KENNEL MANAGEMENT. The reader will now have the kindness to consider that Mr. Puffing- ton has undergone his swell huntsman, Dick Bragg, for three whole years, during which time it was difficult to say whether his winter's service or his summer's impudence was most oppressive. Either way, Mr. Puffington had had enough both of him and the honours of hound-keeping. Mr. Bragg was not a judicious tyrant. He lorded it t©o much over Mr. Puffington; was too fond of showing himself off, and exposing his master's ignorance before the servants and field. A stranger would have thought that Mr. Bragg, and not "Mr. Puff," as Bragg called him, kept the hounds. Mr. Puffington took it pretty quietly at first, Bragg inundating him with what they did at the Ihike of Downeybird's, Lord Reynard's, and the other great places in which he had lived, till he almost made Puff believe that such treatment was a necessary consequence of hound-keeping. Moreover, the cost was heavy, and the promised subscriptions were almost wholly imaginary ; even if they had been paid, they would net have covered a quarter of the expense Mr. Bragg run him to ; and, worst of all, there was an increasing instead of a diminishing expenditure. Trust a servant for keeping things up to the mark. All things, however, have an end, and Mr. Bragg began to get to the end of Mr. Puff's patience. As Puff got older he got fonder of his five-pound notes, and began to scrutinise bills and ask questions; 224 MR. sponge's sporting tour. to be, as Mr. Bragg said, " very little of the gentleman ; " Bragg, however, being quite one of your " niake-hay-while-the-sun-shines " sort, and knowing too well the style of man to calculate on a length- ened duration o£ office, just put on the steam of extravagance, and seemed inclined to try how much he could spend for his master. His bills for draft hounds were enormous ; he was continually chopping and changing his horses, often almost without consulting his master ; he had a perfect museum of saddles and bridles, in which every in- vention and variety of bit was exhibited ; and he had paid as much as twenty pounds to different " valets " and grooms for invaluable recipes for cleaning leather breeches and gloves. Altogether, Bragg overdid the thing; and when Mr. Puffington, in the solitude of a winter's day, took pen, ink, and paper, and drew out a " balance sheet," he found that on the average of six brace of foxes to the season, they had cost him about three hundred pounds a-head killing. It was true that Bragg always returned five or six-and-twenty brace ; but that was as between Bragg and the public, as between Bragg and his master the smaller figure was the amount. Mr. Puffington had had enough of it, and he now thought if he could get Mr. Sponge (who he still believed to be a sporting author on his travels) to immortalise him, he might retire into privacy, and talk of u when / kept hounds " •" when I hunted the country," " when I" was master of hounds I did this, and I did that," and fuss, and be important, as we often see X-masters of hounds when they go out with other packs. It was this erroneous impression with regard to Mr. Sponge, that took our friend to the meet of Lord Scamper- dale's hounds at Scrambleford Green, when he gave Mr. Sponge a general invitation to visit him before he left the country, an invita- tion that was' as acceptable to Mr. Sponge on his expulsion from Jawleyford Court, as it was agreeable to Mr. Puffington — by open- ing a route by which he might escape from the penalty of hound- keeping, and the persecution of his huntsman. The reader will therefore now have the kindness to consider Mr. Puffington in receipt of Mr. Sponge's note volunteering a visit. With gay and cheerful steps our friend hurried off to the kennel, to communicate the intelligence to Mr. Bragg of an intended honour that he inwardly hoped would have the effect of extinguishing that great sporting luminary. Arriving at the kennel, he learned from the old feeder, Jack Horsehide, who, as usual, was sluicing the flags with water, though the weather was wet, that Mr. Bragg was in the house (a house that had been the steward's in the days of the former owner of Hanby House). Thither Mr. Puffington proceeded; and the front door being open he entered, and made for the little parlour on the right. Opening the door without knocking, what should he find but the MR. sponge's sporting tour. 225 swell huntsman, Mr. Bragg, full fig, in Lis cap, best scarlet and loathers, astride of a saddle-stand, sitting for his portrait ! " 0 dim it ! " exclaimed Bragg, clasping the front of the stand as if it was a horse, and throwing himself off, an operation that had the effect of bringing the new saddle on which he was seated bang on the floor. " 0, sc-e-e-use me, sir," seeing it was his master, " I thought it was my servant ; this, sir," continued he, blushing and looking as foolish as men do when caught getting their hair curled or sitting for their portraits — " this, sir, is my friend, Mr. Ruddle, the painter, sir — yes, sir — very talented young man, sir, — asked me to sit for my portrait, sir — is going, to publish a series of portraits of all the best huntsmen in England, sir." " And masters of hounds," interposed Mr. Ruddle, casting a sheep's eye at Mr. Puffington. "And masters of hounds, sir," repeated Mr. Bragg; "yes, sir, and masters of hounds, sir; " Mr. Bragg being still somewhat flurried at the unexpected intrusion. " Ah, well," interrupted Mr. Puffington, who was still eager about his mission, " we'll talk about that after. At present I am come to tell you," continued he, holding up Mr. Sponge's note, " that we must brush up a little — going to have a visit of inspection from the great Mr. Sponge." " Indeed, sir ! " replied Mr. Bragg, with the slightest possible touch of his cap, which he still kept on. " Mr. Sponge, sir ! — in- deed, sir, Mr. Sponge, sir — pray who may he be, sir ? " " Oh — why — hay — hum — haw — he's Mr. Sponge, you know — been hunting with Lord Scamperdale, you know — great sportsman, in fact — great authority, you know." " Indeed — great authority is he — indeed — oh — yes — thinks so p'raps — sc-e-e-use me, sir, but des-ay, sir, I've forgot more, sir, than Mr. Sponge ever knew, sir." " Well, but you musn't tell him so," observed Mr. Puffington, fearful that Bragg might spoil sport. " Oh, tell him — rao," sneered Bragg, with a jerk of the head ; " tell him — no ; I'm not exactly such a donkey as that ; on the con- trary, I'll make things pleasant, sir — sugar his milk for him, sir, in short, sir." " Sugar his milk ! " exclaimed Mr. Puffington, who was only a matter-of-fact man ; " sugar his milk ! I dare say he takes tea." " Well, then, sugar his tea," replied Bragg, with a smile ; adding, " Can 'commodate myself, sir, to circumstances, sir," at the same time taking off his cap and setting a chair for his master. " Thank you, but I'm not going to stay," replied Mr. Puffington; " I only came up to let you know who you had to expect, so that you might prepare, you know — have all on the square, you know — best horses — best hounds — best appearance in general, you know." 10* 226 MR. sponge's sporting tour. " That I'll attend to," replied Mr. Bragg, with a toss of the head — " that Fll attend to," repeated he, with an emphasis on the Fll, as much as to say, " don't you meddle with what doesn't concern you." Mr. Puffington would fain have rebuked him for his impertinence, as indeed he often would fain have rebuked him ; but Mr. Bragg had so overpowered him with science, and impressed him with the neces- sity of keeping him — albeit Mr. Puffington was sensible that he killed very few foxes — that having put up with him so long, he thought it would never do to risk a quarrel, which might lose him the chance of getting rid of him and hounds altogether ; therefore, Mr. Puffington, instead of saying, " You conceited humbug, get out of this," or indulging in any observations that might lead to controversy, said, with a satisfied, confidential nod of the head — '* I'm sure you will — I'm sure you will," and took his departure, leaving Mr. Bragg to remount the saddle-stand, and take the re- mainder of his sitting. CHAPTER XXXVII. DOMESTIC ARANGEMENTS. Perhaps in was fortunate that Mr. Bragg did take the kennel man- agement upon himself, or there is no saying but what with that and the house department, coupled with the usual fussyness of a bachelor, the Sponge's visit might have proved too much for our master. The notice of the intended visit was short ; and there were invitations to send out, and answers to get, bed-rooms to prepare, and culinary ar- rangements to make — arangements that people in town, with all their tradespeople at their elbows, can have no idea of the difficulty of effecting in the country. Mr. Puffington was fully employed. In addition to the parties mentioned as asked in his note to Lord Scamperdale, viz., Washball, Charley Slapp, and Lumpleg, were Parson Blossomnose, and Mr. Fossick of the Flat Hat Hunt, who declined — Mr. Crane, of Crane Hall, and Captain Guano, late of that noble corps the Spotted Horse Marines, and others who accepted. Mr. Spraggon was a sort of volunteer, at all events an undesircd guest, unless his lordship accompanied him. It so happened that the least wanted guest was the first to arrive on the all important day. Lord Scamperdale, knowing our friend Jack was not over affluent, had no idea, of spoiling him by too much luxury, and as the railway would serve a certain distance in the line of Hanby House, he de- mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 227 spatched Jack to the Over-shoes-over-boots station with tne dog-cart, and told him he would be sure to find a 'bus, or to get some sort of conveyance at the Squandercash station to take him up to Pumng- ton's ; at all events, his lordship added to himself, " If he doesn't, it '11 do him no harm to walk, and he can easily get a boy to carry his bag." The latter was the case ; for though the station-master assured Jack, on his arrival at Squandercash, that their was a 'bus, or a mail gig, or a something to every other train, there was nothing in con- nexion with the one that brought him, nor would he undertake to leave his carpet bag at Hanby House before breakfast time the next morning. Jack was highly enraged, and proceeded to squint his eyes inside out, and abuse all railways, and chairmen, and directors, and secre- taries, and clerks, and porters, vowing that railways were the greatest nuisances under the sun — that they were a perfect impediment instead of a facility to travelling — and declared that formerly a gentleman had nothing to do but order his four horses, and have them turned out at every stage as he came up, instead of being stopped in the ridicklous manner he then was; and he strutted and stamped about the station as if he would put a stop to the whole line. His vehemence and big talk operated favourably on the cockney station-master, who, thinking he must be a duke, or some great man, began to consider how to get him forwarded. It being only a thinly- populated district — though there was a station equal to any mercan- tile emergency, indeed to the requirements of the whole county — he ran the resources of the immediate neighbourhood through his mind, and at length was obliged to admit — humbly and respectfully — that he really was afraid Martha Muggins's donkey was the only available article. Jack fumed and bounced at the very mention of such a thing, vowing that it was a downright insult to propose it ; and he was so bumptious that the station-master, who had nothing to gain by the transaction, sought the privacy of the electric telegraph office, and left him to vent the balance of his wrath upon the porters. Of course they could do nothing more than -the king of their little colony had suggested; and finding there was no help for it, Mr. Spraggon at last submitted to the humiliation, and set off to follow young Muggins with his bag on the donkey, in his best top- boots, worn under his trousers — an unpleasant operation to any one, but especially to a man like Jack, who preferred wearing his tops out against the flaps of his friends' saddles, rather than his soles by walking upon them. However, necessity said yes; and cocking his flat hat jauntily on his head, he stuck a cheroot in his mouth, and went smoking and swaggering on, looking — or rather squinting — 228 bumptiously at every body he met, as much as to say, u Don't sup- pose I'm walking from necessity ! I've plenty of tin." The third cheroot brought Jack and his suite within sight of Hanby House. Mr. Puffington had about got through all the fuss of his prepara- tions, arranged the billets of the guests, and of those scarcely less important personages — their servants, allotted the stables, and re- hearsed the wines, when a chance glance through the gaily-furnished drawing-room window discovered Jack trudging up the trimly-kept avenue. " Here's that nasty Spraggon," exclaimed he, eyeing Jack drag- ging his legs along ; adding, " I'll be bound to say he'll never think of wiping his filthy feet if I don't go to meet him." So saying, Puffington rushed to the entrance, and crowning him- self with a white wide-awake, advanced cheerily to do so. Jack, who was more used to " cold shoulder " than cordial recep- tions, squinted and stared with surprise at the unwonted warmth, so different to their last interview, when Jack was fresh out of his clay- hole in the Brick Fields ; but not being easily put out of his way, he just took Puff as Puff took him. They talked of Scainperdale, and they talked of Frostyface, and the number of foxes he had killed, the price of corn, and the difference its price made in the keep of hounds and horses. Altogether they were very " thick." " And how's our friend Sponge ? " asked Puffington, as the con- versation at length began to flag. " Oh, he's nicely," replied Jack ; adding, " hasn't he come yet ? " " Not that I've seen," answered Puffington ; adding, " I thought, perhaps, you might come together." " No," grunted Jack ; "'he comes from Jawleyford's, you know; I'm from Woodmansterne." " We'll go and see if he's come," observed Puffington, opening a door in the garden-wall, into which he had manoeuvred Jack, com- municating with the court-yard of the stable. " Here are his horses," observed Puffington, as Mr. Leather rode through the great gates on the opposite side, with the renowned hunters in full marching order. " Monstrous fine animals they are," said Jack, squinting intently at them. " They are that," replied Puffington. " Mr. Sponge seems a very pleasant, gentlemanly man," observed Mr. Puffington. " Oh, he is," replied Jack. " Can you tell me — can you inform me — that's to say, can you give me any idea," hesitated Puffington, " what is the usual practice — the usual course — the usual understanding as to the treatment of those sort of gentlemen ? " 229 " Oh, the best of everything's good enough for them," replied Jack ; adding, "just as it is with me." " Ah, I dont mean in the way of eating and drinking, but in the way of encouragement — in the way of a present, you know ? " adding — " What did my lord do ? " seeing Jack was slow at comprehen- sion. " Oh, my lord bad-worded him well," replied Jack ; adding, " he didn't get much encouragement from him." " Ah, that's the worst of my lord," observed Puffington; " he's rather coarse — rather too indifferent to public opinion. In a case of this sort, you know, that doesn't happen every day, or, perhaps, more than once in a man's life, it's just as well to be favourably spoken of as not, you know ;" adding, as he looked intently at Jack — " Do you understand me?" Jack, who was tolerably quick at a chance, now began to see how things were, and to fathom Mr. Puffington's mistake. His ready imagination immediately saw there might be something made of it, so he prepared to keep up the delusion. " Wh-o-o^y / " said he, straddling out his legs, clasping his hands together, and squinting steadily through his spectacles, to try and see, by Puffington's countenance how much he would stand. " Wh-o-o-y! " repeated he, " I shouldn't think — though, mind, it's mere conjectur' on my part — that you- couldn't offer him less than — twenty or five- and-twenty punds ; or, say, from that to thirty," continued Jack, see- ing that Puff's countenance remained complacent under the rise. "And that you think would be sufficient ?" asked Puff; add- ing -»— " If one does a thing at all, you know it's as well to do it handsomely." " True," replied Jack, sticking out his great thick lips, " true. I'm a great advocate for doing things handsomely. Many a row I have had with my lord for thanking fellows, and saying he'll remem- ber them, instead' of giving them sixpence or a shilling ; but really I should say, if you were to give him forty or fifty pund — say a fifty- pund note, he'd be — " The rest of the sentence was lost by the appearance of Mr. Sponge, cantering up the avenue on the conspicuous piebald. Mr. Puffington and Mr. Spraggon greeted him as he alighted at the door. Sponge was quickly followed by Tom Washball ; then came Charley Slapp and Lumpleg, and Captain Guano came in a gig. Mutual bows and bobs and shakes of the hand being exchanged, amid offers of " anything before dinner " from the host, the guests were at length shown to their respective apartments, from which in due time they emerged, looking like so many bridegrooms. First came the worthy master of the hounds himself, in his scarlet dress-coat, lined with white satin ; Tom Washball, and Charley Slapp also sported Puff's uniform; while Captain Guano, who was 230 mp.. sponge's sporting tour. proud of his leg, sported the uniform of the Muffington Hunt — a pea- green coat lined with yellow, and a yellow collar, white short3 with gold garters, and black silk stockings. Spraggon had been obliged to put up with Lord Scamperdale's second-best coat, his lordship having taken the best one himself; but it was passable enough by candle-light, and the seediness of the blue cloth was relieved by a velvet collar and a new set of the Flat Hat Hunt buttons. Mr. Sponge wore a plain scarlet with a crimson velvet collar, and a bright fox on the frosted ground of a gilt button, with tights as before ; and when Mr. Crane arrived he was found to be attired in a dress composed partly of Mr. Puffington's, and partly of the Muggeridge Hunt uniform — the red coat of the former sur- mounting the white shorts and black stockings of the other. Alto- gether, however, they were uncommonly smart, and it is to be hoped that they appreciated each other. The dinner was sumptuous. Puff, of course, was in the chair ; and Captain Guano coming last into the room, and being very fond of office, was vice. When men run to the "noble science " of gas- tronomy, they generally outstrip the ladies in the art of dinner- giving, for they admit of no makeweight, or merely ornamental dishes, but concentrate the cook's energies on sterling and approved dishes. Everything men set on is meant to be eat. Above all, men are not too fine to have the plate-warmer in the room, the deficiency of hot plates proving fatal to many a fine feast. It was evident that Puff prided himself on his table. His linen was the finest and whitest, his glass the most elegant and transparent, his plate the brightest, and his wines the most costly and recherche. Like many people, however, who are not much in the habit of dinner-giving, he was anxious and fussy, too intent upon making people comfortable to allow of their being so, and too anxious to get victuals and drink down their throats to allow of their enjoying either. He not only produced a tremendous assortment of wines — Hock, Sauterne, Champagne, Barsack, Burgundy, but descended into endless varieties of sherries and Madeiras. These he pressed upon people, always insisting that the last sample was the best. In these hospitable exertions Puffington was ably assisted by Cap- tain Guano, who, being fond of wine, came in for a good quantity ; first of all by asking every one to take wine with him, and then in return every one asking him to do the same with them. The present absurd non-asking system was not then in vogue. The great cap- tain, noisy and talkative at all times, began to be boisterous almost before the cloth was drawn. Puffington was equally promiscuous with his after-dinner wines. He had all sorts of clarets, and " curious old ports." The party did not seem to have any objection to spoil their digestions for the next day, and took whatever he produced with great alacrity. Lengthened mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 231 were the candle examinations, solemn the sips, and sounding the smacks that preceded the delivery of their Campbell-like judgments. The conversation, which at first was altogether upon wine, grad- ually diverged upon sporting, and they presently brewed up a very considerable cry. Foremost among the noisy ones was Captain Guano. He seemed inclined to take the shine out- of everybody . " Oh ! if they could but find a good fox that would give them a run of ten miles — say, ten miles — just ten miles would satisfy him — say, from Barnesley Wold to Chingforde Wood, or from Carleburg Clump to Wetherden Head. He was going to ride his famous horse Jack-a- Dandy — the finest horse that ever was foaled ! No day too long for him — no pace too great for him — no fence too stiff for him — no brook too broad for him." Tom Washball, too, talked as if wearing a red coat was not the only purpose for which he hunted ; and altogether they seemed to be an amazing sporting, hard-riding set. When at length they rose to go to bed, it struck each man as he followed his neighbour upstairs that the one before him walked very crookedly. CHAPTER XXXVIII. Day dawned cheerfully. If there was rather more sun than the strict rules of Beckford prescribe, still sunshine is not a thing to quarrel with under any circumstances — certainly not for a gentleman to quarrel with who wants his place seen to advantage on the occasion of a meet of hounds. Everything at Hanby House was in apple-pie order. All the stray leaves that the capricious wintry winds still kept raising from unknown quarters, and whisking about the trim lawns, were hunted and caught, while a heavy roller passed over the Kensington gravel, pressing out the hoof and wheelmarks of the pre- vious day. The servants were up betimes, preparing the house for those that were in it, and a dljekner d lafourchette for chance cus- tomers, from without. They were equally busy at the stable. Although Mr. Bragg did profess such indifference for Mr. Sponge's opinion, he nevertheless thought it might perhaps be as well to be condescending to the stranger. Accordingly, he ordered his whips to be on the alert, to tie their ties and put on their boots as they ought to be, and to hoist their caps becomingly on the appearance of our friend. Bragg, like a good many huntsmen, had a sort of tariff of politeness, that he indicated by 232 MR. sponge's sporting tour. the manner in which he saluted the field. To a lord, he made a sweep of his cap like the dome of St. Paul's ; a baronet came in for about half as much ; a knight, to a quarter. Bragg had also a sort of City or monetary tariff of politeness — a tariff that was oftener called in requisition than the " Debrett " one, in Mr. Pumngton's country. To a good " tip," he vouchsafed as much cap as he gave to a lord ; to a middling " tip," he gave a sort of move that might either pass for a touch of the cap or a more comfortable adjustment of it to his head ; a very small " tip " had a forefinger to the peak; while he who gave nothing at all got a good stare or a Good morn- ing ! or something of that sort. A man watching the arrival of the field could see who gave the fives, who the fours, who the threes, who the twos, who the ones, and who were the great O's. But to our day with Mr. Pufimgton's hounds. Our over-night friends were not quite so brisk in the morning as the servants and parties outside. Pufimgton's " mixture " told upon a good many of them. Washball had a headache, so had Lump- leg; Crane was seedy; and Captain Guano, sea-green. Soda-water was in great request. There was a splendid breakfast, the table and sideboard looking as if Fortnum and Mason or Morel had opened a branch establishment at Hanby House. Though the staying guests could not do much for the good things set out, they were not wasted, for the place was fairly taken by storm shortly before the advertised hour of meeting ; and what at one time looked like a most extravagant suppty, at another seemed likely to prove a deficiency. Each man helped himself to whatever he fancied, without waiting for the ceremony of an invita- tion, in the usual style of fox-hunting hospitality. A few minutes before eleven, a " gently Bantaway," accompanied by a slight crack of a whip, drew the seedy and satisfied parties to the auriol window, to see Mr. Bragg pass along with his hounds. They were just gliding noiselessly over the green sward, Mr. Bragg rising in his stirrups, as spruce as a game-cock, with his thorough- bred bay gambolling and pawing with delight at the frolic of the hounds, some clustering around him, others shooting forward a little, as if to show how obediently they would return at his whistle. Mr. Bragg was known as the whistling huntsman, and was a great man for telegraphing and signalising with his arms, boasting that he could make hounds so handy that they could do everything, except pay the turnpike-gates. At his appearance the men all began to shuffle to the passage and entrance-hall, to look for their hats and whips ; and presently there was a great outpouring of red coats upon the lawn, all straddling and waddling of course. Then Mr. Bragg, seeing an audience, with a slight whistle and waive of his right arm, wheeled his forces round, and trotted gaily towards where our guests had grouped themselves, within the light iron railing that separated mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 233 the smooth slope from the field. As he reined in his horse, he £ave his cap an aerial sweep, taking off perpendicularly, and finishing at his horse's ears — an example that was immediately followed by the whips, and also by Mr. Bragg's second horseman, Tom Stot. " Good morning, Mister Bragg ! — Good morning, Mister Bragg ! — Good morning, Mister Bragg ! " burst from the assembled specta- tors ; for Mr. Bragg was one of those people that one occasionally meets whom every body " Misters." Mr. Bragg, rising in his stirrups with a gracious smile, passed a very polite bow along the line. " Here's a .fine morning, Mr. Bragg," observed Tom Washball, who thought it knowing to talk to servants. " Yas, sir," replied Bragg, " yas," with a slight inclination to cap ; " r-a-y-ther more san, p'raps, than desirable," continued he, raising his face towards the heavens; " but still by no means a bad day, sir — no, sir — by no means a bad day, sir." "Hounds looking well," observed Charley Slapp between the whiffs of a cigar. " Yas, sir," said Bragg — " yas," looking around them with a self- satisfied smile ; adding, " so they ought, sir — so they ought ; if / can't bring a pack out as they should be, don't know who can." " Why, here's our old Bummager, I declare ! " exclaimed Sprag- gon, who, having vaulted the iron hurdles, was now among the pack. " Why, here's our old Rummager, I declare ! " repeated he, laying his whip on the head of a solemn-looking black and white hound, somewhat down in the toes, and looking as if he was about done. " Sc-e-e-use me, sir," replied Bragg, leaning over his horse's shoulder, and whispering into Jack's ear ; " sc-e-e-use me, sir, but drop that, sir, if you please, sir." " Drop what ? " asked Jack, squinting through his great tortoise- shell-rimmed spectacles up into Bragg's face. " 'Bout knowing of that 'ound, sir," whispered Bragg ; " the fact is, sir — we call him Merryman, sir ; master don't know I got him from you, sir." " O-o-o," replied Jack, squinting, if possible, more frightfully than before. " Ab, that's the hound I offered to Scamperdale," observed Puff- ington, seeing the movement, and coming up to where Jack stood ; " that's the hound I offered to Scamperdale," repeated he, taking the old dog's head between his hands. u. There's no better hound in the world than this," continued he, patting and smoothing him; " and no better bred hound either," added he, rubbing the dog's sides with his whip. " How is he bred ? " asked Jack, who knew the hound's pedigree better than he did his own. " Why, I got him from Reynard — no, I mean from Downeybird 234 mr. sponge's sporting tour. — the Duke, you know ; but he was bred by Fitzwilliam — by his Singwell out of Darling, Singwell was by the Rutland Rallywood out of Tavistock Rhapsody ; but to make a long story short, he's lineally descended from the Beaufort Justice." " Indeed ! " exclaimed Jack, hardly able to contain himself; " that's undeniable blood." " Well, I'm glad to hoar you say so ; " replied Puffington. " I'm glad to hear you say so, for you understand these things — no man better ; and I confess I've a warm side to that Beaufort Justice blood." " Don't wonder at it," replied Jack, laughing his waistcoat strings off. " The great Mr. Warde," continued Mr. Puffington, " who was justly partial to his own sort, had never any objection to breeding from the Beaufort Justice." " No, nor nobody else that knew what he was about," replied Jack, turning away to conceal his laughter. " We should be moving, I think, sir," observed Bragg, anxious to put an end to the conversation ; " we should be moving, I think, sir," repeated he, with a rap of his forefinger against his cap peak. " It's past eleven," added he, looking at his gold watch, and shutting it against his cheek. " What do you draw first ? " asked Jack. " Draw — draw — draw," replied Puffington. " Oh, we'll draw Rabbitborough Gorse — that's a new cover I've inclosed on my pro- o-rperty." " Sc-e-e-use me, sir," replied Bragg, with a smile, and another rap of the cap : " sc-e-e-use me, sir, but I'm going to Hollyburn Hanger first." " Ah, well, Hollyburn Hanger," replied Puffington, complacently; " either will do very well." If Puff had proposed Hollyburn Hanger, Bragg would have said Rabbitborough Gorse. The move of the hounds caused a rush of gentlemen to their horses, and there was the usual scramblings up, and fidgetings, and f unkings, and Wio-tf-hayings and drawing of girths, and taking up of curbs, and lengthening and shortening of stirrups. Captain Guano couldn't get his stirrups to his liking anyhow. " 'Ord hang these leathers," roared he, clutching up a stirrup-iron; " who the devil would ever have sent one out a huntin' with a pair of new stirrup-leathers ? " " Hang you and the stirrup-leathers," growled the groom, as his master rode away ; " you're always wantin' sumfin to find fault with. I'm blowed if it arn't a disgrace to an oss to carry such a man," added he, eyeing the chestnut fidgeting and wincing as the captain worked away at the stirrups. MR. sponge's sporting tour. 235 Mr. Bragg trotted briskly on with the hounds, preceded by Joe Banks the first whip, and having Jack Swipes, the second, and Tom Stot, riding together behind him, to keep off the crowd. Thus the cavalcade swept down the avenue, crossed the Swilling- ford turnpike, and took through a well-kept field road, which speedily brought them to the cover — rough, broomy, brushwood-covered banks, of about three acres in extent, lying on either side of the little Holly- burn Brook, one of the tiny streams that in angry times helped to swell the Swill into a river. "Dim all these foot people!" exclaimed Mr. Bragg, in well- feigned disgust, as he came in view, and found all the Swillingford snobs, all the tinkers, and tailors, and cobblers, and poachers, and sheep-stealers, all the scowling, rotten-fustianed, baggy-pocketed scamps of the country ranged round the cover, some with doo-s, some with guns, some with snares, and all with sticks or staffs. " Well, I'm dimmed if ever I seed sich a " The rest of the speech being lost amidst the exclamations of — " A ! the hunds ! the hunds ! hoop ! tally-o the hunds! " and a general rush of the ruffians to meet them. Captain Guano, who had now come up, joined in the denunciation, inwardly congratulating himself on the probability that the first cover, at least, would be drawn blank. Tom Washball, who was riding a very troublesome tail-foremost grey, also censured the proceeding. And Mr. Pufimgton, still an " amaazin' instance of a pop'lar man," exclaimed, as he rode among them, " Ah ! my good fellows, I'd rather you'd come up and had some ale than disturbed the cover ; " a hint that the wily ones immediately took, rushing up to the house, and availing themselves of the absence of the butler, who had followed the hounds, to take a couple of dozen of his best fiddle-handled forks while the footman was drawing them the ale. The whips being duly signalled by Bragg to their points — Brick to the north corner, Swipes to the south — and the field being at length drawn up to his liking, Mr. Bragg looked at Mr. Puffington for his signal (the only piece of interference he allowed him), at a nod Mr. Bragg gave a waive of his cap, and the pack dashed into cover with a cry— " Yo-o-icks — wind him ! Yo-o-icJcs — pash him up ! " cheered Bragg, standing erect in his stirrups, eyeing the hounds spreading and sniffing about, now this way, now that — now pushing through a thicket, now threading and smelling along a meuse. " Yo-o-icks — wind him! Yo-o-icks — pash him. up!" repeated he, cracking his whip, and moving slowly on. He then varied the entertainment by whistling, in a sharp shrill key, something like the chirp of a sparrow- hawk. Thus the hounds rummaged and scrimmaged for some minutes. 236 MR. sponge's sporting tour. " No fox here," observed Captain Guano, bringing his horse along- side of Mr. Bragg's. " Not so sure o' that" replied Mr. Bragg, with a sneer, for he had a great contempt for the captain. " Not so sure o' that," replied he, eyeing Thunderer and Galloper feathering up the brook. " Hang these stirrups ! " exclaimed the captain, again attempting to adjust them ; adding, " I declare I have no seat whatever in this saddle." " Nor in any other," muttered Bragg. " Yo-icks, Galloper ! Yo- icks, Thunder ! Ge-e-ntly, Warrior ! " continued he, cracking his whip, as Warrior pounced at a bunny. The hounds were evidently on a scent, hardly strong enough to own, but sufficiently indicated by their feathering, and the rush of their comrades to the spot. u A fox for a thousand ! " exclaimed Mr. Bragg, eyeing them, and looking at his watch. " Oh, d — mn me ! I've got one stirrup longer than another now ! " roared Captain Guano, trying the fresh adjustment. " I've got one stirrup longer than another ! " added he, in a terrible pucker. A low snatch of a whimper now proceeded from Galloper, and Bragg cheered him to the echo. In another second a great banging brown fox burst from among the broom, and dashed down the little dean. What noises, what exclamations rent the air ! " Talliho ! talliho ! talliho ! " screamed a host of voices, in every variety of in- tonation, from the half-frantic yell of the party seeing him, down to the shout of a mere partaker of the epidemic. Shouting is very con- tagious. The horsemen gathered up their reins, pressed down their hats, and threw away their cigar-ends. " 'Ord hang it ! " roared Captain Guano, still fumbling at the leathers, " I shall never be able to ride with stirrups in this state." "Hang your stirrups'!" exclaimed Charley Slapp, shooting past him, adding, " It was your saddle last time." Bragg's queer tootle of his horn, for he was full of strange blows, now sounded at the low end of the cover ; and, having a pet line of gaps and other conveniences that he knew how to turn to on the minute, he soon shot so far ahead, as to give him the appearance (to the slow 'uns) of having flown. Brick and Swipes quickly had all the hounds after him, and Stot, dropping his elbows, made for the road, to ride the second horse gently on the line. The field, as usual, divided ink) two parts, the soft riders and the hard ones — the soft riders going by the fields, the hard riders by the road. Messrs. Spraggon, Sponge, Slapp, Quilter, Rasper, Crasher, Smasher, and some half-dozen more, bustled after Bragg; while the worthy master Mr. Pnflington, Lumpleg, Washball, Crane, Guano, Shirker, and very many others, came pounding along the lane. There was a good scent, and the hounds shot across the Fleecyhaugh-water Meadows, over mh. sponge's sporting tour. 237 the hill, to the village of Berrington Roothings, where, the fox having been chased by a cur, the hounds were brought to a check on some very bad scenting-ground, on the common, a little to the left of the village, at the end of a quarter of an hour or so. The road having been handy, the hard riders were there almost as soon as the soft ones ; and there being no impediments on the common, they all pushed boldly on among the now stooping hounds. " Hold hard, gentlemen ! " exclaimed Mr. Bragg, rising in his stirrups, and telegraphing with his right arm. " Hold hard ! — -pray do ! " added he, with little better success. " Dim it, gen'lemen, hold hard ! " added he, as they still pressed upon the pack. " Have a little regard for a huntsman's reputation," continued he. " Remem- ber that it rises and falls with the sport he shows " — exhortations that seemed to be pretty well lost upon the field, who began com- paring notes as to their respective achievements, enlarging the leaps and magnifying the distance into double what they had been. Puffington and some of the fat ones sat gasping and mopping their brows. Seeing there was not much chance of the hounds hitting off the scent by themselves, Mr. Bragg began telegraphing with his arm to the whippers-in, much in the manner of the captain of a Thames steamer to the lad at the engine, and forthwith they drove the pack on for our swell huntsman to make his cast. As good luck would have it, Bragg crossed the line of the fox before he had got half through his circle, and away the hounds dashed, at a pace and with a cry that looked very like killing. Mr. Bragg was in ecstasies, and rode in a manner very contrary to his wont. All again was life, energy, and action; and even some who hoped there was an end of the thing, and that they might go home and say, as usual, " that they had had a very good run, but not killed," were induced to proceed. Away they all went as before. At the end of eighteen minutes more the hounds ran into their fox in the little green valley below Mountnessing Wood, and Mr. Bragg had him stretched on the green with the pack baying about him, and the horses of the field-riders getting led about by the country people, while the riders stood glorying in the splendour of the thing. All had a direct interest in making it out as good as possible, and Mr. Bragg was quite ready to appropriate as much praise as ever they liked to give. " 'Ord dim him," said he, turning up the fox's grim head with his foot, " but Mr. Bragg's an awkward customer for gen'lemen of your description." 11 You hunted him ivell ! " exclaimed Charley Slapp, who was trumpeter general of the establishment. " Oh, sir," replied Bragg, with a smirk and a condescending bow, " if Richard Bragg can't kill foxes, I don't know who can." 238 mr. Just then " Puffington and Co." hove in sight up the valley, their faces beaming with delight as the tableau before them told the tale. They hastened to the spot. " How many brace is that ? " asked Puffington, with the most matter-of-course air, as he trotted up, and reined in his horse outside the circle. " Seventeen brace, your grace, I mean to say my lord, that's to say sur" replied Bragg, with a strong emphasis on the sur, as if to say, " I'm not used to you snobs of Commoners." " Seventeen brace ! " sneered Jack Spraggon to Sponge ; adding, in a whisper, " More like seven foxes." " And how many run to ground ? " asked Puffington, alighting. " Four brace," replied Bragg, stooping to cut off the brush. We were wrong in saying that Bragg only allowed Puff the privilege of nodding his head to say when he might throw off. He let him lead the " lie gallop " in the kill department. Mr. Puffington then presented Mr. Sponge with the brush, and the usual solemnities being observed, the sherry flasks were produced and drained, the biscuits munched, and, amidst the smoke of cigars, the ring broke up with great good will. CHAPTER XXXIX. WRITING A RUN. The first fumes of excitement over, after a run with a kill, the field begin to take things more coolly and veraciously, and ere long some of them begin to pick holes in the affair. The men of the hunt run it up, while those of the next hunt run it down. Added in this, there are generally some cavilling, captious fellows in every field, who extol a run to the master's face, and abuse it behind his back. So it was on the present occasion. The men of the hunt — Charley Slapp, Lumpleg, Guano, Crane, Washball, and others — lauded and magnified it into something magnificent ; while Fossick, Fyle, Wake, Blossom- nose, and others of the " flat-hat hunt," pronounced it a niceish thing — a pretty burst ; and Mr. Vosper, who had hunted for five-and- twenty seasons without ever subscribing one farthing to hounds, always declaring that each season was " his last," or that he was going to confine himself entirely to some other pack, said it was nothing to make a row about, that he had seen fifty better things with the Tinglebury harriers, and never a word said. " Well," said Sponge to Spraggon, between the whiffs of a cigar, as they rode together ; " it wasn't so bad, was it ?" 239 " Bad ! — no," squinted Jack, " devilish good — for Puff, at least," adding, " I question he's had a better this season." " Well, we are in luck," observed Tom Washball, riding up and joining them ; " we are in luck to have a satisfactory thing with you great connoisseurs out." " A pretty thing enough," replied Jack, " pretty thing enough." " Oh, I don't mean to say it's equal to many we've had this season," replied Washball ; " nothing like the Broughton Hill day, nor yet the Hembury Forest one ; but still, considering the meet and slate of the country " " Hout ! the country's good enough," growled Jack, who hated Washball ; adding, " A good fox makes any country good ; " with which observation he sidled up to Sponge, leaving Washball in the middle of the road. " That reminds me," said Jack, soito voce to Sponge, " that the crittur wants his run puffed, and he thinks you can do it." " Me ! " exclaimed Sponge, " what's put that in his head ?" " Why, you see," exclaimed Jack, " the first time you came out with our hounds at Dundleton Tower, you'll remember — or rather, the first time we saw you, when your horse ran away with you — some- body, Fyle, I think it was, said you were a literary cove; and Puff, catchin' at the idea, has never been able to get rid of it since ; and the fact is, he'd like to be flattered — he'd be uncommonly pleased if you were to ' soft saudor ' him handsomely." "Me/" exclaimed Sponge; "bless your heart, man, I can't write anything — nothing fit to print at least." " Hout, fiddle ! " retorted Spraggon, " you can write as well as any other man ; see what lots of fellows write, and nobody ever finds fault," " But the spellin' bothers one," replied Sponge with a shake of his elbow and body, as if the idea was quite out of the question. " Hang the spellin'," muttered Jack, "one can always borrow a dictionary ; or let the man of the paper — the editor as they call him — smooth out the spellin'. You say at the end of your letter, that your hands are cold, or your hand aches with holdin' a pullin' horse, and you'll thank him to correct any inadvertencies — you needn't call them errors, you know." " But where's the use of it? " exclaimed Sponge ; " it '11 do us no good, you know, praisin' Puff's pack, or himself, or anything about him." " That's just the point," said Jack, " that's just the point. I can make it answer both our purposes," said he, with a nudge of the elbow, and an inside-out squint of his eyes. " Ah, that's another matter," replied our friend ; "if we can turn the thing to account, well and good^-I'm your man for a shy." " We can turn it to account," rejoined Jack ; " we can turn it to 240 MR. sponge's sporting tour. account — at least I can ; but then you must do it. He wouldn't take it as any compliment from me. It's the stranger that sees all things in their true lights. D' ye understand ? " asked he, eagerly. " I twig," replied Sponge. " You write the account," continued Jack, " and I'll manage the rest." " You must help me," observed Sponge. " Certainly," replied Jack; "we'll do it together, and go halves in the plunder." " Humph," mused Sponge: " halves," said he to himself. " And what will you give me for my half? " asked he. " Give you ! " exclaimed Jack brightening up. " Give you! Let me see," continued he, pretending to consider, — Puff's rich — Puff's a liberal fellow — Puff's a conceited beggar: — mix it strong," said Jack, " and I'll give you ten pounds." " Make it twelve," replied Sponge, after a pause. If Jack had said twelve, Sponge would have asked fourteen. " Couldn't," said Jack, with a shake of the head ; " it really isn't with (worth) the money." The two then rode on in silence for some little distance. " I'll tell you what I'll do," said Jack, spurring his horse, and trotting up the space that the other had now shot ahead. " I'll split the difference with you ! " " Well, give me the sov.," said Sponge, holding out his hand for earnest. " Why, I haven't a sov. upon me," replied Jack ; " but, honour bright, I'll do what I say." " Give me eleven golden sovereigns for my chance," repeated Sponge, slowly, in order that there might be no mistake. " Eleven golden sovereigns for your chance," repeated Jack. " Done ! " replied Sponge. " Done ! " repeated Jack. " Let's jog on and do it at once while the thing's fresh in our minds," said Jack, working his horse into a trot. Sponge did the same ; and the grass-siding of Orlantire Park- wall favouring their design, they increased the trot to a canter. They soon passed the park's bounds, and entering upon one of those rarities — an unenclosed common, angled its limits so as to escape the side-bar, and turning up Farningham Green lane, came out upon the Kingsworth and Swillingford turnpike within sight of Hanby House. " We'd better pull up and walk the horses gently in, p'raps," ob- served Sponge, reining his in. " Ah ! I was only wantin' to get home before the rest," observed Jack, pulling up too. They then proceeded more leisurely together. " We'd better get into one of our bed-rooms to do it," observed Jack, as they passed the lodge. MR. STONGe's SPORTING TOUR. 241 " Just so," replied Sponge ; adding, " I dare say we shall want all the quiet we can get." " Oh, no ! " said Jack; "the thing's simple enough — met at such a place — found at such another — killed at so and so." " Well, I hope it will," said Sponge, riding into the stable-yard, and resigning his steed to the care of his groom. Jack did the same by Sponge's other horse, which he had been riding ; and in reply to Leather's enquiry (who stood with his right hand ready, as if to shake hands with him), "how the horse had carried him ? " replied — " Cursed ill," and stamped away without giving him anything. " Ah, youWe a gen'leman, you are," muttered Leather, as he led the horse away. " Now, come ! " exclaimed Jack, to Sponge, " come ! let's get in before any of those bothersome fellows come ; " adding, as he dived into a passage, " I'll show you the back way." After passing a scullery, a root-house, and a spacious entrance- hall, upon a table in which stood the perpetual beer-jug and bread- basket, a green baize door let them into the regions of upper service, and passing the dashed carpets of the housekeeper's room and butler's pantry, a red baize door let them into the far side of the front en- trance. Having deposited their hats and whips, they bounded up the richly-carpeted staircase to their rooms. Hanby House, as we have already said, was splendidly furnished. All the grandeur did not run to the entertaining rooms ; but each particular apartment, from the state bed-room down to the smallest bachelor snuggery, was replete with elegance and comfort. Like many houses, however, the bed-rooms possessed every imagi- nable luxury, except boot-jacks and pens that would write. In Sponge's room, for instance, there were hip-baths, and foot-baths, a shower-bath, and hot and cold baths adjoining, and mirrors innume- rable; an eight-day mantel-clock by Moline, of Geneva, that struck the hours, half-hours, and quarters ; cut-glass toilet candlesticks, with silver sconces ; an elegant zebra-wood cabinet ; also a beautiful Devon- port of zebra-wood, with a plate-glass back, containing a pen rug worked on silver ground, an ebony match box, a blue crystal, con- taining a sponge pen-wiper, a beautiful envelope-case, a white-corne- lian seal, with " Hanby House " upon it, wax of all colours, paper of all textures, envelopes without end — every imaginable requirement of correspondence except a pen that would write. There ivere pens, indeed — there almost always are — but they were miserable apologies of things ; some were mere crow-quills — sort of cover-hacks of pens, while others were great, clumsy, heavy-heeled, cart-horse sort of things, clotted up to the hocks with ink, or split all the way through — vexatious apologies, that throw a person over just at the critical moment, when he has got his sheet prepared and his ideas all ready 212 MR. sponge's sporting tour. to pour upon paper ; then splut — splut — splutter goes the pen, and away goes the train of thought. Bold is the man who undertakes to write his letters in his bed-room with country house pens. But, to our friends. Jack and SpoDge slept next door to each other; Sponge, as we have already said, occupying the state-room, with its canopy-top bedstead, carved and panelled sides, and elegant chintz curtains lined with pink, and massive silk-and-bullion tassels ; while Jack occupied the dressing-room, which was the state bed-room in miniature, only a good deal more comfortable. The rooms communicated with double doors, and our friends very soon effected a passage. " Have you any 'baccy ? " asked Jack, waddling in in his slippers, after having sucked off his tops without the aid of a boot-jack. " There's some in my jacket-pocket," replied Sponge, nodding to where it hung in the wardrobe ; " but it won't do to smoke here, will it?" asked he. " Why not ? " inquired Jack. " Such a fine room," replied Sponge, looking around. " Oh, fine be hanged ! " replied Jack; adding, as he made for the jacket, "no place too fine for smokin' in." Having helped himself to one of the best cigars, and lighted it, Jack composed himself cross-legged in an easy, spring, stuffed chair, while Sponge fussed about among the writing implements, watering and stirring up the clotted ink, and denouncing each pen in succes- sion, as he gave it the initiatory trial in writing the word " Sponge." " Curse the pens ! " exclaimed he, throwing the last bright crisp yellow thing from him in disgust. " There's not one among 'em that can go ! — all reg'larly stumped up." " Haven't you a penknife ? " asked Jack, taking the cigar out of his mouth. " Not I," replied Sponge. ': Take a razor, then," said Jack, who was good at an expedient. " I'll take one of yours," said Sponge, going into the dressing- room for one. " Hang it, but you're rather too sharp," exclaimed Jack, with a shake of his head. " It's more than your razor '11 be when I'm done with it," replied Sponge. Having at length, with the aid of Jack's razor, succeeded in get- ting a pen that would write, Mr. Sponge selected a sheet of best cream- laid satin paper, and taking a cane-bottomed chair, placed himself at the table in an attitude for writing. Dipping the fine yellow pen in the ink, he looked in Jack's face for an idea. Jack, who had now got well advanced in his cigar, sat squinting through his spectacles at our scribe, though apparently looking at the top of the bed. " Well," said Sponge, with a look of inquiry. " Well," replied Jack, in a tone of indifference, me. sponge's sporting tour. 243 " How shall I begin ? " asked Sponge, twirling the pen between his fingers, and spluttering the ink over the paper. " Begin ! " replied Jack, " begin, oh, begin, just as you usually begin." " As a letter ? " asked Sponge. " I 'spose so," replied Jack; " how would you think ? " 11 Oh, I don't know," replied Sponge. " Will you try your hand?" added he, holding out the pen. " Why, I'm busy just now, you see," said he, pointing to his cigar, " and that horse of yours (Jack had ridden the redoubtable chestnut, Multum in Parvo, who had gone very well in the company of Her- cules) pulled so confoundedly that I've almost lost the use of my fingers," continued he, working away as if he had got the cramp in both hands ; " but I'll prompt you," added he, " I'll prompt you." " Why don't you begin, then ? " asked Sponge. " Begin ! " exclaimed Jack, taking the cigar from his lips ; " be- gin ! " repeated he, " oh, I'll begin directly — didn't know you were ready." Jack then threw himself back in his chair, and sticking out his little bandy legs, turned the white,* of his eyes up to the ceiling, as if lost in meditation. " Begin," said he, after a pause, " begin, 'This splendid pack had a stunning run.' " " But we must put ivliat pack first," observed Sponge, writing the words " Mr. Puffington's hounds" at the top of the paper. " Well," said he, writing on, " this stunning pack had a splendid run." " No, not stunning pack" growled Jack, " splendid pack — ' this splendid pack had a stunning run.' " "Stop!" exclaimed Sponge writing it down; "well," said he, lookiog up, " I've got it." " This stunning pack had a splendid run," repeated Jack, squint- ing away at the ceiling. " I thought you said splendid pack," observed Sponge. " So I did," replied Jack. " You said stunning just now," rejoined he. " Ah, that was a slip of the tongue," said Jack. " This splendid pack had a stunning run," repeated Jack, appealing again to his cigar for inspiration; "well then," said he, after a pause, "you just go on as usual, you know," continued he, with a flourish of his great red hand. " As usual ! " exclaimed Sponge, " you don't s'pose one's pen goes of itself." " Why no," replied Jack, knocking the ashes off his cigar on to the arabesque-patterned tapestry carpet — "why no, not exactly; but these things, you know, are a good deal matter of course ; just de- 244 mr. sponge's sporting tour. scribe what you saw, you know, and butter Puff well, that's the main point." " But you forget," replied Sponge, " I don't know the country, I don't know the people, I don't know anything at all about the run — I never once looked at the hounds." " That's nothin'," replied Jack, " there'd be plenty like you in that respect. However," continued he, gathering himself up in his chair as if for an effort, " you can say — let me see what you can say — you can say, ' this splendid pack had a stunning run from Holly- burn Hanger, the property of its truly popular master, Mr. Puffing- ton,' or — stop," said Jack, checking himself, " say, c the property of its truly popular and sporting master, Mr. Puffington.' The cover's just as much mine as it's his," observed Jack; "it belongs to old Sir Timothy Tensthemain, who's vegetating at Boulogne-sur-mer, but Puff says he'll buy it when it comes to the hammer, so we'll flatter him by considering it his already, just as we flatter him by calling him a sportsman — sportsman ! " added Jack, with a sneer, " he's just as much taste for the thing as a cow." " Well," said Sponge, looking up, " I've got l truly popular and sporting master, Mr. Puffington,' " adding, " hadn't we better say something about the meet and the grand spread here before we begin with the run ? " " True," replied Jack, after a long-drawn whiff and another ad- justment of the end of his cigar ; " say that ' a splendid field of well- appointed sportsmen ' — " " A splendid field -of well-appointed sportsmen," wrote Sponge. " l Among whom we recognised several distinguished strangers and members of Lord Scamperdale's hunt.' That means you and I," observed Jack. " ' Of Lord Scamperdale's hunt — that means you and I,' " — read Sponge as he wrote it. " But you're not to put in that ; you're not to write ' that means you and I,' my man," observed Jack. " Oh, I thought that was part of the sentence," replied Sponge. " No, no ; " said Jack, " I meant to say that you and I were the distinguished strangers and members of Lord Scamperdale's hunt ; but that's between ourselves you know." " Good," said Sponge ; " then I'll strike that out," running his pen through the words " that means you and I." " Now get on," said he, appealing to Jack, adding " we've a deal to do yet." - " Say," said Jack, " ' after partaking of the well-known profuse and splendid hospitality of Hanby House, they proceeded at once to Hollvburn Hanger, where a fine seasoned fox ' — though some said he was a bag one — " "Did they?" exclaimed Sponge, adding, "well, I thought he went away rather queerly." 245 " Ob, it was only old Bung the brewer, who runs down every run he doesn't ride." '; Well, never mind," replied Sponge, " we'll make the best of it, whatever it was ; "' writing away as he spoke, and repeating the words 11 bag one " as he penned them. " ' Broke away,' " continued Jack — " ' In view of the whole field,' " added Sponge. 11 Just so," assented Jack. " ' Every hound scoring to cry, and making the ' — the — the — what d'ye call the thing ? " asked Jack. " Country," suggested Sponge. " No," replied Jack, with a shake of the head. " Hill and dale? " tried Sponge again. "Welkin!" exclaimed Jack, hitting it off himself — "'rnakin' the welkin ring with their melody ! ' makin' the welkin ring with their melody," repeated he, with exultation. " Capital ! " observed Sponge, as he wrote it. " Equal to Littlelegs,"* said Jack, squinting his eyes inside out. " We'll make a grand thing of it," observed Sponge. " So we will," replied Jack, adding, " if we had but a book of po'try we'd weave in some lines here. You haven't a book of no sort with you that we could prig a little po'try from ? " asked he. " No," replied Sponge, thoughtfully. "I'm afraid not; indeed, I'm sure not. I've got nothin' but ' Mogg's Cab Fares.' " " Ah, that won't do," observed Jack, with a shake of the head. " But stay," said he, " there are some books over yonder," pointing to the top of an Indian cabinet, and squinting in a totally different direction. " Let's see what they are," added he, rising, and stump- ing away to where they stood. " I Promessi Sposi," read he off the back of one : " what can that mean ? Ah, it's Latin," said he, opening the volume. " Contes a ma Fille," read he off the back of another. " That sounds like racin'," observed he, opening the volume : " its Latin, too," said he, returning it. " However, never mind, we'll 1 sugar Puff's milk,' as Mr. Bragg would say, without po'try." So saying, Mr. Spraggon stumped back to his easy chair. " Well, now," said he, seating himself comfortably in it, " let's see, where did we go first ? ' He broke at the lower end of the cover, and crossing the brook, made straight for Fleecykaugh Water Meadows, over which, you may say, ' there's always a ravishing scent.' " " Have you got that ? " asked Jack, after what he thought a sufficient lapse of time for writing it. " ' Ravishing scent,' " repeated Sponge, as he wrote the words. " Very good," said Jack, smoking and considering. " ' From * The Poetical Recorder of the Doings of the Dublin Garrison dogs, in BeWs Life. iMG mr. sponge's sporting tuur. there,' " continued he, " ' he made a bit of a bend, as if inclining for the plantations at Winstead, bnt, chaDging his mind, he faced the rising ground, and crossing over nearly the highest part of Shilling- ton Hill, made direct for the little village of Berriugton Roothings below : ' " " Stop ! " exclaimed Sponge, " I haven't got half that ; I've only got to ' the plantations at Winstead.' " Sponge made play with his pen, and presently held it up in token of being done. " Well," pondered Jack, " there was a check there. Say," con- tinued he, addressing himself to Sponge, " ' Here the hounds came to a check.' " " Here the hounds came to a check," wrote Sponge. " Shall we say anything about distance ? " asked he. " P'raps we may as well," replied Jack. " We shall have to stretch it though a bit." " Let's see," continued he ; " from the cover to Berrington Roo- things over by Shillington Hill and Fleecyhaugh Water Meadows will be — say, two miles and a half or three miles at the most, — call it four, well four miles, — say four miles in twelve minutes, twenty miles an hour, — too quick, four miles in fifteen minutes, sixteen miles an hour ; no — I think p'raps it'll be safer to lump the distance at the end, and put in a place or two that nobody knows the name of, for the convenience of those who were not out." " But those who were out will blab, won't they ?" asked Sponge. " Only to each other," replied Jack. " They'll all stand up for the truth of it as against strangers. You need never be afraid of over-eggin' the puddin' for those that were out." " Well, then," observed Sponge, looking at his paper to report progress, " we've got the hounds to a check. * Here the hounds came to a check,' " read he. " Ah ! now, then," said Jack, in a tone of disgust, " we must say summut handsome of Bragg ; and of all conceited animals under the sun, he certainly is the most conceited. I never saw such a man ! How that unfortunate, infatuated master of his keeps him, I can't for the life of me imagine. Master! faith, Bragg's the master" continued Jack, who now began to foam at the mouth. " He laughs at old Puff to his face ; yet it's wonderful the influence Bragg has over him. I really believe he has talked Puff into believing that there's not such another huntsman under the sun, and really he's as great a muff as ever walked. He can just dress the character, and that's all." So saying, Jack wiped his moutli on the sleeve of his red coat preparatory to displaying Mr. Bragg upon paper. " Well, now we are at fault," said Jack, motioning Sponge to resume ; "we are at fault; now say, 'but Mr. Bragg, who had ridden gallantly on his favourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat past mark of moutli ' He is a good horse, at least Mil. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 247 was" observed Jack ; adding, " I sold Puff him, he was one of old Sugarlip's," meaning Lord Scamperdale's. " Sure to be a good 'un then," replied Sponge, with a wink; add- ing, " I wonder if he'd like to buy any more." " We'll talk about that after," replied Jack, " at present let us get on with our run." " Well," said Sponge, " Ive got it : ' Mr. Bragg, who had ridden gallantly on his favourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat past mark of mouth ■ ' " " ' Was well up with his hounds,' " continued Jack, " ' and with a gently E antipole ! and a single wave of his arm, proceeded to make one of those scientific casts for which this eminent huntsman is so justly celebrated.' Justly celebrated!" repeated Jack, spitting on the carpet with a hawk of disgust; "the conceited self-sufficient bantam-cock never made a cast worth a copper, or rode a yard but when he thought somebody was looking at him." " I've got it," said Sponge, who had plied his pen to good pur- pose. " Justly celebrated," repeated Jack, with a snort. " Well, then, say, ' Hitting off the scent like a workman,' — big H, you know, for a fresh sentence, — ' they went away again at score, and passing by Moorlinch farm-buildings, and threading the strip of plantation by Bexley Burn, he crossed Silverbury Green, leaving Longford Hutch to the right, and passing straight on by the gibbet at Harpen.' Those are all bits of places," observed Jack, " that none but the country folks know ; indeed, I shouldn't have known them but for shootin' over them when old Bloss lived at the Green. Well now, have you got all that ? " asked he. " ' Gibbet at Harpen,' " read Sponge, as he wrote it. " ' Here, then, the gallant pack, breaking from scent to view,' " continued Jack, speaking slowly, " ' run into their fox in the open close upon Mountnessing Wood, evidently his point from the first, and into which a few more strides would have carried him. It was as fine a run as ever was seen, and the hunting of the hounds was the admiration of all who saw it. The distance couldn't have been less than ' — than what shall we say ? " asked Jack. " Ten, twelve miles, as the crow flies," suggested Sponge. " No," said Jack, "that would be too much. Say ten ; " adding, " that will be four more than it was." " Never mind," said Sponge, as he wrote it; "folks like good measure with runs as well as ribbons." " Now we must butter Old Puff," observed Spraggon. " What can we say for him ? " asked Sponge ; " that he never went off the road ? " " No, by Jove ! " said Jack ; " you'll spoil all if you do that : better leave it alone altogether than do that, Say, ' the justly popu- 2-48 MR. sponge's SPORTING TuUR. lar owner of this most celebrated pack, though riding good fourteen stone' (he rides far more," observed Jack; "at least sixteen; but it'll please him to make out that he can ride fourteen), ' led the welters, on his famous chestnut horse, Tappey Lappey.' " "What shall we say about the rest?" asked Sponge; "Lump leg, Slapp, Guano, and all those ? " " Oh, say nothin' " replied Jack; " we've nothin' to do with no- body but Puff; and we couldn't mention them without bringin' in our Flat Hat men too, Blossomnose, Fyle, Fossick, and so on. Be- sides, it would spoil all to say that Guano was up — people would say directly it couldn't have been much of a run if Guano was there You might finish off," observed Jack, after a pause, " by saying, that 'after this truly brilliant affair, Mr. Puffington, like a thorough sportsman, and one who never trashes his hounds unnecessarily — un- like some masters,' }tou may say, 'who never know when to leave off' (that will be a hit at Old Scamp," observed Jack, with a frightful squint), " ' returned to Hanby House, where a distinguished party of sportsmen — ' or, say ' a distinguished party of noblemen and gentle- men ' — that'll please the ass more — ' a large party of noblemen and gentlemen were partaking of his ' — his what shall we call it ? " " Grub ! " said Sponge. " No, no — summut genteel — his — his — his — l splendid hospi- tality/'" concluded Jack, waving his arm triumphantly over his head. " Hard work, authorship ! " exclaimed Sponge, as he finished writing, and threw down the pen. " Oh, I don't know," replied Jack ; adding, " I could go on for an hour." "Ah you! — that's all very well," replied Sponge, "for you, squatting comfortably in your arm-chair : but consider me, toiling with my pen, bothered with the writing, and craning at the spelling." " Never mind, we've done it," replied Jack ; adding, " Puff '11 be as pleased as Punch. We've polished him off uncommon. That's just the sort of account to tickle the beggar. He'll go riding about the country, showing it to everybody, and wondering who wrote it." " And what shall we send it to ? — the Sporting Magazine, or what?" asked Sponge. " Sporting Magazine ! — no," replied Jack; "wouldn't be out till next year — quick's the word in these railway times. Send it to a newspaper — BelPs Life, or one of the Swillingford papers. Either of them would be glad to put it in." " I hope they'll be able to read it," observed Sponge, looking at the blotched and scrawled manuscript. " Trust them for that," replied Jack ; adding, " If there's any word that bothers them, they've nothin' to do but look in the dic- tionary— these folks all have dictionaries, wonderful fellows for spellin'." mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 249 Just then a little buttony page, in green and gold, came in to ask if there were any letters for the post ; and our friends hastily made up their packet, directing it to the editor of the Swillingford " Guide to Glory and Freeman's Friend ; " words that in the hurried style of Mr. Sponge's penmanship looked very like " Guide to Grog, and Freeman's Friend." CHAPTER XL. a literary eloomer. Time was when the independent borough of Swillingford supported two newspapers, or rather two editors, the editor of the Swillingford Patriot, and the editor of the Swillingford Guide to Glory ; but those were stirring days, when politics ran high, and votes and corn commanded good prices. The papers were never very prosperous concerns, as may be supposed when we say that the circulation of the former at its best time was barely seven hundred, while that of the latter never exceeded a thousand. They were both started at the reform times, when the reduction of the stamp-duty brought so many aspiring candidates for literary fame into the field, and for a time they were conducted with all the bitter hostility that a contracted neighbourhood, and a constant crossing by the editors of each other's path, could engender. The competition, too, for advertisements, was keen, and the editors were continually taunting each other with taking them for the duty alone. iEneas M'Quirter was the editor of the Patriot, and Felix Grimes that of the Guide to Glory. M'Quirter, we need hardly say, was a Scotchman — a big, broad- shouldered Sawney — formidable in "slacks," as he called his trousers, and terrific in kilts ; while Grimes was a native of Swillingford, an ex-schoolmastcr and parish clerk, and now an auctioneer, a hatter, a dyer and bleacher, a paper-hanger, to which the wits said when he set up his paper, he added the trade of " stainer." At first the rival editors carried on a " war to the knife " sort of contest with one another, each denouncing his adversary in terms of the most unmeasured severity. In this they were warmly sup- ported by a select knot of admirers, to whom they read their weekly effusions at their respective " houses of call " the evening before publication. Gradually the fire of bitterness began to pale, and the excitement of friends to die out ; M'Quirter presently put forth a signal of distress. To accommodate "a large and influential number of its subscribers and patrons," lie determined to publish on a Tuesday 250 mr. sponge's sporting tour, instead of on a Saturday as heretofore, whereupon Mr. Grimes, who had never been able to fill a single sheet properly, now doubled his paper, lowered his charge for advertisements, and hinted at his inten- tion of publishing an occasional supplement. However exciting it may be for a time, parties soon tire of carrying on a losing game for the mere sake of abusing each other, and iEneas M'Quirter not being behind the generality of his country men in " canniness" and shrewdness of intellect, came to the conclu- sion that it was no use doing so in this case, especially as the few re- maining friends who still applauded, would be very sorry to subscribe anything towards his losses. He therefore very quietly negotiated the sale of his paper to the rival editor, and having concluded a satis- factory bargain, he placed the bulk of his property in the poke of his plaid, and walked out of Swillingfordjust as if bent on taking the air, leaving Mr. Grimes in undisputed possession of both papers, who forth- with commenced leading both Whig and Tory mind, the one on the Tuesday, the other on the Saturday. The pot and pipe companions of course saw how things were, but the majority of the readers living in the country, just continued to pin their faith to the printed declarations of their oracles, while Grimes kept up the delusion of sincerity by every now and then fulminating a tremendous denunciation against his trimming, vacillating, inconsistent opponent on the Tuesday, and then retaliating with equal vigour upon himself on the Saturday. He wrote his own " leaders," both Whig and Tory, the arguments of one side pointing out answers for the other. Sometimes he led the way for a triumphant refutal, while the general tone of the articles was quite of the " upset a ministry" style. Indeed Grimes strutted and swaggered as if the fate of the nation rested with him. The papers themselves were not very flourishing-lookiDg concerns, the wide-spread paragraphs, the staring types, the catching advertise- ments, forming a curious contrast to the close packing of the Times. " Gutta Percha Company," " Locock's Female Pills," " Keating's Cough Lozenges," and the " Triumphs of Medicine," all with staring woodcuts and royal arms, occupied conspicuous places in every paper. A new advertisement was a novelty. However, the two papers answer- ed a great deal better than either did singly, and any lack of matter was easily supplied from the magazines and new books. In this depart- ment, indeed, in the department of elegant light literature generally, Mr Grimes was ably assisted by his eldest daughter, Lucy, — a young lady of a certain age — say liberal thirty — an ardent Bloomer — with a considerable taste for sentimental poetry, with which she generally filled the poet's corner. This assistance enabled Grimes to look after his auctioneering, bleaching, and paper-hanging concerns ; and it so happened, that when the foregoing run arrived at the office, he, having seen the next paper ready for press, had gone to Mr. Vosper's, mr. sponge's sporting tour. 251 some ten miles off, to paper his drawing-room, consequently the duties of deciding upon its publication devolved on the Bloomer. Now she was a most refined, puritanical young woman, full of sentiment and elegance, with a strong objection to what she considered the in- humanities of the chase. At first she was for rejecting the article al- together, and had it been a run with the Tinglebury harriers, or even, we believe, with Lord Scamperdale's hounds, she would have con- signed it to the " Balaam box," but seeing it was with Mr. Pumngton's hounds, whose house they had papered, and who advertised with them, she condescended to read it ; and though her delicacy was shocked at encountering the word " stunning " at the outset, and also at the term " ravishing scent" further on, she nevertheless sent the man- uscript to the compositors, after making such alterations and correc- tions as she thought would fit it for eyes polite. The consequence was, that the article appeared in the following form, though whether all the absurdities were owing to Miss Lucy's corrections, or the care- lessness of the writer, or the printers had anything to do with it, we are not able to say. The errors, some of them arising from the mere alteration or substitution of a letter, will strike a sporting, more than a general reader. Thus it appeared in the middle of the third sheet of the Swillingford Patriot : — SPLENDID RUN WTITH MR. PUFFINGTOn's HOUNDS. This splendid pack had a superb run from Hollyburn Hanger, the property of its truly popular and sporting owner, Mr. PufF- ington. A splendid field of well-appointed sportsmen, among whom we recognised several distinguished strangers, and members of Lord Scamperdale's hunt, were present. After partaking of the well-known profuse and splendid hospitality of Hanby House, they proceeded at once to Hollyburn Hanger, where a fine seasonal fox, though some said he was a bay one, broke away in view of the whole pack, every hound scorning to cry, and making the welkin ring with their melody. He broke at the lower end of the cover, and crossing the brook, made straight for Fleccyhaugh Vvrater-Meadows, over which there is always an exquisite perfume ; from there he made a slight bend, as if in- clining for^ the plantations at Winstead, but changing his mind, he faced the rising ground, and crossing over nearly the highest point of Shillington Hill, made direct for the little village of Berrington Roothiugs below. Here the hounds came to a check, but Mr. Br who had ridden gallantly on his favourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat past work of mouth, was well up with his hounds, and with a " gentle rantepole ! " and a single wave of his arm, proceeded to make one of those scientific rests for which this eminent huntsman is so justly celebrated. Hitting off the scent like a coach- man, they went away again at score, and passing by Moorlinch Farm- 252 mr. sponge's sporting tour. buildings, and threading the strip of plantation by Bexley Burn, he crossed Silverbury Green, leaving Longford Hutch to the right, and passing straight on by the gibbet at Harpen. Here, then, the gallant pack, breaking from scent to view, ran into their box in the open close upon Mountnessing Wood, evidently his point from the first, and into which a few more strides would have carried him. It was as fine a run as ever was seen, and the grunting of the hounds was the admi- ration of all who heard it. The distance could not have been less than ten miles as a cow goes. The justly popular owner of this most cele- brated pack, though riding good fourteen stones, led the Walters on his famous chesnut horse Tappey Lappey. After this truly brilliant affair, Mr. Puflmgton, like a thorough sportsman, and one who never thrashes his hounds unnecessarily — unlike some masters who never know when to leave off — returned to Hanby House, where a distin- guished party of noblemen and gentlemen partook of his splendid hos- pitality. And the considerate Bloomer added of her own accord, " We hope we shall have to record many such runs in the imperishable columns of our paper." CHAPTER XLI. A DINNER AND A DEAL. Another grand dinner, on a more extensive scale than its predeces- sor, marked the day of this glorious run. " There's goin' to be a great blow out," observed Mr. Spraggon to Mr. Sponge, as, crossing his hands and resting them on the crown of his head, he threw himself back in his easy chair, to recruit after the exertion of concocting the description of the run. " How d'ye know ? " asked Sponge. " Saw by the dinner table as we passed," replied Jack ; adding, " it reaches nearly to the door." " Indeed," said Sponge ; " I wonder who's coming ?" " Most likely Guano, again ; indeed, I know he is, for I asked his groom if he was going home, and he said no ; and Lumpleg, you may be sure, and possibly old Blossomnose, Slapp, and very likely, young Are they chaps with any ' go' in them ? — shake their elbows, or anything of that sort?" asked Sponge, working away as if he had the dice-box in his hand. " I hardly know," replied Jack, thoughtfully. " I hardly know. mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 253 Young Pacey, I think, might be made summut on ; but his uncle, Major Screw, looks uncommon sharp arter him, and he's a minor." "Would he pay?" asked Sponge, who, keeping as he said, "no books," was not inclined to do business on " tick." " Don't know," replied Jack, squinting at half-cock ; " don't know — would depend a good deal, I should say, upon how it was done. It's a deuced unhandsome world this. If one wins a trifle of a youngster at cards, let it be ever so openly done, it's sure to say one's cheated him, just because one happens to be a little older, as if the age had anything to do with making the cards come right." " It's an ungenerous world," observed Sponge, " and it's no use being abused for nothing. What sort of a genius is Pacey ? Is he inclined to go the pace ? " " Oh, quite," replied Jack; "his great desire is to be thought a sportsman." " A sportsman, or a sporting man ? " asked Sponge. " W-h-o-y ! I should say p'raps a sportin' man more than the sportsman," replied Jack. " He's a great lumberin' lad, buttons his great stomach into a Newmarket cut-away, and carries a betting-book in his breast pocket." " Oh, he's a bettor, is he !" exclaimed Sponge, brightening up. " He's a raw poult of a chap," replied Jack ; " just ready for anything — in a small way, at least — a chap that's always offering two to one in half-crowns. He'll have money, though, and can't be far off age. His father was a great spectacle-maker. You have heard of Pacey's spectacles ? " " Can't say as how I have," replied Sponge ; adding, " they are more in your line than mine." The further consideration of the youth was interrupted by the entrance of a footman with hot water, who announced that dinner would be ready in half an hour. " Who's there comin? " asked Jack. "Don't know 'xactly, sir," replied the man; " believe much the same party as yesterday, with the addition of Mr. Pacey ; Mr. Miller, of Newton; Mr. Fogo, of Bellevue; Mr. Brown, of the Hill; and some others, whose names I forget." "Is Major Screw coming?" asked Sponge. " I rayther think not, sir. I think I heard Mr. Plummey, the butler, say he declined." " So much the better," growled Jack, throwing off his purple- lapped coat in commencement of his toilette. As the two dressed they discussed the point how Pacey might be done. When our friends got down stairs it was evident there was a great spread. Two red plushed footmen stood on guard in the entrance, helping the arrivers out of their wraps, while a buzz of conversation sounded through the partially-opened drawing-room door, as Mr. 254 mr. sponge's sporting tour. Plummey stood, handle in hand, to announce the names of the guests. Our friends, having the entree, of course passed in as at home, and mingled with the comers and stayers. Guest after guest quickly followed, almost all making the same observation, namely, that it was a fine day for the time of year, and then each sidled off, rubbing his hands, to the fire. Captain Guano monopolised about one-half of it, like a Colossus of Rh ides, with a coat-lap under each arm. He seemed to think that, being a stayer, he had more right to the fire than the mere diners. Mr. Pufiington moved briskly among the motley throng, now expatiating on the splendour of the run, now hoping a friend was hungry, asking a third after his wife, and apologising to a fourth for not having called on his sister. Still his real thoughts were in the kitchen, and he kept counting noses and looking anxiously at the time-piece. After the door had had a longer rest than usual, Blossom- nose at last cast up : " Now we're all here, surely ! " thought he counting about ; " one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, thirteen, fourteen, myself fifteen, fifteen, fifteen, must be another, sixteen, eight couple asked. Oh, that Pacey's wanting; always comes late, won't wait" — so saying, or rather thinking, Mr. Pufiington rang the bell and ordered dinner. Pacey then cast up. He was just the sort of swaggering youth that Jack had de- scribed ; a youth who thought money would do everything in the world — make him a gentleman, in short. He came rolling into the room, grinning as if he had done something fine in being late. He had both his great red hands in his tight trouser pockets, and drew the right one out to favour. his friends with it " all hot." " I'm late, I guess," said he, grinning round at the assembled guests, now dispersed in the various attitudes of expectant eaters, some standing ready for a start, some half sitting on tables and sofa- ends, others resigning themselves complacently to their chairs, abusing Mr. Pacey and all dinner delayers. " I'm late, I guess," repeated he, as he now got navigated up to his host and held out his hand. " 0 never mind," replied Pufiington, accepting as little of the proffered paw as he could; "never mind," repeated he, adding, as he looked at the French clock on the mantel-piece now chiming a quarter past six, "I dare say I told you we dined at half-past-five." " Dare say you did, old boy," replied Pacey, kicking out his legs, and giving Pufiington what he meant for a friendly poke in the stomach, but which in reality nearly knocked his wind out; "dare say you did, old boy, but so you did last time, if you remember, and deuce a bite did I get before six ; so I thought I'd be quits with you this — he — he — he — haw — haw — haw," grinning and staring about as if he had done something very clever. MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 255 Pacey was one of those deplorable beings — a country swell. Tompkins and Hopkins, the haberdashers of Swillingford, never exhibited an ugly, out-of-the-way neckcloth or waistcoat with the words "patronised by the Prince," "very fashionable," or "quite the go," upon them, but he immediately adorned himself in one. On the present occasion he was attired in a wide-stretching, lace-tippped, black Joinville, with recumbent gills, showing the heavy amplitude of his enormous jaws, while the extreme scooping out of a collarless, flashy-buttoned, chain-daubed, black silk waistcoat, with broad blue stripes, afforded an uninterrupted view of a costly embroidered shirt, the view extending, indeed, up to a portion of his white satin " forget- me-not" embroidered braces. His coat was a broad-sterned, brass- buttoned blue, with pockets outside, and of course he wore a pair of creaking highly varnished boots. He was, apparently, about twenty ; just about the age when a youth thinks it fine to associate with men, and an age at which some men are not above taking advan- tage of a youth. Perhaps he looked rather older than he was, for he was stiff built and strong, with an ample crop of whiskers, extending from his great red docken ears round his harvest moon of a face. He was lumpy, and clumsy, and heavy all over. Having now got inducted, he began to stare round the party, and first addressed our worthy friend Mr. Spraggon. " Well, Sprag, how are you ? " asked he. "Well, Spec's" (alluding to his father's trade), "how are you?" replied Jack, with a growl, to the evident satisfaction of the party, who seemed to regard Pacey as the common enemy. Fortunately just at the moment Mr. Plummey restored harmony by announcing dinner ; and after the usual backing and retiring of mock modesty, Mr. Puffington said he would " show them the way," when there was as great a rush to get in, to avoid the bugbear of sitting with their backs to the fire, as there had been apparent dis- position not to go at all. Notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of affairs, Mr. Spraggon placed himself next Mr. Pacey, who sat a good way down the table, while Mr. Sponge occupied the post of honour by our host. In accordance with the usual tactics of those sort of gentlemen, Spraggon and Sponge essayed to be two — if not exactly strangers, at all events gentlemen with very little acquaintance. Spraggon took advantage of a dead silence to call up the table to Mister Sponge to take wine ; a compliment that Sponge acknowledged the accordance of by a very low bow into his plate, and by-and-by Mister Sponge " Mistered" 31 r. Spraggon to return the compliment. " Do you know much of that — that — that — chap ? " (he would have said snob if he'd thought it would be safe,) asked Pacey, as Sponge returned to still life after the first wine ceremony. "No," replied Spraggon, "nor do I wish." 256 MR. sponge's sporting tour. " Great snob," observed Pacey. " Shocking," assented Spraggon. " He's got a good horse or two, though," observed Pacey; " I saw them on the road coming here the other day." Pacey, like many youngsters, professed to be a judge of horses, and thought himself rather sharp at a deal. " They are good horses," replied Jack, with an emphasis on the good ; adding, " I'd be very glad to have one of them." Mr. Spraggon then asked Mr. Pacey to take champagne, as the commencement of a better understanding. The wine flowed freely, and the guests, particularly the fresh in- fusion, did ample justice to it. The guests of the day before, having indulged somewhat freely, were more moderate at first, though they seemed well inclined to do their best after they got their stomachs a little restored. Spraggon could drink any given quantity at any time. The conversation got brisker and brisker ; and before the cloth was drawn there was a very general clamour, in which all sorts of subjects seemed to be mixed, — each man addressing himself to his immediate neighbour ; one talking of taxes, — another of tares, — a third, of hunting and the system of kennel, — a fourth, of the corn- laws, — old Blossomnose, about tithes, — Slapp, about timber and water-jumping, — Miller, about Collison's pills; and Guano, about anything that he could get a word edged in about. Great, indeed, was the hubbub. Gradually, however, as the evening advanced Pacey and Guano out-talked the rest, and at length Pacey got the noise pretty well to himself. When anything definite could be extracted from the mass of confusion, he was expatiating on steeple-chasing, hurdle-racing, weights for age, ons and offs clever — a sort of mix- ture of hunting, racing, and "Aiken." Sponge cocked his ear, and sat on the watch, occasionally hazard- ing an observation, while Jack, who was next Pacey, on the left, pre- tended to decry Sponge's judgment, asking sotto voce, with a whiff through his nose, what such a cockney as that could know about horses ? What between Jack's encouragement and the inspiring in- fluence of the bottle, aided by his own self-sufficiency, Pacey began to look upon Sponge with anything but admiration ; and at last it occurred to him that he would be a very proper subject to, what he called, "take the shine out of." " That isn't a bad-like nag, that chestnut of yours, for the wheeler of a coach, Mr. Sponge," exclaimed he, at the instigation of Spraggon, to our friend, producing, of course, a loud guffaw from the party. " No, he isn't," replied Sponge, coolly ; adding, " very like one, I should say." " Devilish good horse," growled Jack in Pacey's car. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 257 " Oil, I dare say," whispered Pacey, pretending to be scraping up the orange syrup in his plate; adding, I'm only chaffing the beggar." " He looks solitary without the coach at his tail," continued Pacey, looking up, and again addressing Sponge up the table. " He does" affirmed Sponge, amidst the laughter of the party. Pacey didn't know how to take this; whether as a "sell" or a compliment to his own wit. He sat for a few seconds grinning and staring like a fool; at last, after gulping down a bumper of claret, he again fixed his unmeaning green eyes upon Sponge, and exclaimed : " 111 challenge your horse, Mr. Sponge." A burst of applause followed the announcement ; for it was evi- dent that amusement was in store. " You'll iv-h-a-w-i ? " replied Sponge, staring, and pretending ance. I'll challenge your horse," repeated Pacey with confidence, and in a tone that stopped the lingering murmur of conversation, and fixed the attention of the company on himself. " I don't understand you," replied Sponge, pretending astonish- ment. " Lor bless us ! why, where have you lived all your life ? " asked Pacey. " Oh, partly in one place, and partly in another," was the answer. " I should think so," replied Pacey, with a look of compassion; adding, in an under tone, " a good deal with your mother, I should think." il If you could get that horse at a moderate figure," whispered Jack to his neighbour, and squinting his eyes inside out as he spoke, " he's well worth having." " The beggar won't sell him," muttered Pacey, who was fonder of talking about buying horses than of buying them. "Oh }Tes, he will,'' replied Jack; " he didn't understand what you meant. Mr. Sponge," said he, addressing himself slowly and distinctly up the table to our hero — " Mr. Sponge, my friend Mr. Pacey here challenges your chestnut." Sponge still stared in well-feigned astonishment. " It's a custom we have in this country," continued Jack, looking, as he thought, at Sponge, but, in reality, squinting most frightfully at the sideboard. " Do you mean he wants to buy him? " asked Sponge. " Yes," replied Jack, confidently. " No, I donH" whispered Pacey, giving Jack a kick under the table. Pacey had not yet drunk sufficient wine to be rash. " Yes, yes," replied Jack, tartly, " you do;" adding, in an under tone, " leave it to me, man, and I'll let you in for a good thing. 258 mr. sponge's spouting tour. 5Tes, Mr. Sponge," continued he, addressing himself to our hero, "Mr. Pacey fancies the chestnut, and challenges him." " Why doesn't he ask the price ?" replied Sponge, -who was always ready for a deal. " Ah, the price must be left to a third party," said Jack. " The principle of the thing is this," continued he, enlisting the aid of his fingers to illustrate his position : " Mr. Pacey, here," said he, apply- ing the fore-finger of his right hand to the thumb of the left, look- ing earnestly at Sponge, but in reality squinting up at the chandelier — " Mr. Pacey here challenges your horse Multum-in-somethm' — I forget what you said you called him — but the nag I rode to-day. Well then," continued Jack," you" (demonsrating Sponge by pressing his two forefingers together, and holding them erect) " accept the challenge, but can challenge anything Mr. Pacey has — a horse, dog, gun — anything, and, having fixed on somethin', then a third party " (who Jack represented by cocking up his thumb), " any one you like to name makes the award. Well, having agreed upon that party" (Jack still cocking up the thumb to represent the arbitrator), " he says, ' Give me money.' The two then put, say half-a-crown or five shillin's each, into his hand, to which the arbitrator adds the same sum for himself. That being done, the arbitrator says, ' Hands in pockets, gen'lemen' " (Jack diving his right hand up to the hilt in his own). " If this be an award, Mr. Pacey's horse gives Mr. Sponge's horse so much — draio." (Jack suiting the action to the word, and laying his fist on the table.) " If each person's hand contains money, it is an award — it is a deal ; arid the arbitrator gets the half-crowns, or what ever it is, for his trouble ; so that, in course, he has a direct interest in makin' such an award as will lead to a deal. Now do you understand ? " continued Jack, addressing himself earnestly to Sponge. " I think I do," replied Sponge, who had been at the game pretty often. " Well, then," continued Jack, reverting to his original position, "my friend, Mr. Pacey here, challenges your chestnut." " No, never mind" muttered Pacey, peevishly, in an under tone, with a frown on his face, giving Jack a dig in the ribs with his elbow. " Never mind," repeated lie ; "/ don't care about it — /don't want the horse." " But / do," growled Jack ; adding, in an under tone also, as he stooped for his napkin, " donH spoil sport man ; he's as good a horse as ever stepped; and if you challenge him, I'll stand between you and danger." " But he may challenge something I don't want to part with," observed Pacey. " Then you've nothin' to do," replied Jack, " but bring up your hand without any money in it." " Ah ! I forgot," replied Pacey, who did not like to appear what mil sponge's sporting tour. 259 he called " fly." " Well, then, I challenge your chestnut ! " exclaimed he, perking up, and shouting up the table to Sponge. l- Clood ! " replied our friend. I challenge your watch and chain, then," looking at Pacey's chain- daubed vest. " Name me arbitrator," muttered Jack, as he again stooped for his napkin. " Who shall handicap us ? Captain Guano, Mr. Lumpleg, or who ? " asked Sponge. " Suppose we say Spraggon? — he says he rode the horse to-day," replied Pacey. " Quite agreeable," said Sponge. "Now, Jack!" "Now, Spraggon!" "Now, old Solomon!" " Now, Doctor Wiseman," resounded from different parts of the table. Jack looked solemn ; and diving both hands into his breeches pockets, stuck out his legs extensively before him. " Give me money," said he, pompously. They each handed him half-a-crown ; and Jack added a third for himself. "Mr. Pacey challenges Mr. Sponge's chestnut horse, and Mr. Sponge challenges Mr. Pacey's gold watch," observed Jack, sententiously. " Come, old Slowman, go on! " exclaimed Guano; adding, " have you got no further than that ? " " Hurry no man's cattle," replied Jack, tartly ; adding, " you may keep a donkey yourself some day." '• Mr. Pacey challenges Mr. Sponge's chestnut horse," repeated Jack. " How old is the chestnut, Mr. Sponge ? " added he, address- ing himself to our friend. " Upon my word I hardly know," replied Sponge, " he's past mark of mouth ; but I think a hunter's age has very little to do with his worth." " Who-y, that depends," rejoined Jack, blowing out his cheeks, and looking as pompous as possible — " that depends a good deal upon how he's been used in his youth." " He's about nine, I should say," observed Sponge, pretending to have been calculating, though, in reality, he knew nothing what- ever about the horse's age. ' Say nine, or rising ten, and never did a day's work till he was six." " Indeed ! " said Jack, with an important bow ; adding, " being easy with them at the beginnin' puts on a deal to the end. Perfect hunter, I 'spose ? " " Why, you can judge of that yourself," replied Sponge. " Perfect hunter, / should say," rejoined Jack, " and steady at his fences — don't know that I ever rode a better fencer. Well," con- tinued he, having apparently pondered all that over in his mind, " I must trouble you to let me look at your ticker," said he, turning short round on his neighbour. 260 MR. sponge's spurting tour. " There," said Mr. Pacey, producing a fine flash watch from his waistcoat-pocket, and holding it to Jack. " The chain's included in the challenge, mind," observed Sponge. " In course," said Jack; " it's what the pawnbrokers call a watch with its appurts." (Jack had his watch at his uncle's and knew the terms exactly.) " It's a repeater, mind," observed Pacey, taking off the chain. " The chain's heavy," said Jack, running it up in his hand ; " and here's a pistol-key and a beautiful pencil-case, with the Pacey crest and- motto," *6b#erved Jack, trying to decipher the latter. " If it had been without the words, whatever they are," said he, giving up the attempt, " it would have been worth more, but the gold's fine and a new stone can easily be put in." -'■-■>- *.v> He then pulled an old hunting-card out of his pocket, and proceeded to make sundry calculations and estimates in pencil on the back. " Well, now," said he, at length, looking up, " I should say, such a watch as that and appurts," holding them up, " couldn't be bought in a shop under eight and twenty pund." " It cost five-and-thirty," observed Mr. Pacey. " Did it ! " rejoined Jack; adding, " then you were done." Jack then proceeded to do a little more arithmetic, during which process Mr. Pufimgton passed the wine and gave as a toast — " Suc- cess to the handicap." " Well," at length, said Jack, having apparently struck a balance, " hands in pocket, gen'lemen; If this is an award, Mr. Pacey's gold watch and appurts gives Mr. Sponge's chestnut horse seventy gold sovereigns. u Show money" whispered Jack to Pacey, adding, " I'll stand the shot." " Stop ! " roared Guano, " do either of you sport your hand? " " Yes, I do," replied Mr. Pacey, coolly. " And I," said Mr. Sponge. u Hold hard, then, gen'lemen ! " roared Jack, getting excited, and beginning to foam. " Hold hard, gen'lemen ! " repeated he, just as he was in the habit of roaring at the troublesome customers in Lord Scamperdale's field ; " Mr. Pacey and Mr. Sponge both sport their hands." " I'll lay a guinea Pacey doesn't hold money," exclaimed Guano. " Done ! " exclaimed Parson Blossomnose. " I'll bet it does," observed Charley Slapp. " I'll take you," replied Mr. Miller. Then the hubbub of betting commenced, and raged with fury for a short time ; some betting sovereigns, some half-sovereigns, others half-crowns and shillings, as to whether the hands of one or both held money. Givers and takers being at length accommodated, perfect silence at MR. sponge's sporting tour. 261 length reigned, and all eyes turned upon the doubled fists of the respective champions. Jack having adjusted his great tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles, and put on a most consequential air, inquired, like a gambling-house keeper, if they were " All done " — had all " made their game ? " And " Yes ! yes ! yes ! " resounded from all quarters. " Then, gen'lemen," said Jack, addressing Pacey and Sponge, who still kept their closed hands on the table — " show ! " At the word their hands opened, and each held money. 11 A deal ! a deal ! a deal ! " resounded through the room, accom- panied with clapping of hands, thumping of the table, and dancing of glasses. " You owe me a guinea," exclaimed one. " I want half a sovereign of you," roared another. " Here's my half-crown," said a third, handing one across the table to the fortunate winner. A gen- eral settlement took place, in the midst of which the " watch and appurts " were handed to Mr. Sponge. " We'll drink Mr. Pacey's health," said Mr. Pufiington, helping himself to a bumper, and passing the lately replenished decanters. " He's done the thing like a sportsman, and deserves to have luck with his deal. Your good health, Mr. Pacey !" continued he, address- ing himself specifically to our friend, " and luck to your horse." " Your good health, Mr. Pacey — your good health, Mr. Pacey — your good health, Mr. Pacey," then followed in the various intona- tions that mark the feelings of the speaker towards the toastee, as the bottles passed round the table. The excitement seemed to have given fresh zest to the wine, and those who had been shirking, or filling on heel-taps, now began filling bumpers, while those who always filled bumpers now took back hands. There is something about horse- dealing that seems to interest every one. Conversation took a brisk turn, and nothing but the darkness of the night prevented their having the horse out and trying him. Pacey wanted him brought into the dining-room, d la Briggs, but Puff wouldn't stand that. The transfer seemed to have invested the animal with supernatural charms, and those who in general cared nothing about horses wanted to have a sight of him. Toasting having commenced, as usual, it was proceeded with. Sponge's health followed that of Mr. Pacey's, Mr. Puffington avail- ing himself of the opportunity afforded by proposing it, of expressing the gratification it afforded himself and all true sportsmen to see so distinguished a character in the country ; and he concluded by hoping that the diminution of his stud would not interfere with the length of his visit — a toast that was drunk with great applause. Mr. Sponge replied by saying, " That he certainly had not in- tended parting with his horse, though one more or less was neither here nor there, especially in these railway times, when a man had 262 MR. sponge's sporting tour. nothing to do but take a half-guinea's worth of electric wire, and have another horse in less than no time ; but Mr. Pacey having taken a fancy to the horse, he had been more accommodating to him than he had to his friend, Mr. Spraggon, if he would allow him to call him so (Jack squinted and bowed assent), who," continued Mr. Sponge, " had in vain attempted that morning to get him to put a price upon him." « Yery true" whispered Jack to Pacey, with a feel of the elbow in his ribs, adding in an under tone, " the beggar doesn't think I've got him in spite of him, though." " The horse," Mr. Sponge continued, " was an undeniable good 'un, and he wished Mr. Pacey joy of his bargain." This venture having been so successful, others attempted similar means, appointing Mr. Spraggon the arbitrator. Captain Guano challenged Mr. Fogo's phaeton, while Mr. Fogo retaliated upon the captain's chestnut horse ; but the captain did not hold money to the award. Blossomnose challenged Mr. Miller's pig; but the latter could not be induced to claim anything of the worthy rector's for Mr. Spraggon to exercise his appraising talents upon. After an evening of much noise and confusion, the wine-heated party at last broke up — the staying company retiring to their couches, and the outlying ones finding their ways home as best they could. CHAPTER XLII. THE MORNING'S REFLECTIONS. When -young Pacey awoke in the morning, he had a very bad headache, and his temples throbbed as if the veins would burst their bounds. The first thing that recalled the actual position of affairs to his mind was feeling under the pillow for his watch — a fruitless search, that ended in recalling something of the overnight's pro- ceedings. Pacey liked a cheap flash, and when elated with wine might be betrayed into indiscretions that his soberer moments were proof against. Indeed, among youths of his own age he was reckoned rather a sharp hand ; and it was the vanity of associating with men, and wishing to appear a match for them, that occasionally brought him into trouble. In a general way, he was a very cautious hand. He now lay tumbling and tossing about in bed, and little by little he laid together the outline of the evening's proceedings, beginning with his challenging Mr. Sponge's chestnut, and ending with the re- MR. sponge's sporting tour. 263 signation of his watch and chain. He thought he was wrong to do anything of the sort. He didn't want the horse, not he. What should he do with him ? he had one more than he wanted, as it was. Then, paying for him seventy sovereigns ! confound it, it would be very inconvenient — most inconvenient — indeed, he couldn't do it, so there was an end of it. The facilities of carrying out after-dinner transactions frequently vanish with the morning's sun. So it was with Mr. Pacey. Then he began to think how to get out of it. Should he tell Mr. Sponge candidly the state of his finances, and trust to his generosity for letting him off ? Was Mr. Sponge a likely man to do it ? He thought he was. But then, would he blab ? He thought he would, and that would blow him among those by whom he wished to be thought knowing, a man not to be done. Altogether he was very much perplexed : seventy pounds was a vast of money ; and then there was his watch gone, too ! a hundred and more alto- gether. He must have been drunk to do it — very drunk, he should say ; and then he began to think whether he had not better treat it as an after-dinner frolic, and pretend to forget all about it. That seemed feasible. All at once it occurred to Mr. Pacey that Mr. Spraggon was the purchaser, and that he was only a middle-man. His headache for- sook him for the moment, and he felt a new man. It was clearly the case, and bit by bit he recollected all about it. How Jack had told him to challenge the horse, and he would stand to the bargain ; how he had whispered him (Pacey) to name him (Jack) arbitrator ; and how he had done so, and Jack had made the award. Then he began to think that the horse must be a good one, as Jack would not set too high a price on him, seeing that he was the purchaser. Then he wondered that he put enough on him to induce Sponge to sell him : that rather puzzled him. He lay a long time tossing, and proing and coning, without being .able to arrive at any satisfactory solution of the matter. At last he rang his bell, and finding it was eight o'clock he got up, and proceeded to dress himself; which operation being accomplished, he sought Jack's room, to have a little confidential conversation with him on the subject, and arrange about paying- Sponge for the horse without letting out who was the purchaser. Jack was snoring, with his great mouth wide open, and his grizzly head enveloped in a white cotton nightcap. The noise of Pacey entering awoke him. " Well, old boy," growled he, turning over as soon as he saw who it was, " what are you up to ? " " Oh, nothing particular," replied Mr. Pacey, in a careless sort of tone. " Then make yourself scarce, or I'll baptise you in a way you won't like," growled Jack, diving under the bedclothes. a Oh, why I just wanted to have — have half-a-dozen words with 264 mr. you about our last night's " (ha — hem — haw !) " handicap, you know — about the horse you know." "About the w-h-a-w-tV drawled Jack, as if perfectly ignorant of what Pacey was talking about. " About the horse, you know — about Mr. Sponge's horse, you know — that you got me to challenge for you, you know," stammered Pacey. " Oh, dash it, the chap's drunk," growled Jack aloud to himself; adding to Pacey, " you shouldn't get up so soon, man — sleep the drink off." Pacey stood nonplussed. "Don't you remember, Mr. Spraggon," at last asked he, after watching the tassel of Jack's cap peeping above the bedclothes, " what took place last night, you know ? You asked me to get you Mr. Sponge's chestnut, and you know I did, you know." " Hout, lad, disperse ! — get out of this ! " exclaimed Jack, start- ing his great red face above the bedclothes, and squinting frightfully at Pacey. " Well, my dear friend, but you did," observed Pacey, sooth- " Nonsense ! " roared Jack, again ducking under. Pacey stood agape. "Come!" exclaimed Jack, again starting up, " cut your stick! — be off ! — make yourself scarce ! — give your rags a gallop, in short ! — don't be after disturbin' a gen'leman of fortin's rest in this way." " But, my dear Mr. Spraggon," resumed Pacey, in the same gen- tle tone, " you surely forget what you asked me to do." " / do," replied Jack, firmly. " Well, but, my dear Mr. Spraggon, if you'll have the kindness to recollect — to consider — to reflect on what passed, you'll surely remember commissioning me to challenge Mr. Sponge's horse for you ? " " Me ! " exclaimed Jack, bouncing up in bed, and sitting squint- ing furiously. " Me ! " repeated he ; " w,??possible. How could / do such a thing ? Why, I handicap'd him, man, for you, man." " You told me, for all that," replied Mr. Pacey, with a jerk of the head. " Oh, by Jove ! " exclaimed Jack, taking his cap by the tassel, and twisting it off his head, " that won't do! — downright impeach- ment of one's integrity. Oh, by Jingo ! that won't do ! " motioning as if he was going to bounce out of bed ; can't stand that — impeach one's integrity, you know, better take one's life, you know. Life without honour's nothin,' you know. Cock pheasant at Weybridge, six o'clock i' the mornin' ! " " Oh, I assure you, I didn't mean anything of that sort," ex- MR. sponge's sporting tour. 265 claimed Mr. Pacey, frightened at Jack's vehemence, and the way in which he now foamed at the mouth, and flourished his nightcap about. " Oh, I assure you, I didn't mean anything of that sort," repeated he, " only I thought p'raps you mighn't recollect all that passed, p'raps ; and if we were to talk matters quietly over, by put- ting that and that together, we might assist each other, and " " Oh, by Jove ! " interrupted Jack, dashing his nightcap against the bedpost, " too late for anything of that sort, sir — downright impeachment of one's integrity, sir — must be settled another way, sir." " But I assure you, you mistake ! " exclaimed Pacey. " Hot your mistakes ! " interrupted Jack; " there's no mistake in the matter. You've r^larly impeached my integrity — blood of the Spraggons won't stand that. ' Death before Dishonour ! ' " shouted he at the top of his voice, flourishing his nightcap over his head, and then dashing it on to the middle of the floor. " What's the matter ? — what's the matter ? — what's the matter ? " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, rushing through the connecting door. " What's the matter ? " repeated he, placing himself between the bed in which Jack still sat upright, squinting his eyes inside out, and where Mr. Pacey stood. " Oh, Mr. Sponge ! " exclaimed Jack, clasping his raised hands in thankfulness, " I'm so glad you're here ! — I'm so thankful you're come. I have been insulted ! — oh, goodness, how I've been insulted ! " added he, throwing himself back in the bed, as if thoroughly over- come with his feelings. ''Well, but what's the matter ? — what is it all about? " asked Sponge, coolly, having a pretty good guess what it was. " Never was so insulted in my life ! " ejaculated Jack, from under the bedclothes. ft Well, but what.2s it ? " repeated Sponge, appealing to Pacey, who stood as pale as ashes. " Oh ! nothing," replied he ! quite a mistake ; Mr. Spraggon mis- understood me altogether." " Mistake ! There's no mistake in the matter ! " exclaimed Jack, appearing again on the surface like an otter ; " you gave me the lie as plain as a pikestaff." " Indeed ! " observed Mr. Sponge, drawing in his breath and rising his eyebrows right up into the roof of his head. " Indeed ! "repeated he. " No ; nothing of the sort, I assure you," asserted Mr. Pacey. " Must have satisfaction ! " exclaimed Jack, again diving under the bedclothes. " Well, but let us hear how matters stand," said Mr. Sponge, coolly, as Jack's grizzly head dissappeared. " You'll be my second," growled Jack, from under the bedclothes. 12 266 mr. sponge's sporting tour. " Oh ! second be hanged," retorted Sponge. " You've nothing to fight about ; Mr. Pacey says he didn't mean anything, that you misunderstood him, and what more can a man want ? " "Just so," replied Mr. Pacey — ^'just so. I assure you I never intended the slightest imputation on Mr. Spraggon." " I'm sure not," replied Mr. Sponge. " H-u-m-p-h" grunted Jack from under the bedclothes, like a pig in the straw. Not showing any disposition to appear on the surface again, Mr. Sponge, after standing a second or two, gave a jerk of his head to Mr. Pacey, and forthwith conducted him into his own room, shutting the door between Mr. Spraggon and him. Mr. Sponge then inquired into the matter, kindly sympathising with Mr. Pacey, who he was certain never meant anything disrespectful to Mr. Spraggon, who, Mr. Sponge thought, seemed rather quick at taking offence ; though, doubtless, as Mr. Sponge observed, " a man was per- fectly right in being tenacious of his integrity," a position that he il- lustrated by a familiar passage from Shakspeare, about stealing a purse and stealing trash, &c. Emboldened by his kindness, Mr. Pacey then got Mr. Sponge on to talk about the horse of which he had become the unwilling posses- sor— the renowned chestnut, Multum in Parvo. Mr. Sponge spoke like a very prudent, conscientious man; said that really it was difficult to give an opinion about a horse ; that what suited one man might not suit another— that he considered Multum in Parvo a very good horse ; indeed, that he wouldn't have parted with him if he hadn't more than he wanted, and the cream of the season had passed without his meeting with any of those casualties that rendered the retention of an extra horse or two desirable. Altogether, he gave Mr. Pacey to understand that he held him to his bargain. Elaving thanked Sponge for his great kindness, and got an order on the groom (Mr. Leather) to have the horse out, Mr. Pacey took his departure to the stable, and Sponge having summoned his neighbour- Mr. Spraggon from his bed, the two proceeded to a passage window that commanded a view of the stable-yard. Mr. Pacey presently went swaggering across it, cracking his jockey whip against his leg, followed by Mr. Leather, with a saddle on his shoulder and a bridle in his hand. " He'd better keep his whip quiet," observed Mr. Sponge, with a shake of his head, as he watched Pacey's movements. " The beggar thinks he can ride anything," observed Jack. " He'll find his mistake out just now," replied Sponge. Presently the stable-door opened, and the horse stepped slowly and quietly out, looking blooming and bright after his previous day's gallop. Pacey running his eyes over his clean muscular legs and finely-shaped form, thought he hadn't done so far amiss after all. Leather stood at the horse's head whistling and soothing him, feeling SPORTLN'G TOUR. 267 anything but the easy confidence that Mr. Pacey exhibited. Putting his whip under his arm, Pacey just walked up to the horse, and, pla- cing the point of his foot in the stirrup, hoisted himself on by the mane, without deigning to take hold of the reins. Having soused himself into the saddle he then began feeling the stirrups. " Hdw are they for length, sir ?" asked Leather, with a hitch of his hand to his forehead. " They'll do," replied Pacey, in a tone of indifference, gathering up the reins, and applying his left heel to the horse's side, while he gave him a touch of the whip on the other. The horse have a wince, and a hitch up behind ; as much as to say, " If you do that again I'll kick in right earnest," and then walked quietly out of the yard. " I took the fiery edge off him yesterday, I think," observed Jack, as he watched the horse's leisurely movements. " Not so sure of that," replied Sponge ; adding, as he left the pas- sage window, " he'll be trying him in the park ; let's go and see him from my window." Accordingly, our friends placed themselves at Sponge's bed-room window, and presently the clash of a gate announced that Sponge was right in his speculation. In another second the horse and rider ap- peared in sight, — the horse going much at his ease, but Mr. Pacey preparing himself for action. He began working the bridle and kicking his sides, to get him into a canter ; an exertion that produced quite a contrary effect, for the animal slackened his pace as Pacey's efforts increased. When, however, he took his whip from under his arm, the horse darted right up into the air, and plunging down again, with one convulsive effort shot Mr. Pacey several yards over his head, knocking his head clean through his hat. The brute then began to graze, as if nothing particular had happened. This easy indifference, however, did not extend to the neighbourhood ; for no sooner was Mr. Pacey floored than there was such a rush of grooms, and helpers, and footmen, and gardeners, — to say nothing of women, — from all parts of the grounds, as must have made it very agreeable to him to know how he had been watched. One picked him up, — another his hat-crown, — a third his whip, — a fourth his gloves, — while Margaret, the housemaid, rushed to the rescue with her private bottle of sal volatile, — and John, the^under-butler, began to extricate him from the new-fashioned neck- cloth he had made of his hat. Though our friend was a good deal shaken by the fall, the injury to his body was trifling compared to that done to his mind. Being kicked off a horse was an indignity he had never calculated upon. Moreover, it was done in such a masterly manner as clearly showed it could be repeated at pleasure. In addition to which, everybody laughs at a man that is kicked off. All these considerations rushed to his mind, asd made him determine not to brook the mirth of the guests as well as the servants. 268 Accordingly, he borrowed a hat and started off home, and seeking his guardian, Major Screw, confided to him the position of affairs. The major, who was a man of the world, forthwith commenced a ne- gotiation with Mr. Sponge, who, after a good deal of haggling, and not until the horse had shot the major over his head, too, at length, as a great favour, consented to take fifty pounds to rescind- the bar- gain, accompanying his kindness by telling the major to advise his ward never to dabble in horseflesh after dinner ; a piece of advice that we also very respectfully tender to our juvenile readers. And Sponge shortly after sent Spraggon a five pound note as his share of the transaction. CHAPTERXLIII. ANOTHER SICK HOST. WnEN Mr. Puffington read Messrs. Sponge and Spraggon's account of the run with his hounds, in the Swillingford paper, he was perfectly horrified ; words cannot describe the disgust that he felt. It came upon him quite by surprise, for he expected to be immortalised in some paper or work of general circulation, in which the Lords Loosefish, Sir Toms, and Sir Harrys of former days might recognise the spirited doings of their early friend. He wanted the superiority of his estab- lishment, the excellence of his horses, the stoutness of his hounds, and the polish of his field, proclaimed, with perhaps a quiet cut at the Flat- Hat gentry ; instead of which he had a mixed medley sort of a mess, whose humdrum monotony was only relieved by the absurdities and errors with which it was crammed. At first, Mr. Puffing-ton could not make out what it meant, whether it was a hoax to turn run-writing into ridicule, or it had suffered mutilation at the hands of the printer. Calling a good scent an exquisite perfume looked suspicious of a hoax, but then seasonal fox for seasoned fox, scorning to cry for scoring to cry, bay fox for bag fox, grunting for hunting, thrashing for trashing, rests for casts, and other absurdities, looked more like accident than design. These are the sort of errors that non-sporting compositors might easily make, one term being as much like English to them as the other, though amazingly different to the eye or ear of a sportsman. Mr. Puffington was thoroughly disgusted. He was sick of hounds and horses, and Bragg, and hay and corn, and kennels and meal, and saddles and bridles ; and now this absurdity seemed to cap the whole thing. He was ill-prepared for such a shock. The exertion of suc- cessive dinner-giving — above all, of bachelor dinner-giving — and that me. sponge's sporting tour. 269 too in the country, where men sit, talk, talk, talking, sip, sip, sipping, and " just another bottle-ing ; " more, we believe, from want of something else to do than from any natural inclination to exceed ; the exertion, we say, of such parties had completely unstrung our fat friend, and ill-prepared his nerves for such a shock. Being a great man for his little comforts, he always breakfasted in his dressing-room, which he had fitted up in the most luxurious style, and where he had his news- papers (most carefully ironed out) laid with his letters against he came in. It was late on the morning following our last chapter, ere he thought he had got rid of as much of his winy headache as fitful sleep would carry off, and enveloped himself in a blue and yellow-flowered silk dressing-gown and Turkish slippers. He looked at his letters, and knowing their outsides, left them for future perusal ; and sousing himself into the depths of a many-cushioned easy chair, pro- ceeded to spell his Morning Post — Tattersall's advertisements — " Grosjean's Paletots "— " Mr. Albert Smith"—" Coals, best Stew- art Hetton or Lambton's " — " Police intelligence " — and such other light reading as does not require any great effort to connect or com- prehend. Then came his breakfast, for which he had very little appetite, though he relished his coffee, and also an anchovy. While daudling over these, he heard sundry wheels grinding about below the window, and the bumping and thumping of boxes, indicative of "goings away," for which he couldn't say he felt sorry. He couldn't even be at the trouble of getting up and going to the window to see who it was that was off, so weary and head-achy was he. He rolled and lolled in his chair, now taking a sip of coffee, now a bite of anchovy toast, now considering whether he durst venture on an egg, and again having recourse to the Post. At last, having exhausted all the light reading in it, and scanned through the list of hunting appointments, he took up the Swillingford paper to see that they had got his " meets " right for the next week. How astonished he was to find the pre- vious day's run staring him in the face, headed " Splendid Run with Me. Puffington's Hounds," in the imposing type here dis- played. "Well, that's quick work, however," said he, casting his eyes up to the ceiling in astonishment, and thinking how unlike it was the Swillingford papers, which were always a week, but generally a fortnight behindhand with information. " Splendid run with 31 r. Pufiington's hounds," read he again, wondering who had done it : — Eardolph, the innkeeper ; Allsop, the cabinet-maker ; Tuggins, the doctor, were all out ; so was Weatherhog, the butcher. Which of them could it be ? Grimes, the editor, wasn't there ; indeed, he couldn't ride, and the country was not adapted for a gig. He then began to read it, and the further he got, the more he was disgusted. At last, when he came to the "seasonal fox, which some thought was a bay one," his indignation knew no bounds, and 270 crumpling the paper up in a heap, he threw it from him in disgust. Just then in came Plummey, the butler. Plummey saw at a glance what had happened ; for Mr. Bragg, and the whips, and the grooms, ana1 the helpers, and the feeder — the whole hunting establishment — were up in arms at the burlesque, and vowing vengeance against the author of it. Mr. Spraggon, on seeing what a mess had been made of Ms labours, availed himself of the offer of a seat in Captain Guano's dog-cart, and was clear of the premises ; while Mr. Sponge determined to profit by Spraggon's absence, and lay the blame on him. " Oh, Plummey ! " exclaimed Mr. Puffington, as his servant en- tered, " I'm deuced unwell — quite knocked up in short," clapping his hand on his forehead; adding, "I shall not be able to dine down stairs to-day." "'Deed, sir," replied Mr. Plummey, in a tone of commiseration — " 'deed, sir, sorry to hear that, sir." " Are they all gone ? " asked Mr. Puffington, dropping his boiled gooseberry-looking eyes upon the fine-flowered carpet. " All gone, sir, — all gone," replied Mr. Plummey ; " all except Mr. Sponge." " Oh, he's still here ! " replied Mr. Puffington, shuddering with disgust at the recollection of the newspaper run. " Is he going to- day ? " asked he. " No, sir — I dare say not, sir," replied Mr. Plummey. " His man — his groom — his — whatever he calls him, expects they'll be stay- ing some time." " The deuce ! " exclaimed Mr. Puffington, whose hospitality, like Jawleyford's, was greater in imagination than in reality. " Shall I take these things away ? " asked Plummey, after a pause. " Couldn't you manage to get him to go ? " asked Mr. Puffington, still harping on his remaining guest. " Don't know, sir. I could try, sir — believe he's bad to move, sir," replied Plummey, with a grin. " Is he really ? " replied Mr. Puffington, alarmed lest Sponge should fasten himself upon him for good. " They say so," replied Mr. Plummey, " but I don't speak from any personal knowledge, for I know nothing of the man." " Well," said Mr. Puffington, amused at his servant's exclusive- ness, " I wish you would try to get rid of him, bow him out civilly, you know, — say I'm unwell — very unwell — deuced unwell — ordered to keep quiet — say it as if from yourself, you know — it mustn't ap- pear as if it came from me, you know." " In course not," replied Mr. Plummey, " in course not ;" adding, " I'll do my best, sir — I'll do my best." So saying, he took up the breakfast things and departed. Mr. Sponge regaling himself with a cigar in the stables and shrub- beries, it was some time before Mr. Plummey had an opportunity of MR. sponge's sporting tour. 271 trying his diplomacy upon him, it being contrary to Mr. Plummey's custom to go out of doors after any one. At last he saw Sponge coming lounging along the terrace-walk, looking like a man thorough- ly disengaged, and timing himself properly, encountered him in the entrance. " Beg pardon, sir," said Mr. Piummey, " but cook, sir, wishes to know, sir, if you dine here to-day, sir ? " " Of course," replied Mr. Sponge, " where would you have me dine ? " " Oh, I didn't know, sir— only Mr. Pumngton, sir, is very poorly, sir, and I thought p'raps you'd be dining out." "Poorly is he?" replied Mr. Sponge; "sorry to hear that — what's the matter with hitn ? " "Bad bilious attack, I think," replied Piummey — " very subject to them, at this time of year particklarly ; was laid up, at least con- fined to his room, three weeks last year of a similar attack." " Indeed ! " replied Mr. Sponge, not relishing the information. " Then I must say you'll dine here ? " said the butler. " Yes; I must have my dinner, of course," replied Mr. Sponge : " I'm not ill, you know ; no occasion to make a great spread for me, you know ; but still I must have some victuals, you know." " Certainly, sir, certainly," replied Mr. Piummey. " I couldn't think of leaving Mr. Pufiington when he's poorly," observed Mr. Sponge, half to himself and half to the butler. " Oh, master — that's to say, Mr. Pufiington — always does best when left alone," observed Mr. Piummey, catching at the sentence : " indeed the medical men recommend perfect quiet and moderate liv- ing as the best thing." " Do they," replied Sponge, taking out another cigar. Mr. Pium- mey then withdrew, and presently went up-stairs to report progress, or rather want of progress, to the gentleman whom he sometimes con- descended to call " master." Mr. Pumngton had been taking another spell at the paper, and we need hardly say, that the more he read of the run the less he liked it. "Ah, that's Mr. Sponge's handiwork," observed Piummey, as with a sneer of disgust Mr. Pufiington threw the paper from him as Piummey entered the room. " How do you know ? " asked Mr. Pufiington. " Saw it, sir — saw it in the letter-bag going to the post." " Indeed ! " replied Mr, Pufiington. " Mr. Spraggon and he did it after they came in from hunting." " I thought as much," replied Mr. Pufiington, in disgust. Mr. Piummey then related how unsuccessful had been his attempts to get rid of the now most unwelcome guest. Mr. Pufiington lis- tened with attention, determined to get rid of him somehow or other. 272 mr. sponge's sporting tour. Plumrney was instructed to ply Sponge well with hints, all of which, however, Mr. Sponge skilfully parried. So, at last, Mr. Pufhngton scrawled a miserable looking note', explaining how very ill he was, how he regretted being deprived of Mr. Sponge's agreeable society, but hoping that it would suit Mr. Sponge to return as soon as he was better and pay the remainder of his visit — a pretty intelligible notice to quit, and one which even the cool Mr. Sponge was rather at a loss how to parry. He did not like the aspect of affairs. In addition to having to spend the evening by himself, the cook sent him a very moderate dinner, smoked soup, sodden fish, scraggy cutlets, and sour pudding. Mr. Plumrney, too, seemed to have put all the company at bottle- ends together for him. This would not do. If Sponge could have satisfied himself that his host would not be better in a day or two, he would have thought seriously of leaving ; but as he could not bring himself to think that he would not, and, moreover, had no place to go to, had it not been for the concluding portion of Mr. Puffington's note, he would have made an effort to stay. That, however, put it rather out of his power, especially as it was done so politely, and hinted at a renewal of the visit. Mr. Sponge spent the evening in cogitating what he should do — thinking what sportsman had held out the hand of good-fellowship, and hinted at hoping to have the pleasure of seeing him. Fyle, Fossick, Blossomnose, Capon, Dribble, Hook, and others, were all run through his mind, without his thinking it prudent to attempt to fix a volunteer visit upon any of them. Many people he knew could pen polite excuses, who yet could not hit them off at the moment, especially in that great arena of hospitality — the hunting-field. He went to bed very much perplexed. CHAPTER XLIV. WANTED A RICH GOD-PAPA 1 u When one door shuts another opens," say the saucy servants ; and fortune was equally favourable to our friend Mr. Sponge. Though he could not think of any one to whom he could volunteer a visit, Dame Fortune provided him with an overture from a party who wanted him ! But we will introduce his new host, or rather victim. People hunt from various motives — some for the love of the thing — some for show — some for fashion — some for health — some for ap- petites— some for coffee-housing — some to say they have hunted — some because others hunt. MR. sponge's sporting tour. 273 Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey did not hunt from any of these motives, and it would puzzle a conjurer to make out why he hunted ; indeed, the members of the different hunts he patronised — for he was one of the run-about, non-subscribing sort — were long in finding out. It was observed that he generally affected countries abounding in large woods, such as Stretchaway Forest, Hazelbury Chase, and Oaking- ton Banks, into which he would dive with the greatest avidity. At first people thought he was a very keen hand, anxious to see a fox handsomely found, if he could not see him handsomely finished, against which latter luxury his figure and activity, or want of activity, were somewhat opposed. Indeed, when we say that he went by the name of the Woolpack, our readers will be able to imagine the style of man he was : long-headed, short-necked, large-girthed, dumpling- legged little fellow, who, like most fat men, made himself dangerous by compressing a most unreasonable stomach into a circumscribed coat, each particular button of which looked as if it was ready to burst off, and knock out the eye of any one who might have the temerity to ride along side of him. He was a puffy, wheezy, senten- tious little fellow, who accompanied his parables with a snort into a large finely-plaited shirt-frill, reaching nearly up to his nose. His hunting-costume consisted of a black coat and waistcoat, with white moleskin breeches, much cracked and darned about the knees and other parts, as nether garments made of that treacherous stuff often are. His shapeless tops, made regardless of the refinements of " right and left," dangled at his horse's sides like a couple of stable-buckets; and he carried his heavy iron hammer-headed whip over his shoulder like a flail. But we are drawing his portrait instead of saying why he hunted. Well then, having married Mrs. Springwheat's sister, who was always boasting to Mrs. Crowdey what a loving, doating husband Springey was after hunting, Mrs. Crowdey had induced Crowdey to try his hand, and though soon satisfied that he hadn't the slightest taste for the sport, but being a great man for what he called gibbey-sticks, he hunted for the purpose of finding them. As we said before, he generally appeared at large woodlands, into which he would ride with the hounds, plunging through the stiffest clay, and forcing his way through the strongest thickets, making observations all the while of the hazels, and the hollies, and the black thorns, and, we are sorry to say, sometimes of the young oaks and ashes, that he thought would fashion into curious-handled walking-sticks ; and these he would return for at a future day, getting them with as large clubs as possible, which he would cut into the heads of beasts or birds, or fishes, or men. At the time of which we are writing, he had accu- mulated a vast quantity — thousands ; the garret at the top of his house was quite full, so were most of the closets, while the rafters in the kitchen, and cellars, and outhouses, were crowded with others in a state of deshabille. He calculated his stock at immense worth, 12* 274 mr. sponge's sporting tour. we don't know how many thousand pounds ; and as he cut, and puffed, and wheezed, and modelled, with a volume of Buffon, or the picture of some eminent man before him, he chuckled, and thought how well he was providing for his family. He had been at it so long, and argued so stoutly, that Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey, if not quite convinced of the accuracy of his calculations, nevertheless thought it well to encourage his hunting predilections, inasmuch as it brought him in contact with people he would not otherwise meet, who, she thought, might possibly be useful to their children. Accordingly, she got him his breakfast betimes on hunting-mornings, charged his pockets with currant-buns, and saw to the mending of his moleskins when he came home, after any of those casualties that occur as well in the chase as in gibbey-stick hunting. A stranger being a marked man in a rural country, Mr. Sponge excited more curiosity in Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey 's mind than Mr. Jogglebury Crowdy did in Mr. Sponge's. In truth, Jogglebury was one of those unsportsman like beings, that a regular fox-hunter would think it waste of words to inquire about, and if Mr. Sponge saw him, he did not recollect him ; while, on the. other hand, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey went home very full of our friend. Now, Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey was a fine, bustling, managing woman, with a large family, for whom she exerted all her energies, to procure desirable god-papas and mammas ; and, no sooner did she hear of this new-comer, than she longed to appropriate him for god-papa to their youngest son. " Jog, my dear," said she to her spouse, as they sat at tea ; " it would be well to look after him." " What for, my dear ? " asked Jog, who was staring a stick, with a half-finished head of Lord Brougham for a handle, out of counte- nance. " What for, Jog ? Why, can't you guess ? " " No," replied Jog, doggedly. " No ! " ejaculated his spouse. " Why, Jog, you certainly are the stupidest man in existence." " Not necessarily ! " replied Jog, with a jerk of his head and a puff into his shirt-frill that set it all in a flutter. " Not necessarily ! " replied Mrs. Jogglebury, who was what they call a " spirited woman," in the same rising tone as before. " Not necessarily ! but I say necessarily — yes, necessarily. Do you hear me, Mr. Jogglebury?" " I hear you," replied Jogglebury, scornfully, with another jerk, and another puff into the frill. The two then sat silent for some minutes, Jogglebury still con- templating the progressing head of Lord Brougham, and recalling the eye and features that some five and twenty years before had nearly withered him in a breach of promise action, " Smiler v. mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 275 Jogglebury," * that being our friend's name before his uncle Crowdey left him his property. Mrs. Jogglebury having an object in view, and knowing that, though Jogglebury might lead, he would not drive, availed herself of the lull to trim her sail, to try and catch him on the other tack. " Well, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey," said she, in a passive tone of regret, " I certainly thought, however indifferent you might be to me " (and here she applied her handkerchief — rather a coarse one — to her eyes), " that still you had some regard for the interests of your (sob) children ; " and here the waterfalls of her beady black eyes went off in a gush. "Well, my dear," replied Jogglebury, softened, " I'm (puff) sure I'm (wheeze) anxious for my (puff) children. You don't 'spose if I wasn't (puff), I'd (wheeze) labour as I (puff — wheeze) do to leave them fortius ? " — alluding to his exertions in the gibbey-stick line. " Oh, Jog, I dare say you're very good, and very industrious," sobbed Mrs. Jogglebury, " but I sometimes (sob) think that you might apply your (sob) energies to a better (sob) purpose." "Indeed, my dear (puff), I don't see that (wheeze)," replied Jog- glebury, mildly. " Why, now, if you were to try and get this rich Mr. Sponge for a god-papa for G-ustavus James," continued she, drying her eyes as she came to the point, " that, I should say, would be worthy of you." " But, my (puff) dear," replied Jogglebury, " I don't know Mr. (wheeze) Sponge to begin with." " That's nothing," replied Mrs. Jogglebury ; " he's a stranger, and you should call upon him." Mr. Jogglebury sat silent, still staring at Lord Brougham, thinking how he pitched into him, and how sick he was when the jury, without retiring from the box, gave five hundred pounds dam- ages against him. " He's a fox-hunter, too," continued his wife ; " and you ought to be civil to him." " Well, but, my (puff) dear, he's as likely to (wheeze) live these fifty years as any (puff, wheeze) man I ever looked at," replied Jog- glebury. " Oh, nonsense," replied Mrs. Jogglebury ; " there's no saying when a fox-hunter may break his neck. My word ! but Mrs. Sloo- man tells me pretty stories of Sloo's doings with the harriers — jump- ing over hurdles, and everything that comes in the way, and gallop- ing along the stony lanes as if the wind was a snail compared to his horse. I tell you, Jog, you should call on this gentleman " " Well," replied Mr. Jogglebury. ' Ftde " Barnwell and Alderson's Reports." 276 mr. sponge's sporting tour. " And ask him to come and stay here," continued Mrs. Joggl- bury. " Perhaps he mightn't like it (puff)," replied Jogglebury. " I don't know that we could (puff) entertain him as he's (wheeze) accus- tomed to be," added he. "Oh, nonsense," replied Mrs. Jogglebury; "we can entertain him well enough. You always say fox-hunters are not ceremonious. I tell you what, Jog, you don't think half enough of 37ourself. You are far too easily set aside. My word ! but I know some people who would give themselves pretty airs if their husband was chairman of a board of guardians, and trustee of I don't know how many of Her Majesty's turnpike-roads," Mrs. Jog here thinking of her sister Mrs. Springwheat, who, she used to say, had married a mere farmer. " I tell you, Jog, you're far too humble, you don't think half enough of yourself." " Well, but, my (puff) dear, you don't (puff) consider that all people ain't (puff) fond of (wheeze) children," observed Jogglebury, after a pause. " Indeed, I've (puff) observed that some (wheeze) don't like them." " Oh, but those will be nasty little brats, like Mrs. James Waken- shaw's, or Mrs. Tom Cheek's. But such children as ours ! such charmers ! such delights ! there isn't a man in the county, from the Lord-Lieutenant downwards, who wouldn't be proud— who wouldn't think it a compliment — to be asked to be god-papa to such children. I tell you what, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey, it would be far better to get them rich god-papas and god-mammas than to leave them a whole house full of sticks." " Well, but, my (puff) dear, the (wheeze) sticks will prove very valuable (wheeze) hereafter," replied Jogglebury, bridling up at the imputation on his hobby. " I hope so," replied Mrs. Jogglebury, in a tone of incredulity. " Well, but, my (puff) dear, I (wheeze) tell you that they will be — indeed (puff), I may (wheeze) say that they (puff) are. It was only the other (puff) day that (wheeze) Patrick O'Fogo offered me five- and-twenty (wheeze) shillings for my (puff) blackthorn Daniel O'Con- nell, which is by no means so (puff) good as the (wheeze) wild-cherry one, or, indeed (puff), as the yew-tree one that I (wheeze) cut out of Spankerley Park." " I'd have taken it if I'd been you," observed Mrs. Jogglebury. " But he's (puff) worth far more," retorted Jogglebury, angrily ; " why, (wheeze) Lumpleg offered me as much for Disraeli." " Well, I'd have taken it, too," rejoined Mrs. Jogglebury. " But I should have (wheeze) spoilt my (pull) set," replied the gibbey-stick man. " S'pose any (wheeze) body was to (puff) offer me five guineas a (puff) pieco for the (puff) pick of my (puff) collection — my (puff) Wellingtons, my (wheeze) Napoleons, my (puff) Byrons, mr. sponge's sporting tour. 277 my (wheeze) Walter Scotts, my (puff) Lord Johns, d'ye think I'd take it?" " I should hope so," replied Mrs. Jogglebury. " I should (puff) do no such thing," snorted her husband into his frill. " I should hope," continued he, speaking slowly and solemnly, " that a (puff) wise ministry will purchase the whole (puff) collection for a (wheeze) grateful nation, when the (wheeze)" something " is no more (wheeze)." The concluding words being lost in the emotion of the speaker (as the reporters say). " Well, but will you go and call on Mr. Sponge, dear ? " asked Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey, anxious as well to turn the subject as to make good her original point. "Well, my dear, I've no objection," replied Joggle, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye with his coat-cuff. " That's a good soul ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, soothingly. " Go to-morrow, like a nice, sensible man." " Very well," replied her now complacent spouse. " And ask him to come here," continued she. " I can't (puff) ask him to (puff) come, my dear (wheeze), until he (puff — wheeze) returns my (puff) call." " 0 fiddle," replied his wife, " you always say fox-hunters never stand upon ceremony; why should you stand upon any with him ? " Mr. Jogglebury was posed, and sat silent. CHAPTER XLV. THE DISCOMFITED DIPLOMATIST. Well then, as we said before, when one door shuts another opens ; and just as Mr. Pumngton's door was closing on poor Mr. Sponge, who should cast up but our newly-introduced friend, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey. Mr. Sponge was sitting in solitary state, in the fine draw- ing-room, studying his old friend Mogg, calculating what he could ride from Spur-street, Leicester-square, by Short's-gardens, and across Waterloo-bridge, to the Elephant and Castle for, when the grinding of a vehicle on the gravelled ring, attracted his attention. Looking out of the window, he saw a horse's head in a faded-red silk-fronted bridle, with the letters "J. C." on the winkers; not J. C. writhing in the elegant contortions of modern science, but " J. C." in the good, plain, matter-of-fact characters we have depicted above. " That'll be the doctor," said Mr. Sponge to himself, as he re- sumed his reading and calculations, amidst a peal of the door-bell, well calculated to arouse the whole house. " He's a good un to 278 mr. sponge's sporting tour. ring ! " added he, looking up and wondering when the last lingering tinkle would cease. Before the fact was ascertained, there was a hurried tramp of feet past the drawing-room door, and presently the entrance one opened and let in a — rush of wind. " Is Mr. Sponge at home ? " demanded a slow, pompous-speaking, deep-toned voice, evidently from the vehicle. " Yez-ur," was the immediate answer. " Who can that he ? " exclaimed Sponge, pocketing his Mogg. Then there was a creaking of springs and a jingling against iron steps, and presently a high-blowing, heavy-stepping body was heard crossing the entrance-hall, while an out-stripping footman announced Mr. Jogglebury Crowcley, leaving the owner to follow his name at his leisure. Mrs. Jogglebury had insisted on Jog putting on his new black frock — a very long coat, fitting like a sack, with the well-filled pockets bagging behind, like a poor man's dinner wallet. In lieu of the shrunk and darned white moleskins, receding in apparent disgust from the dingy tops, he had got his nether man enveloped in a pair of fine cinnamon-coloured tweeds, with broad blue stripes down the sides, and shaped out over the clumsy foot. Puff, wheeze, puff, he now came waddling and labouring along, hat in hand, hurrying after the servant ; puff, wheeze, puff, and he found himself in the room. " Your servant, sir," said he, sticking himself out behind, and addressing Mr. Sponge, making a ground sweep with his woolly hat. " Yours" said Mr. Sponge, with a similar bow. " Fine clay (puff — wheeze)," observed Mr. Jogglebury, blowing into his large frill. " It is," replied Mr. Sponge ; adding, " won't you be seated ? " " How's Puffington ? " gasped our visitor, sousing himself upon one of the rosewood chairs in a way that threatened destruction to the slender fabric. " Oh, he's pretty middling, I should saj-," replied Sponge, now making up his mind that he was addressing the doctor. " Pretty middlin' (puff)," repeated Jogglebury, blowing into his frill ; " pretty middlin' (wheeze) ; I s'pose that means he's got a (puff) gumboil. My third (wheeze) girl, Margaret Henrietta, has one." " Do you want to see him ? " asked Sponge, after a pause, which seemed to indicate that his friend's conversation had come to a period, or full stop. " No," replied Jogglebury, unconcernedly. " No ; I'll leave a (puff) card for him (wheeze)," added he, fumbling in his wallet behind for his card-case. " My (puff) object is to pay my (wheeze) respects to you," observed he, drawing a great carved Indian case from his pocket, and pulling off the top with a noise like the drawing of a tour. 279 " Much obliged for the compliment," observed Mr. Sponge, as Jogglebury fumbled and broke his nails in attempting to get a card out. " Do you stay long in this part of the world ? " asked he, as at last he succeeded, and commenced tapping the corners of the card on the table. " I really don't know," replied Mr. Sponge, as the particulars of his situation flashed across his mind. Could this pudding-headed man be a chap Puffington had got to come and sound him, thought he. Jogglebury sat silent for a time, examining his feet attentively as if to see they were pairs, and scrutinising the bags of his cinnamon- coloured trousers. " I was goiDg to say (hem — cough — hem)," at length observed he, looking up ; " that's to say, I was thinking (hem — wheeze — cough — hem), or rather I should say, Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey sent me to say — I mean to say," continued he, stamping one of his ponderous feet against the floor as if to force out his words. " Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey and I would be glad — happy, that's to say (hem) — if you would arrange (hem) to (wheeze) pay us a visit (hem)." " Most happy, I'm sure ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, jumping at the offer. " Before you go (hem)," continued our visitor, taking up the sentence where Sponge had interrupted him ; "I (hem) live about nine miles (hem) from here (hem)." " Are there any hounds in your neighbourhood ? " asked Mr. Sponge. " Oh, yes," replied Mr. Jogglebury, slowly; " Mr. Puffington here draws up to Grreatacre Gorse within a few (puff — wheeze) miles — say, three (puff) — of my (wheeze) house ; and Sir Harry Scattercash (puff) hunts all the (puff — wheeze) country below, right away down to the (puff — wheeze) sea." " Well, you're a devilish good fellow ! " exclaimed Sponge ; " and I'll tell you what, as I'm sure you mean what you say, I'll take you at your word and go at once ; and that'll give our friend here time to come round." " Oh, but, (puff — wheeze — gasp)," started Mr. Jogglebury, the blood rushing to his great yellow, whiskerless cheeks, " I'm not quite (gasp) sure that Mrs. (gasp) Jogglebury (puff) Crowdey would be (pufl* — wheeze — gasp) prepared." " Oh, hang preparation ! " interrupted Mr. Sponge. " I'll take you as you are. Never mind me. I hate being made company of. Just treat me like one of yourselves ; toad-in-the-hole, dog-in-the- blanket, beef-steaks and oyster sauce, rabbits and onions — anything ; nothing comes amiss to me." So saying, and while Jogglebury sat purple and unable to articu- late, Mr. SpoDge applied his hand to the ivory bell-knob and sounded 280 mr. an imposing peal. Mr. Jogglebury sat wondering what was going to happen, and thinking what a wigging he would get from Mrs. J. if he didn't manage to shake off his friend. Above all, he recollected that they had nothing but haddocks and hashed mutton for dinner. " Tell Leather I want him," said Mr. Sponge, in a tone of au- thority, as the footman answered the summons ; then, turning to his guest, as the man was leaving the room, he said, " Won't you take something after your drive — cold meat, glass of sherry, soda-water, bottled porter — anything in that line ? " In an ordinary way, Jogglebury would have said, " if you please," at the sound of the words " cold meat," for he was a dead hand at luncheon ; but the fix he was in completely took away his appetite, and he sat wheezing and thinking whether to make another effort, or to wait the arrival of Leather. Presently Leather appeared, jean-jacketed and gaitered, smoothing his hair over his forehead, after the manner of the brotherhood. " Leather," said Mr. Sponge, in the same tone of importance, " I'm going to this gentleman's : " for as yet he had not sufficiently mastered the name to be able to venture upon it in the owner's presence. " Leather, I'm going to this gentleman's, and I want you to bring me a horse over in the morning ; or stay," said he, interrupt- ing himself, and turning to Jogglebury, he exclaimed, " I dare say you could manage to put me up a couple of horses, couldn't you ? and then we should be all cosy and jolly together, you know." " 'Pon my word," gasped Jogglebury, nearly choked by the pro- posal; " 'pon my word," I can hardly (puff) say, I hardly (wheeze) know, but if you'll (puff — wheeze) allow me, I'll tell you what I'll do : I'll (puff — wheeze) home, and see what I can (puff) do in the way of entertainment for (puff — wheeze) man as well as for (puff — wheeze) horse." " Oh, thank you, my dear fellow ! " exclaimed Sponge, seeing the intended dodge ; " thank you, my dear fellow ! " repeated he ; " but that's giving you too much trouble — far too much trouble ! — couldn't think of such a thing — no, indeed, I couldn't. Til tell you what we'll do — Til tell you what we'll do. You shall drive me over in that shandrydan-rattle-trap thing of yours " — Sponge looking out of the window, as he spoke at the queer-shaped, jumped-together, lack-lustre-looking vehicle, with a turnover seat behind, now in charge of a pepper-and-salt attired youth, with a shabby hat, looped up by a thin silver cord to an acorn on the crown, and baggy Berlin gloves — " and I'll just see what there is in the way of stabling; and if I think it will do, then I'll give a boy sixpence or a shilling to come over to Leather, here," jerking his head towards his factotum ; " if it won't do, why then " "We shall want three stalls, sir — recollect sir," interrupted Leather, who did not wish to move his quarters. mil sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 281 " True, I forgot," replied Sponge, with a frown at his servant's officiousness ; " however, if we can get two good stalls for the hunt- ers," said he, " we'll manage the hack somehow or other." " Well," replied Mr. Leather, in a tone of resignation, knowing how hopeless it was arguing with his master. I " I really think," gasped Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey, encouraged by the apparent sympathy of the servant to make a last effort — " I really think," repeated he, as the hashed mutton and haddocks again flashed across his mind, " that my (puff — wheeze) plan is the (puff) best ; let me (puff — wheeze) home and see how all (puff — wheeze) things are, and then I'll write you a (puff — wheeze) line, or send a (puff — wheeze) servant over." u Oh, no," replied Mr. Sponge — " oh, no — that's far too much trouble. I'll just go over with you now and reconnoitre." " I'm afraid Mrs. (puff — wheeze) Crowdey will hardly be prepared for (puff — wheeze) visitors," ejaculated our friend, recollecting it was washing-day, and that Mary Ann would be wanted in the laundry. " Don't mention it ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge ; " don't mention it. I hate to be made company of. Just give me what you have your- selves— just give me what you have yourselves. Where two can dine, three can dine, you know." Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey was nonplused. " Well, now," said Mr. Sponge, turning again to Leather ; " just go up-stairs and help me to pack up my things ; and," addressing him- self to our visitor he said, " perhaps you'll amuse yourself with the paper — the Post — or I'll lend you my Mogg," continued he, offering the little gilt-lettered, purple-backed volume as he spoke. " TkamVee," replied Mr. Jogglebury, who was still tapping away at the card, which he had now worked very soft. Mr. Sponge then left him with the volume in his hand, and pro- ceeded up-stairs to his bed-room. In less than twenty minutes, the vehicle was got under way, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey and Mr. Sponge occupying the roomy seats in front, and Bartholomew Badger, the before-mentioned tiger, and Mr. Sponge's portmanteau and carpet-bag, being in the very diminutive turnover seat behind. The carriage was followed by the straining eyes of sundry Johns and Janes, who unanimously agreed that Mr. Sponge was the meanest shabbiest gent, they had ever had in their house. Mr. Leather was, therefore, roasted in the servants' hall, where the sins of the masters are oft visited upon the servants. But to our travellers. Little conversation passed between our friends for the first few miles, for, in addition to the road being rough, the driving-seat was so high, and the other so low, that Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey's para- bles broke against Mr. Sponge's hat-crown, instead of dropping into his ear ; besides which, the unwilling host's mind was a good deal 282 mr. sponge's sporting tour. occupied with wishing that there had been three haddocks instead of two, and speculating whether Mrs. Crowdey would be more pleased at the success of his mission, or put out of her way by Mr. Sponge's unexpected coming. Above all, he had marked some very promising- looking sticks — two blackthorns and a holly — to cut on his way home, and he was intent on not missing them. So sudden was the jerk that announced his coming on the first one, as nearly to throw the old family horse on his knees, and almost to break Mr. Sponge's nose against the brass edge of the cocked-up splash-board. Ere Mr. Sponge recovered his equlibrium, the whip was in the case, the reins dangling about the old screw's heels, and Mr. Crowdey scrambling up a steep bank to where a very thick boundary-hedge shut out the view of the adjacent country. Presently, chop, chop, chop, was heard, from Mr. Crowdey's pocket axe, with a tug — wheeze— puff from himself ; next a crash of separation ; and then the purple-faced Mr. Crowdey came bearing down the bank dragging a great black- thorn bush after him. "What have you got there?" inquired Mr. Sponge with surprise. " Grot ! (wheeze — puff — wheeze)," replied Mr. Crowdey, pulling up short, and mopping his perspiring brow with a great claret-coloured bandana. u Got ! I've (puff — wheeze) got what I (wheeze) think will (puff) make a most elaborate and (wheeze) valuable walking-stick. This, I (puff) think," continued he, eyeing the great ball with which he had got it up, " will (wheeze) come in most valuably (puff) for my great (puff — wheeze — gasp) national undertaking — the (puff) Kings and (wheeze) Queens of Great Britain (gasp)." " What are they ? " asked Mr. Sponge, astonished at his vehe- mence. " Oh! (puff — wheeze — gasp) haven't you heard ?" exclaimed Mr. Jogglebury, taking off his great woolly hat, and giving his lank, dark hair, streaked with grey, a sweep round his low forehead with the bandana. " Oh ! (puff — gasp) haven't you heard ? " repeated he, getting a little more breath. " I'm (wheeze) undertaking a series of (gasp) sticks representing — (gasp) — immortalising, I may say (puff), all the (wheeze) crowned heads of England (puff)." " Indeed ! " replied Mr. Sponge. " They'll be a most valuable collection (wheeze — puff)," continued Mr. Jogglebury, still eyeing the knob. " This," added he, " shall be William the Fourth." He then commenced lopping and docking the sides, making Bartholomew Badger bury them in a sand-pit hard by, observing in a confidential wheeze to Mr. Sponge, " that he had once been county-courted for a similar trespass before." The top and lop being at length disposed of, Mr. Crowdey grasping the club-end, struck the other forcibly against the ground, exclaiming, " There! — there's a (puff) stick ! Who knows what that (puff — wheeze) stick may be worth some day ? " MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 283 He then bundled into his carriage and drove on. Two more stoppages marked their arrival at the other sticks, •which being duly captured and fastened within the straps of the carriage apron, Mr. Crowdey drove on somewhat more at ease in his mind, at all events somewhat comforted at the thoughts of having in- creased his wealth. He did not become talkative — indeed that was not his forte, but he puffed into his shirt-frill, and made a few obser- vations, which, if they did not possess much originality, at all events showed that he was not asleep. " Those are draining-tiles," said he, after a hearty stare at a cart- load. Then about five minutes after he blew again, and said, " I don't think (puff) that (wheeze) draining without (gasp) manuring will constitute high farming (puff)." So he jolted and wheezed, and jerked and jagged the old quadru- ped's mouth, occasionally hissing between his teeth, and stamping against the bottom of the carriage, when other persuasive efforts failed to induce it to keep up the semblance of a trot. At last the ill-supported hobble died out into a walk, and Mr. Crowdey, com- placently dropping his fat hand on his fat knees, seemed to resign himself to his fate. So they crawled along the up-and-downy piece of road below Pop- larton plantations, Mr. Jogglebury keeping a sharp eye upon the un- derwood for sticks. After passing these, they commenced the gradual ascent of Roundington Hill, when a sudden sweep of the road brought them in view of the panorama of the rich Vale of ButterfLower. " There's a snug-looking box," observed Sponge, as he at length espied a confused jumble of gable-ends and chimney pots, rising from amidst a clump of Scotch firs and other trees, looking less like a farm-house than anything he had seen. " That's my house (puff) ; that's Puddingpote Bower (wheeze)," replied' Crowdey, slowly and pompously, adding an " e " to the syllable, to make it sound better, the haddocks, hashed mutton, and all the horrors of impromptu hospitality rushing upon his mind. Things began to look worse the nearer he got home. He didn't care to aggravate the old animal into a trot. He again wondered whether Mrs. J. would be pleased at the success of his mission, or angry at the unexpected coining " Where are the stables ? " asked Sponge, as he scanned the in- and-out irregularities of the building. " Stables (wheeze), stables (puff)," repeated Crowdey, thinking of his troubles — of its being washing-day, and Mary Ann, or Murry Ann, as he called her, the under-butler, being engaged; of Bar- tholomew Badger having the horse and fe-a-ton to clean, &c. — " stables," repeated he for the third time ; " stables are at the back, behind, in fact; you'll see a (puff) vane— a (wheeze) fox on the top." 28-4 mk. sponge's spoktlvg tour. c< Ah, indeed ! " replied Mr. Sponge, brightening up, thinking there would be old hay and corn. They now came to a half-Swiss, half-Gothic little cottage of a lodge, and the old horse turned instinctively into the open white gate with pea-green bands. " Here's Mrs. Crow — Crow — Crowdey ! " gasped Jogglebury, convulsively, as a tall woman, in flare-up red and yellow stunner tartan, with a swarm of little children, similarly attired, suddenly appeared at an angle of the road, the lady handling a great alpaca umbrella-looking parasol in the stand-and-deliver style. " What's kept you ? " exclaimed she, as the vehicle got within ear-shot. " What's kept you? " repeated she, in a sharper key, hold- ing her parasol across the road, but taking no notice of our friend Sponge, whom, in truth, she took for Edgebone, the butcher. '* Oh ! you've been after your sticks, have you ? " added she, as her spouse drew the vehicle up along side of her, and she caught the contents of the apron-straps. " My dear (puff)" gasped her husband, " I've brought Mr. (wheeze) Sponge," said he, winking his right eye, and jerking his head over his left shoulder, looking very frightened all the time. " Mr. (puff) Sponge, Mrs. (gasp) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey," continued he, motioning with his hand. Finding himself in the presence of his handsome hostess, Sponge made her one of his best bows, and offered to resign his seat in the carriage to her. This she declined, alleging that she had the children with her — looking round on the grinning, gaping group, the majority of them with their mouths smeared with lollipops. Crowdey, who was not so stupid as he looked, was nettled at Sponge's attemptiDg to fix his wife upon him at such a critical moment, and immediately retaliated with, " P'raps (puff) you'd like to (puff) out and (wheeze) walk." There was no help for this, and Sponge having alighted, Mr. Crowdey said, half to Mr. Sponge and half to his fine wife, " Then (puff — wheeze) I'll just (puff) on and get Mr. (wheeze) Sponge's room ready." So saying, he gave the old nag a hearty jerk with the bit, and two or three longitudinal cuts with the knotty-pointed whip, and jingled away with a bevy of children shouting, hanging on, and dragging behind, amidst exclamations from Mrs. Crowdey, of " O Anna Maria ! Juliana Jane ! 0 Frederick James, you naughty boy ! you'll spoil your new shoes ! Archibald John, you'll be kilt ! you'll be run over to a certainty. 0 Jogglebury, you inhuman man ! " continued she, running and brandishing her alpaca parasol, " you'll run over your children ! you'll run over your children ! " " My (puff) dear," replied Jogglebury, looking coolly over his shoulder, " how can they be (wheeze) run over behind ? " So saying, Jogglebury ground away at his leisure. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 285 CHAPTER XLVI. PUDDINGPOTE BOWER, THE SEAT OF JOGGLEBURY CROWDEY, ESQ. " Your good husband," observed Mr. Sponge as lie now overtook his hostess and proceeded "with her towards the house, " has insisted upon bringing me over to spend a few days till my friend Puffington re- covers. He's just got the gout. I said I was 'fraid it mightn't be quite convenient to you, but Mr. Crowdey assured me you were in the habit of receivin' fox-hunters at short notice ; and so I have taken him at his word you see, and come." • Mrs. Jogglebury, who was still out of wind from her run after the carriage, assured him that she was extremely happy to see him, though she couldn't help thinking what a noodle Jog was to bring a stranger on a washing-day. That, however, was a point she would reserve for Jog. Just then a loud outburst from the children announced the ap- proach of the eighth wonder of the world, in the person of Gustavus James in the nurse's arms, with a curly blue feather nodding over his nose. Mrs. Jogglebury's black eyes brightened with delight as she ran forward to meet him ; and in her mind's eye she saw him in- heriting a splendid mansion, with a retinue of powdered footmen in pea-green liveries and broad gold laced hats. Great — prospectively great, at least — as had been her successes in the sponsor line with her other children, she really thought, getting Mr. Sponge for a god- papa for Gustavus James eclipsed all her other doings. Mr. Sponge having been liberal in his admiration of the other children, of course could not refuse unbounded applause to the evi- dent object of a mother's regards ; and, chucking the young gentle- man under his double chin, asked him how he was, and said something about something he had in his " box," alluding to a paper of cheap comfits he had bought at Sngarchalk's, the confectioner's sale in Oxford-street, and which he carried about for contingencies like the present. This pleased Mrs. Crowdey — looking, as she thought, as if he had come predetermined to do what she wanted. Amidst praises and stories of the prodigy, they reached the house. If a " hall " means a house with an entrance-" hall," Puddingpote Bower did not aspire to be one. A visitor dived, in medias res} into the passage at once. In it stood an oak-cased family clock, and a large glass-case, with an alarming-looking stuffed tiger-like cat, on an imitation marble slab. Underneath the slab, indeed all about the passage were scattered children's hats and caps, hoops, tops, spades, 286 MR. sponge's sporting tour. and mutilated toys, — spotted horses without heads, soldiers without arms, windmills without sails, and wheelbarrows without wheels. In a corner were a bunch of " gibbies " in the rough, and alongside the weather-glass hung Jog's formidable flail of a hunting-whip. Mr. Sponge found his portmanteau standing bolt upright in the passage, with the bag alongside of it, just as they had been chucked out of the phaeton by Bartholomew Badger, who having got orders to put the horse right, and then to put himself right to wait at dinner, Mr. Jogglebury proceeded to vociferate, — " Murry Ann ! — Murry Ann ! " in such a way that Mary Ann thought either that the cat had got young Crowdey, or the house was on fire. u Oh ! Murry Ann ! " exclaimed Mr. Jogglebury, as she came darting into the passage from the back settlements, up to the elbows in soap-suds; " I want you to (puff) up-stairs with me, and help to get my (wheeze) gibbey sticks out of the best room ; there's a (puff) gentleman coming to (wheeze) here." " 0, indeed, sir," replied Mary Ann, smiling, and dropping down her sleeves — glad to find it was no worse. They then proceeded up-stairs together. All the gibbey sticks were bundled out, both the finished ones, that were varnished and laid away carefully in the wardrobe, and those that were undergoing surgical treatment, in the way of twist- ings, and bendings, and tyings in the closets. As they routed them out of hole and corner, Jogglebury kept up a sort of running recom- mendation to mercy, mingled with an inquiry into the state of the household affairs. " Now (puff), Murry Ann ! " exclaimed he ; " take care you don't scratch that (puff,) Franky Burdett," handing her a highty-varnished oak stick, with a head of Sir Francis for a handle ; " and how many (gasp) haddocks d'ye say there are in the house ? " " Three, sir," replied Mary Ann. " Three ! " repeated he, with an emphasis. " I thought your (gasp) missus told me there were but (puff) two; and, Murry Ann, you must put the new (puff) quilt on the (gasp) bed, and (puff) just look under it (gasp), and you'll find the (puff) old Truro rolled up in a dirty (puff) pocket hankercher; and, Murry Ann, d'ye think the new (wheeze) purtaters came that I bought of (puff) Billy Bloxom ? If so, you'd better (puff) some for dinner, and get the best (wheeze) decanters out ; and Murry Ann, there are two gibbeys on the (puff) surbase at the back of the bed, which you may as well (puff) away. Ah ! here he is," added Mr. Jogglebur}^, as Mr. Sponge's voice rose now from the passage into the room above. Things now looked pretty promising. Mr. Sponge's attentions to the children generally, and to Gustavus James in particular, coupled with his free-and-easy mode of introducing himself, made Mrs. Crowdey feel far more at her ease with regard to entertaining him mr. sponge's sporting tour. 287 than she would have done if her neighbour, Mr. Makepeace, or the Rev. Mr. Facey himself, had dropped in to take " pot luck," as they called it. With either of these she would have wished to appear as if their every-day form was more in accordance with their company style, whereas Jog and she wanted to get something out of Mr. Sponge, instead of electrifying him with their grandeur. That Gus- tavus James was destined for greatness she had not the least doubt. She began to think whether it might not be advisable to call him Gustavus James Sponge. Jog, too, was comforted, at hearing there were three haddocks, for though hospitably inclined, he did not at all like the idea of being on short commons himself. He had sufficient confidence in Mrs. Jogglebury's management — especially as the guest was of her own seeking — to know that she would make up a tolerable dinner. Nor was he out in his reckoning, for at half-past five Bartholomew announced dinner, when in sailed Mrs. Crowdey fresh from the com- position of it and from the becoming revision of her own dress. In- stead of the loose, flowing, gipsified, stunner tartan of the morning, she was attired in a close-fitting French grey silk, showing as well the fulness and whiteness of her exquisite bust, as the beautiful for- mation of her arms. Her raven hair was ably parted and flattened on either side of her well-shaped head. Sponge felt proud of the honour of having such a fine creature on his arm, and kicked about in his tights more than usual. The dinner, though it might show symptoms of hurry, was yet plentiful and good of its kind ; and, if Bartholomew had not been always getting in Murry Ann's way, would have been well set on and served. Jog quaffed quantities of foaming bottled porter during the progress of it, and threw himself back in his chair at the end, as if thoroughly overcome with his exertions. Scarcely were the wine and dessert set on, ere a violent outbreak in the nursery caused Mrs. Crowdey to hurry away, leaving Mr. Sponge to enjoy the company of her husband. " You'll drink (puff) fox-hunting, I s'pose," observed Jog, after a pause, helping himself to a bumper of port, and passing the bottle to Sponge. " With all my heart," replied our hero, filling up. " Fine (puff, wheeze) amusement," observed Mr. Crowdey, with a yawn after another pause, and beating the devil's tattoo upon the table to keep himself awake. " Very," replied Mr. Sponge, wondering how such a thick-winded chap as Jog managed to partake of it. " Fine (puff, wheeze) appetiser," observed Jogglebury, after an- other pause. 11 It is," replied Mr. Sponge. Presently Jog began to snore, and as the increasing melody of 288 mr. sponge's sporting tour. his nose gave little hopes of returning animation, Mr. Sponge had recourse to his old friend " Mogg," and amidst speculations as to time and distances, managed to finish the port. We will now pass to the next morning. Whatever deficiency there might be at dinner was amply atoned for at breakfast, which was both good and abundant; bread and cake of all sorts, eggs, muffins, toast, honey, jellies, and preserves without end. On the side-table was a dish of hot kidneys and a magnificent red home-fed ham. But a greater treat far, as Mrs. Jogglebury thought, was in the guests set around. There were arranged all her tulips in succession, -beginning with that greatest of all wonders, Gustavus James, and running on with Anna Maria, Frederick John, Juliana Jane, Mar- garet Henrietta, Sarah Amelia, down to Peter William, the heir, who sat next his pa. These formed a close line on the side of the table opposite the fire, that side being left for Mr. Sponge. All the children had clean pinafores on, and their hairs plastered according to nursery regulation. Mr. Sponge's appearance was a signal for silence, and they all sat staring at him in mute astonishment. Baby, Gustavus James, did more ; for, after reconnoitring him through a sort of lattice window formed of his fingers, he whined out, " Who's that ogl-e-y man, ma ? " amidst the titter of the rest of the line. " Hush! my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Crowdey, hoping Mr. Sponge hadn't heard. But Gustavus James was not to be put down, and he renewed the charge as his mamma began pouring out the tea. " Send that ogl-e-y man away, ma ! " whined he, in a louder tone, at which all the children burst out a laughing. " Baby (puff), Gustavus ! (wheeze,)" exclaimed Jog, knocking with the handle of his knife against the table, and frowning at the prodigy. '• Well, pa, he is a ogl-c-y man," replied the child, amid the ill- suppressed laughter of the rest. " Ah, but what have / got ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, producing a gaudily done-up paper of comfits from his pocket, opening and dis- tributing the unwholesome contents along the line, stopping the orator's mouth first with a great, red-daubed, almond comfit. Breakfast was then proceeded with without further difficulty. As it drew to a close, and Mr. Sponge began nibbling at the sweets instead of continuing his attack on the solids, Mrs. Jogglebury began eyeing and telegraphing her husband. " Jog, my dear," said she, looking significantly at him, and then at the egg-stand, whioh still contained three eggs. " Well, my dear," replied Jog, with a vacant stare, pretending not to understand. " You'd better eat them," saipl she, looking again at the eggs. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 289 " I've (puff) breakfasted, my (wheeze) dear," replied Jog, pom- pously, wiping his mouth on his claret-coloured bandana. " They'll be wasted if you don't," replied Mrs. Jog. " Well, but they'll be wasted if I eat them without (wheeze) wanting them," rejoined he. " Nonsense, Jog, you always say that," retorted his wife. " Nonsense (puff), nonsense (wheeze), I say they will." 11 1 say they wonH ! " replied Mrs. Jog ; " now will they, Mr. Sponge ? " continued she, appealing to our friend. " Why, no, not so much as if they went out," replied our friend, thinking Mrs. Jog was the one to side with. " Then you'd better (puff, wheeze, gasp) eat them between you," replied Jog, getting up and strutting out of the room. Presently he appeared in front of the house, crowned in a pea- green wide-awake, with a half-finished gibbey in his hand ; and as Mr. Sponge did not want to offend him, and moreover wanted to get his horses billeted on him, he presently made an excuse for joining him. Although his horses were standing " free gratis," as he called it, at Mr. Putfington's, and though he would have thought nothing of making Mr. Leather come over with one each hunting morning, still he felt that if the hounds were much on the other side of Pudding- pote Bower, it would not be so convenient as having them there. Despite the egg controversy, he thought a judicious application of soft sauder might accomplish what he wanted. At all events, he would try. Jog had brought himself short up, and was standing glowering with his hands in his coat-pockets, as if he had never seen the place before. " Pretty look-out you have here, Mr. Jogglebury," observed Mr. Spohge, joining him. " Very," replied Jog, still cogitating the egg question, and think- ing he wouldn't have so many boiled the next day. " All yours ? " asked Sponge, waving his hand as he spoke. " My (puff) ter-ri-tory goes up to those (wheeze) firs in the grass- field on the hill," replied Jogglebury, pompously. u Indeed," said Mr. Sponge, " they are fine trees ; " thinking what a finish they would make for a steeple-chase. " My (puff) uncle, Crowdey, planted those (wheeze) trees," ob- served Jog. " I observe," added he, " that it is easier to cut down a (puff) tree than to make it (wheeze) again." "I believe you're right," replied Mr. Sponge; "that idea has struck me very often." " Has it ? " replied Jog, puffing voluminously into his frill. They then advanced a few paces, and, leaning on the iron hurdles, commenced staring at the cows. 13 290 " Where are the stables ? " at last asked Sponge, seeing no incli- nation to move on the part of his host. " Stables (wheeze) — stables (puff )," replied Jogglebury, recollect- ing Sponge's previous day's proposal, — " stables (wheeze) are behind," said he, " at the back there (puff) ; nothin' to see at them (wheeze)." " There'll be the horse you drove yesterday ; won't you go to see how he is ? " asked Mr. Sponge. " Oh, sure to be well (puff) ; never nothing the matter with him (wheeze)," replied Jogglebury. " May as well see," rejoined Mr. Sponge, turning up a narrow walk that seemed to lead to the back. Jog followed doggedly. He had a good deal of John Bull in him, and did not fancy being taken possession of in that sort of way ; and thought, moreover, that Mr. Sponge had not behaved very well in the matter of the egg controversy. The stables certainly were nothing to boast of. They were in an old rubble-stone, red-tiled building, without even the delicacy of a ceiling. Nevertheless, there was plenty of room even after Joggle- bury had cut off one end for a cow-house. " Why, you might hunt the country with all this stabling," ob- served Mr. Sponge, as he entered the low door. " One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Nine stalls, I declare," added he, after counting them. " My (puff) uncle used to (wheeze) a good deal of his own (puff) land," replied Jogglebury. " Ah, well, I'll tell you what : these stables will be much better for being occupied," observed Mr. Sponge. " And I'll tell you what I'll do for you." " But they are occupied ! " gasped Jogglebury, convulsively. "Only half," replied Mr. Sponge ; "or a quarter, I may say — not even that, indeed. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll have my horses over here, and you shall find them in straw in return for the manure, and just charge me for hay and corn at market price, you know. That'll make it all square and fair, and no obligation, you know. I hate obligations," added he, eyeing Jog's disconcerted face. " Oh, but (puff, wheeze, gasp) — " exclaimed Jogglebury, redden- ing up — " I don't (puff) know that I can (gasp) that. I mean (puff) that this (wheeze) stable is all the (gasp) 'commodation I have ; and if we had (puff) company, or (gasp) anything of that sort, I don't know where we should (wheeze) their horses," continued he. " Be- sides, I don't (puff, wheeze) know about the market price of (gasp) corn. My (wheeze) tenant, Tom Hayrick, at the (puff) farm on the (wheeze) hill yonder, supplies me with the (puff) quantity I (wheeze) want, and we just (puff, wheeze, gasp) settle once a (puff) half-year, MB. sponge's sporting tour. 291 M All, I see," replied Mr. Sponge ; " you mean to say you wouldn't know how to strike the average so as to say what I ought to pay." u Just so," rejoined Mr. Jogglebury, jumping at the idea. " Ah, well," said Mr. Sponge, in a tone of indifference; " it's no great odds, — it's no great odds, — more the name of the thing than anything else ; one likes to be independent, you know — one likes to be independent ; but as I shan't be with you long, I'll just put up with it for once, — I'll just put up with it for once, — and let you find me — and let you find me." So saying, he walked away, leaving Jog- glebury petrified at his impudence. " That husband of yours is a monstrous good fellow," observed Mr. Sponge to Mrs. Jogglebury, who he now met coming out with her tail ; he will insist on my having my horses over here, — most liberal, handsome thing of him, I'm sure ; and that reminds me, can you manage to put up my servant ? " " I dare say we can," replied Mrs. Jogglebury, thoughtfully. " He's not a very fine gentleman, is he ? " asked she, knowing that servants were often more difficult to please than their masters. " Oh, not at all," replied Sponge; "not at all, — wouldn't suit me if he was — wouldn't suit me if he was." Just then up waddled Jogglebury, puffing and wheezing like a stranded grampus ; the idea having just struck him that he might get off on the plea of not having room for the servant. " It's very unfortunate (wheeze), — that's to say, it never occurred to me (puff), but I quite forgot (gasp) that we haven't (wheeze) room for your (puff) servant." " Ah, you are a good fellow," replied Mr. Sponge — M a devilish good fellow. I was just telling Mrs. Jogglebury — wasn't I, Mrs. Jogglebury ? — what an excellent fellow you are, and how kind you'd been' about the horses and corn, and all that sort of thing, when it occurred to me that it mighn't be convenient, p'raps, to put up a servant ; but your wife assures me that it will ; so that settles the matter, you know — that settles the matter, and I'll now send for the horses forthwith." Jog was utterly disconcerted, and didn't know which way to turn for an excuse. Mrs. Jogglebury, though she would rather have been without the establishment, did not like to peril Gustavus James's prospects by appearing displeased ; so she smilingly said she would gee and do what they could. Mr. Sponge then procured a messenger to take a note to Hanby House, for Mr. Leather, and having written it, amused himself for a time with his cigars and his " Mogg " in his bedroom, and then turned out to see the stable got ready, and pick up any information about the hounds, or anything else, from anybody he could lay hold of. As luck would have it, he fell in with a groom travelling a horse to hunt with Sir Harry Scattercash's hounds, which, he said, met at 292 MR. sponge's sporting tour. Snobston Green, some eight or nine miles off, the next day, and whither Mr. Sponge decided on going. Mr. Jogglebury's equanimity returning at dinner-time, Mr. Sponge was persuasive enough to induce him to accompany him, and it was finally arranged that Leather should go on with the horses, and Jog should drive Sponge to cover in the phe-a-ton. CHAPTER XLYII. A FAMILY BREAKFAST ON A HUNTING MORNING. Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey was a good deal disconcerted at Gus- tavus James's irreverence to his intended godpapa, and did her best, both by promises and entreaties, to bring him to a more becoming state of mind. She promised him abundance of good things if he would astonish Mr. Sponge with some of his wonderful stories, and expatiated on Mr. Sponge's goodness in bringing him the nice com- fits, though Mrs. Jogglebury could not but in her heart blame them for some little internal inconvenience the wonder had experienced during the night. However, she brought him to breakfast in pretty good form, where he was cocked up in his high chair beside his mamma, the rest of the infantry occupying the position of the pre- vious day, all under good-behaviour orders. Unfortunately, Mr. Sponge, not having been able to get himself up to his satisfaction, was late in coming down; and when he did make his appearance, the unusual sight of a man in a red coat, a green tie, a blue vest, brown boots, &c, completely upset their propriety, and deranged the order of the young gentleman's performance. Mr. Sponge, too, conscious that he was late, was more eager for his breakfast than anxious to be astonished ; so, what with repressing the demands of the youngster, watching that the others did not break loose, and getting Jog and Mr. Sponge what they wanted, Mrs. Crowdey had her hands full. At last, having got them set a-going, she took a lump of sugar out of the basin, and showing it to the wonder, laid it beside her plate, whispering, " Now, my beauty ! " into his ear, as she adjusted him in his chair. The child, who had been wound up like a musical snuff-box, then went off as follows : — " Bah, bah, back sheep, have 'ou any 'ool ? Ess, marry, have I, three bags full ; Un for ye master, un for ye dame, Un for ye 'ittlc boy 'ot 'mis about ye 'aue." MR. sponge's sporting tour. 293 But, unfortunately, Mr. Sponge was busy with his breakfast, and the prodigy wasted his sweetness on the desert air. Mrs. Jogglebury, who had sat listening in ecstacies, saw the offended eye and pouting lip of the boy, and attempted to make up with exclamations of " That is a clever fellow ! That is a wonder !" at the same time showing him the sugar. " A little more (puff) tea, my (wheeze) dear," said Jogglebury, thrusting his great cup up the table. " Hush! Jog, hush! " exclaimed Mrs. Crowdey, holding up her forefinger, and looking significantly first at him, and then at the urchin. " Now, ' Obin and Ichard,' my darling," continued she, address- ing herself coaxingly to Gustavus James. " No, not ' Obin and Ichard,' " replied the child, peevishly. " Yes, my darling, do, that's a treasure." " Well, my (puff) darling, give me some (wheeze) tea," interposed Jogglebury, knocking with his knuckles on the table. " Oh dear, Jog, you and "your tea ! — you're always wanting tea," replied Mrs. Jogglebury, snappishly. " "Well, but my (puff) dear, you forget that Mr. (wheeze) Sponge and I have to be at (puff) Snobston Green at a (wheeze) quarter to eleven, and it's good twelve (gasp) miles off." " Well, but it'll not take you long to get there," replied Mrs. Jogglebury ; " will it, Mr. Sponge ? " continued she, again appealing to our friend. •• Sure I don't know," replied Sponge, eating away ; " Mr. Crow- dey finds conveyance — I only find company." Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey then prepared to pour her husband out another cup of tea, and the musical snuff-box, being now left to itself, wenfc off of its own accord with, — " Diddle, diddle, doubt, My candle's out, My 'ittle dame's not at 'ome — So saddle my hog, and bridle my dog, And bring my 'ittle dame 'ome." A poem that in the original programme was intended to come in after " Obin and Ichard," which was to be the chef-d'oeuvre. Mrs. J og was delighted, and found herself pouring the tea into the sugar-basin instead of into Jog's cup. Mr. Sponge, too, applauded. "Well, that ivas very clever," said he, filling his" mouth with cold ham. " ' Saddle my dog, and bridle my hog '—I'll trouble you for another cup of tea," addressing Mrs. Crowdey. " No, not ' saddle my dog,' sil-l-e-y man ! " drawled the child, making a pet lip ; " l saddle my hog.' " 294 mr. sponge's sporting tour. " Oh ! ' saddle my hog,' was it ? " replied Mr. Sponge, with ap- parent surprise ; " I thought it was ' saddle my dog.' I'll trouble you for the sugar, Mrs. Jogglebury ; " adding, " you have devilish good cream here ; how many cows have you ? " " Cows (puff), cows (wheeze) ? " replied Jogglebury; " how many cows ? " repeated he. " Oh, two," replied Mrs. Jogglebury, tartly, vexed at the inter- ruption. " Pardon me (puff)," replied Jogglebury, slowly and solemnly, with a full blow into his frill ; " pardon me, Mrs. (puff) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey, but there are three (wheeze)." Not in milk, Jog — not in milk" retorted Mrs. Crowdey. " Three cows, Mrs. (puff) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey, notwith- standing," rejoined our host. " Well ; but when people talk of cream, and ask how many cows you have, they mean in milk, Mister Jogglebury Crowdey." " Not necessarily, Mistress Jogglebury Crowdey," replied the pertinacious Jog, with another heavy snort. " Ah, now you're coming your fine poor law guardian knowledge," rejoined his wife. Jog was chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Union. While this was going on, young hopeful was sitting cocked up in his high chair, evidently mortified at the want of attention. Mrs. Crowdey saw how things were going, and, turning from the cow question, endeavoured to re-engage him in his recitations. " Now, my angel ! " exclaimed she, again showing him the sugar ; " tell us about ' Obin and Icharcl.'" " No — not ' Obin and Ichard,' " pouted the child. " 0 yes, my sweet, doj that's a good child; the gentleman in the pretty coat, who gives baby the nice things, wants to hear it." " Come, out with it, young man ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, now putting a large piece of cold beef into his mouth. " Not a 'ung man," muttered the child, bursting out a-crying, and extending his little fat arms to his mamma. " No, my angel, not a 'ung man yet," replied Mrs. Jogglebury, taking him out of the chair, and hugging him to her bosom. " He'll be a man before his mother for all that," observed Mr. Sponge, nothing disconcerted by the noise. Jog had now finished his breakfast, and having pocketed three buns and two pieces of toast, with a thick layer of cold ham between them, looked at his great warming-pan of a watch, and said to his gue3t, "When you're (wheeze), I'm (puff)." So saying, he got up, and gave his great legs one or two convulsive shakes, as if to see that they were on. Mrs. Jogglebury looked reproachfully at him, as much as to say, " How can you behave so ? " Mr. Sponge, as he eyed Jog's ill-made, queerly put on garments, mr. sponge's sporting tour. 295 wished that he had not desired Leather to go to the meet. It would have been better to have got the horses a little way off, and have shirked J02;, who did not look like a desirable introducer to a hunting field. " I'll be with you directly," replied Mr. Sponge, gulping down the remains of his tea; adding, "I've just got to run up-stairs and get a cigar." So saying, he jumped up and disappeared. Murry Ann, not approving of Sponge's smoking in his bedroom, had hid the cigar-case under the toilet cover, at the back of the glass, and it was some time before he found it. Mrs. Jogglebury availed herself of the lapse of time, and his ab- sence, to pacify her young Turk, and try to coax him into reciting the marvellous " Obin and Ichard." As Mr. Sponge came clanking clown stairs with the cigar-case in his hand, she met him (accidentally, of courso) at the bottom, with the boy in her arms, and exclaimed, " 0, Mr. Sponge, here's Gustavus James wants to tell you a little story." Mr. Sponge stopped — inwardly hoping that it would not be a long one. " Now, my darling," said she, sticking the boy up straight, to get him to begin. " Novj then / " exclaimed Mr. Crowdey, in the true Jehu-like style, from the vehicle at the door, in which he had composed him- selfl " Coming, Jog ! coming ! " replied Mrs, Crowdey, with a frown on her brow at the untimely interruption ; then appealing again to the child, who was nestling in his mother's bosom, as if disinclined to show off, she said, u Now, my darling, let the gentleman hear how nicely you'll say it" ,The child still slunk u That's a fine fellow, out with it ! " said Mr. Sponge, taking up his hat to be off. " Now then ! " exclaimed his host again. " Coming I " replied Mr. Sponge. As if to thwart him, the child then began, Mrs. Jogglebury hold- ing up her forefinger as well in admiration as to keep silence : — " Obin and Ichard, two pretty men, Lay in bed till 'e clock struck ten ; Up starts Obin, and looks at the sky " And then the brat stopped. "Very beautiful!" exclaimed Mr. Sponge; "very beautiful! One of Moore's, isn't it ? Thank you, my little dear, thank you," added he, chucking him under the chin, and putting on his hat to be off. " 0, but stop, Mr. Sponge ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, " you haven't heard it all — there's more yet." 296 mr. sponge's sporting tour. Then turning to the child, she thus attempted to give him the cue. " O, ho ! bother " Now then ! times hup/" again shouted Jogglebury into the " 0 dear, Mr. Jogglebury, will you hold your stoopid tongue ! " exclaimed she ; adding, u you certainly are the most tiresome man under the sun." She then turned to the child with — " 0 ho ! bother Ichard" again. But the child was mute, and Mr. Sponge fearing, from some in- distinct growlings that proceeded from the carriage, that a storm was brewing, endeavoured to cut short the entertainment by exclaim- ing— " "Wonderful two-year old ! Pity he's not in the Darby. Dare say he'll tell me the rest when I come back." But this only added fuel to the fire of Mrs. Jogglebury's ardour, and made her more anxious that Sponge should not lose a word of it. Accordingly she gave the fat dumpling another jerk up on her arm, and repeated — " 0 ho ! bother Ichard, the "What's very high ? " asked Mrs. Jogglebury, coaxingly. " Sun's very high," replied the child. " Yes, my darling ! " exclaimed the delighted mamma. Mrs. Jogglebury then proceeded with — M On go before " Child.—'1 With bottle and bag," Mamma. — " And I'll follow after " Child.—" With 'ittle Jack Nag." " "Well now, that is wonderful ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, hurryiDg on his dog-skin gloves, and wishing both Obin and Ichard further. " Isn't it! " exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, in ecstacies ; then ad- dressing the child, she said, " Now that is a good boy — that is a fine fellow. Now couldn't he say it all over by himself, doesn't he think ? " Mrs. Jogglebury looking at Mr. Sponge, as if she was meditating the richest possible treat for him. " Oh," replied Mr. Sponge, quite tired of the detention, " he'll tell me it when I return — he'll tell me it when I return," at the same time giving the child another parting chuck under the chin. But the child was not to be put off in that way, and instead of crouching, and nestling, and hiding its face, it looked up quite boldly, and after a little hesitation went through " Obin and Ichard," to the delight of Mrs. Jogglebury, the mortification of Sponge, and the growling denunciations of old Jog, who still kept his place in the vehicle. Mr. Sponge could not but stay the poem out. MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 297 At last they got started, Jog driving, Sponge occupying the low seat, Jog's flail and Sponge's cane whip-stick stuck in the straps of the apron. Jog was very crusty at first, and did little but whip and flog the old horse, and puff and growl about being late, keeping peo- ple waiting, over-driving the horse, and so on. " Have a cigar ? " at last asked Sponge, opening the well-filled case, and tendering that olive-branch to his companion. "Cigar (wheeze), cigar (puff)?" replied Jog, eyeing the case; " why, no, p'raps not, I think (wheeze), thank'e." " Do you never smoke ? " asked Sponge. " (Puff — wheeze). Not often," replied Jogglebury, looking about him with an air of indifference. He did not like to say no, because Springwheat smoked, though Mrs. Springey highly disapproved of it. " You'll find them very mild," observed Sponge, taking one out for himself, and again tendering the case to his friend. " Mild (wheeze), mild (puff), are they ? " said Jog, thinking he would try one. Mr. Sponge then struck a light, and getting his own cigar well under way, lit one for his friend, and presented it to him. They then went puflmg, and whipping, and smoking in silence. Jog spoke first. " / am going to be (puff) sick" observed he, slowly and solemnly. " Hope not," replied Mr. Sponge, with a hearty whiff up into the air. " I am going to be (puff) sick," observed Jog, after another pause. " Be sick on your own side, then," replied Sponge, with another hearty whiff. " By the (puff) powers ! I am (puff) sick ! " exclaimed Joggle- bury, after another pause, and throwing away the cigar. " Oh, dear ! " exclaimed he, " you shouldn't have given me the nasty (puff) thing." ' " My dear fellow, I didn't know it would make you sick," replied Mr. Sponge. " Well, but (puff) if they (wheeze) other people sick, in all (puff) probability they'll (wheeze) me. There ! " exclaimed he, pulling up again. The delays occasioned by these catastrophes, together with the time lost by " Obin and Ichard," threw our sportsmen out considera- bly. When they reached Chalkerley-gate it wanted ten minutes to eleven, and they had still three jmiles to go. " We shall be late," observed Sponge, inwardly denouncing " Obin and Ichard." " Shouldn't wonder," replied Jog, adding with a puff into his frill, ': consequence of making me sick, you see." " My dear fellow, if you don't know your own stomach by this time, you did ought to do," replied Mr. Sponge. " I (puff) flatter myself I do (wheeze) my own stomach," replied Jogglebury, tartly. 298 MR. sponge's sporting tour. They then rumbled on some time in silence. When they came within sight of Snobston Green, the coast was clear. IS ot a red coat, or hunting indication of any sort, was to be seen. " I told you so (puff) ! " growled Jog, blowing full_ into his frill, and pulling up short. 11 They be gone to Hackberry Dean," said an old man, breaking stones by the road-side. " Hackberry Dean (puff) — Hackberry Dean (wheeze) ! " replied Jog, thoughtfully ; " then we must (puff) by Tollarton Mill, and through the (wheeze) village to Stewley ? " " Y-e-a-z," drawled the man. Jog then drove on a few paces, and turned up a lane to the left, whose finger-post directed the road "to Tollarton." He seemed less disconcerted than Sponge, who kept inwardly anathematising, not only " Obin and Ichard," but " Diddle, diddle, doubt,"— " Bah, bah, black sheep," — the whole tribe of nursery ballads, in short. The fact was, Jog wanted to be into Hackberry Dean, which was full of fine, straight hollies, fit either for gibbeys or whip-sticks, and the hounds being there gave him the entree. It was for helping himself there, without this excuse, that he had been " county courted," and he did not care to renew his acquaintance with the judge. He now whipped and jagged the old nag, as if intent on catching the hounds. Mr. Sponge liberated his whip from the apron-straps, and lent a hand when Jog began to flag. So they rattled and jiDglcd away at an amended pace. Still it seemed to Mr. Sponge as if they would never get there. Having passed through Tollarton, and cleared the village of Stewley, Mr. Sponge strained his eyes in every direc- tion where there was a bit of wood, in hopes of seeing something of the hounds. Meanwhile Jog was shuffling his little axe from below the cushion of the driving-seat into the pocket of his great coat. All of a sudden he pulled up, as they were passing a bank of wood (Hack- berry Dean), and handing the reins to his companion, said, " Just lay hold for a minute whilst I (puff) out." " What's happened ? " asked Sponge. " Not sick again, are you ?" " No (puff) not exactly (wheeze) sick, but I want to be out all the (puff) same." So saying, out he bundled, and crushing through the fern-grown woodbiney fence, darted into the wood in a way that astonished our hero. Presently the chop, chop, chop of the axe revealed the mys- tery. " By the powers, the fool's at his sticks ! " exclaimed Sponge, disgusted at the contretemps. " Mister Jogglebury ! " roared he, " Mister Jogglebury, we shall never catch up the hounds at this rate ! " But Jog was deaf — chop, chop, chop was all the answer Mr. Sponge got. 299 11 "Well, hang me if ever I saw such a fellow ! " continued Sponge, thinking he would drive on if he only knew the way. " Chop, chop, chop,11 continued the axe. "Mister Jogglebury! Mister Jogglebury Crowdey a-hooi!" roared Sponge, at the top of his voice. The axe stopped. " Anybody comin' ? " resounded from the wood. " You come,11 replied Mr. Sponge. "Presently," was the answer; and the chop, chop, chopping was resumed. " The man's mad," muttered Mr. Sponge, throwing himself back in the seat. xVt length Jog appeared brushing and tearing his way out of the wood, with two fine hollies under his arm. He was running down with perspiration, and looked anxiously up and down the road as he blundered through the fence to see if there was any one coming. " I really think (puff) this will make a four-in-hander (wheeze)," exclaimed he, as he advanced towards the carriage, holding a holly so as to show its full length — " not that I (puff, wheeze, gasp) do much in that (puff, wheeze) line, but really it is such a (puff, wheeze) beauty that I couldn't (puff, wheeze, gasp) resist it" "Well, but I thought we were going to hunt," observed Mr. Sponge, drily. " Hunt (puff) ! so we are (wheeze) ; but there are no hounds (gasp). My good (puff) man," continued he, addressing a smock- frocked countryman, who now came up, " have you seen anything of the hounds ? " " E-e-s," replied the man. " They be gone to Brookdale Plantin'." " Then we'd better (puff) after them," said Jog, running the stick thrpugh the apron-straps, and bundling into the phaeton with the long one in his hand. Away they rattled and jingled as before. " How far is it ? " asked Mr. Sponge, vexed at the detention. " Oh (puff) close by (wheeze)," replied Jog. " Close by," as most of our sporting readers well know to their cost, is generally anything but close by. Nor was Jog's close by, close by on this occasion. " There," said Jog, after they had got crawled up Trampington Hill; " that's it (puff) to the right, by the (wheeze) water there," pointing to a plantation about a mile off, with a pond shining at the end. Just as Mr. Sponge caught view of the water, the twang of a horn was heard, and the hounds came pouring, full cry, out of cover, followed by about twenty variously-clad horsemen, and our friend had the satisfaction of seeing them run clean out of sight, over as fine a country as ever was crossed. Worst of all, he thought he saw Leather pounding away on the chestnut 300 mk. sponge's bforting tour. CHAPTEK XLVIII. HUNTING THE HOUNDS. Trampington Hill, whose summit they had just reached as the hounds broke cover, commanded an extensive view over the adjoining vale, and, as Mr. Sponge sat shading his eyes with his hands from a bright wintry sun, he thought he saw them come to a check, and after- wards bend to the left. " I really think," said he, addressing his still perspiring compan- ion, " that if you were to make for that road on the left," (pointing one out as seen between the low hedge-rows in the distance) " we might catch them up yet." " Left (puff), left (wheeze) ? " replied Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey, staring about with anything but the quickness that marked his move- ments when he dived into Hackberry Dean. " Don't you see," asked Sponge, tartly, " there's a road by the cornstacks yonder ? " pointing them out. " I see," replied Jogglebury, blowing freely into his shirt-frill. " I see," repeated he, staring that way ; " but I think (puff) that's a mere (wheeze) occupation road leading to (gasp) nowhere." " Never mind, let's try ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, giving the rein a jerk, to get the horse into motion again ; adding, " it's no use sitting here, you know, like a couple of fools, when the hounds are running." " Couple of (puff) ! " growled Jog, not liking the appellation, and wishing to be home with the long holly. " I don't see anything (wheeze) foolish in the (puff) business." " There they are ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, who had kept his eye on the spot he last viewed them, and now saw the horsemen titt- up-ing across a grass field in the easy way that distance makes very uneasy riding look. " Gut along / " exclaimed he, laying into the horse's hind-quarters with his hunting-whip. "DonH ! the horse is (puff) tired," retorted Jog, angrily holding the horse, instead of letting him go to Sponge's salute. " Not a bit on't ! " exclaimed Sponge ; "fresh as paint ! Spring him a bit, that's a good fellow ! " added he. Jog didn't fancy being dictated to in this way, and just crawled along at his own pace, some six miles an hour, his dull phlegmatic face contrasting with the eager excitement of Mr. Sponge's counte- nance. If it had not been that Jog wanted to see that Leather did not play any tricks with his horse, he would not have gone a yard to MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 301 please Mr. Sponge. Jog might, however, have been easy on that score, for Leather had just buckled the curb-rein of the horse's bri- dle round a tree in the plantations where they found, and the animal being used to this sort of work, had fallen-to quite contentedly upon the grass within reach. Bilkington Pike now appeared in view, and Jog drew in as he spied it. He knew the damage : sixpence for carriages, and he doubted that Sponge would pay it. " It's no use going any (wheeze) further," observed he, drawing up into a walk, as he eyed the red-brick gable end of the toll-house, and the formidable white gate across the road. Tom Coppers had heard the hounds, and knowing the hurry sports- men are often in, had taken the precaution to lock the gate. " Just a leetle further ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, soothingly, whose anxiety in looking after the hounds had prevented his seeing this formidable impediment. " If you would just drive up to that farm- house on the hill," pointing to one about half a mile off, " I think we should be able to decide whether it's worth going on or not." " Well (puff), well (wheeze), well (gasp)," pondered Joggle- bury, still staring at the gate, " if you (puff) think it's worth (wheeze) while going through the (gasp) gate," nodding towards it as he spoke. " Oh, never mind the gate," replied Mr. Sponge, with an osten- tatious dive into his breeches pocket, as if he was going to pay it. He kept his hand in his pocket till he came close up to the gate, when suddenly drawing it out, he said — " Oh, hang it ! I've left my purse at home ! Never mind, drive on," said he to his host ; exclaiming to the man, " it's Mr. Crowdey's carriage — Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey's carriage ! Mr. Crowdey, the chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Poor-Law Union ! " " Sixpence ! " shouted the man, following the phaeton with out- stretched hand. " Ord, hang it (puff) ! I could have done that (wheeze)," growled Jogglebury, pulling up. " You harn't got no ticket," said Coppers, coming up, " and ain't a-goin' to not never no ineetin' o' trustees, are you ? " asked he, seeing the importance of the person with whom he had to deal ; — a trustee of that and other roads, and one who always availed himself of his privilege of going to the meetings toll-free. "No," replied Jog, pompously handing Sponge the whip and reins. He then rose deliberately from his seat, and slowly unbuttoned each particular button of the brown great-coat he had over the tight black hunting one. He then unbuttoned the black, and next the right-hand pocket of the wfiite moleskins, in which he carried his 302 MR. sponge's sporting tour. money. He then deliberately fished up his green-and-gold purse, a souvenir of Miss Smiler (the plaintiff in the breach-of-proniise action, Smiler v. Jogglebury), and holding it with both hands before his eyes, to see which end contained the silver, he slowly drew the slide, and took out a shilling, though there were plenty of six- pences in. This gave the man an errand into the toll-house to get one, and, by way of marking his attention, when he returned he said, in the negative way that country people put a question — " You'll not need a ticket, will you ? " " Ticket (puff), ticket (wheeze) ? " repeated Jog, thoughtfully. " Yes, I'll take a ticket," said he. " Oh ! hang it no," replied Sponge ; let's get on ! " stamping against the bottom of the phaeton to set the horse a-going. 11 Costs nothin'," observed Jog, dryly, drawing the reins, as the man again returned to the gate-house. A considerable delay then took place ; first, Pikey had to find his glasses, as he called his spectacles, to look out a one-horse-chaise ticket. Then he had to look out the tickets, when he found he had all sorts except a one-horse- chaise one ready — waggons, hearses, mourning-coaches, saddle-horses, chaises and pair, mules, asses, every sort but the one that was wanted. Well, then he had to fill one up, and to do this he had, first, to find the ink-horn, and then a pen that would " mark, " so that, altogether a delay took place that would have been peculiarly edifying to a Kennington Common or Lambeth gate-keeper to witness. But it was not all over yet. Having got the ticket, Jog examined it minutely, to see that it was all right, then held it to his nose to smell it, and ultimately drew the purse-slide, and deposited it among the sovereigns. He then restored that expensive trophy to his pocket, shook his leg, to send it down, then buttoned the pocket, and took the tight black coat with both hands, and dragged it across his chest, so as to get his stomach in. He then gasped and held his breath, making himself as small as possible, while he coaxed the buttons into the holes ; and that difficult process being at length accomplished, he stood still awhile, to take breath after the exertion. Then he began to rebutton the easy, brown great coat, going deliberately up the whole series, from the small button below, to keep the laps together, up to the one on the neck, or where the neck would have been if Jog had not been all stomach up to the chin. He then soused himself into his seat, and snorting heavily through his nostrils, took the reins and whip and long holly from Mr. Sponge, and drove leisurely on. Sponge sat anathematising his slowness. When they reached the farm-house on the hill the hounds were fairly in view. The huntsman was casting them, and the horsemen were grouped about as usual, while the laggcrs were stealing quietly MR. sponge's sporting tour. 303 up the lanes and by-roads, thinking nobody would see them. Save the whites or the greys, our friends in the " chay " were not suf- ficiently near to descry the colours of the horses ; but Mr. Sponge could not help thinking that he recognised the outline of the wicked chestnut, Multum in Parvo. " By the powers, but if it's him," muttered he to himself, clench- ing his fist and grinding his teeth as he spoke ; " but I'll — I'll — I'll make sich an example of you," meaning of Leather. Mr. Sponge could not exactly say what he would do, for it was by no means a settled point whether Leather or he were master. But to the hounds. If it had not been for Mr. Sponge's shabbiness at the turnpike gate, we really believe he might now have caught them up, for the road to them was down hill all the way, and the impetus of the vehicle would have sent the old screw along. That delay, however, was fatal. Before they had gone a quarter of the distance the hounds suddenly struck the scent at a hedge-row, and, with heads up and sterns down, went straight away at a pace that annihilated all hope. They were out of sight in a minute. It was clearly a case of kill. " "Well, there's a go ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, folding his arms, and throwing himself back in the phaeton in disgust. " I think I never saw such a mess as we've made this morning." And he looked at the stick in the apron, and the long holly be- tween Jog's legs, and longed to lay them about his great back. "Well (puff), I s'pose (wheeze) we may as well (puff) home now ? " observed Jog, looking about him quite unconcernedly. " I think so," snapped Sponge ; adding, " we've done it for once, at all events." The observation, however, was lost upon Jog, whose mind was occupied with thinking how to get the phaeton around without upset- ting. ' The road was narrow at best, and the newly-laid stone-heaps had encroached upon its bounds. He first tried to back between two stone-heaps, but only succeeded in running a wheel into one ; he then tried the forward tack, with no better success, till Mr. Sponge, seeing matters were getting worse, just jumped out, and taking the old horse by the head, executed the manoeuvre that Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey first attempted. They then commenced retracing their steps, rather a long trail, even for people in an amiable mood, but a terribly long one for disagreeing ones. Jog, to be sure, was pretty comfortable. He had got all he wanted — all he went out a-hunting for ; and as he hissed and jerked the old horse along, he kept casting an eye at the contents of the apron, thinking what cro^s ned or great man's head, the now rough, club- headed knobs should be fashioned to represent ; and indulged in spec- ulations as to their prospective worth and possible destination. He had not the slightest doubt that a thousand sticks to each of his children 304 mr. sponge's sporting tour. would be as good as a couple of thousand pounds a-piece ; sometimes he thought more, but never less. Mr. Sponge, on the other hand, brooded over the loss of the run ; indulged in all sorts of speculations as to the splendour of the affair ; pictured the figure he would have cut on the chestnut, and the price he might have got for him in the field. Then he thought of the bucketing Leather would give him; the way he would ram him at everything ; how he would let him go with a slack rein in the deep — very likely making him over-reach — nay, there was no saying but he might stake him. Then he thought over all the misfortunes and mishaps of the day. The unpropitious toilet; the aggravation of " Obin and Ichard^." the delay caused by Jog being sick with his cigar ; the divergence into Hackberry Dean ; and the long protracted wait at the toll-bar. Reviewing all the circumstances fairly and dispassionately, Mr. Sponge came to the determination of having nothing more to do with Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey in the hunting way. These, or simi- lar cogitations and resolutions were, at length, interrupted by their arriving at home, as denoted by an outburst of children rushing from the lodge to receive them, — Gustavus James, in his nurse's arms, bringing up the rear, to whom our friend could hardly raise the semblance of a smile. It was all that little brat ! thought he. CHAPTER XLIX. COUNTRY QUARTERS. Sir Harry Scattercash's were only an ill-supported pack of hounds; they were not kept upon any fixed principles. We do not mean to say that they had not plenty to eat, but their management was only of the scrimmaging order. Sir Harry was, what is technically called, "going it." Like our noble friend, Lord Hardup, now Earl of Scamperdale, he had worked through the morning of life without knowing what it was to be troubled with money ; but, unlike his lordship, now that he had unexpectedly come into some, he seemed bent upon trying how fast he could get through it. In this laudable endeavour he was ably assisted by Lady Scattercash, late the lovely and elegant Miss Spangles, of the " Theatre Royal, Sadler's Wells." Sir Harry had married her before his windfall made him a baronet, having, at the time, some intention of trying his luck on the stage, but he always declared that he never regretted his choice; on the contrary, he said, if he had gone among the " duchesses," he could MR. sponge's sporting tour. 305 not -have suited himself better. Lady Scattercash could ride — in- deed, she used to do scenes in the circle (two horses and a flag)— and she could drive, and smoke, and sing, and was possessed of many other accomplishments. Sir Harry would sometines drink straight an end for a week, and then not taste wine again for a month ; sometimes the hounds hunted, and sometimes they did not; sometimes they were advertised, and sometimes they were not ; sometimes they went out on one day, and sometimes on another ; sometimes they were fixed to be at such a place, and went to quite a different one. When Sir Harry was on a drinking-bout, they were shut up altogether ; and the huntsman, Tom Watchorn, late of the " Camberwell and Balham Hill Union Harriers," an early acquaintance of Miss Spangles — in- deed, some said he was her uncle — used to go away on a drinking excursion too. Altogether, they were what the country people called a very "promiscuous set." The hounds were of all sorts and sizes; the horses of no particular stamp ; and the men scamps and vaga- bonds of the first class. With such a master and such an establishment, we need hardly say that no stranger ever came into the country for the purpose of hunting. Sir Harry's fields were entirely composed of his own choice " set," and a few farmers, and people whom he could abuse and do what he liked with. Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey, to be sure, had men- tioned Sir Harry approvingly, when he went to Mr. Puffington's, to inveigle Mr. Sponge over to Puddingpote Bower ; but what might suit Mr. Jogglebury, who went out to seek gibbey-sticks, might not suit a-person who went out for the purpose of hunting a fox in order to show off and sell his horses. In fact, Puddingpote Bower was an exceedingly bad hunting quarter, as things turned out. Sir Harry Scattercash, having had the run described in our two preceding chapters, and having just imported a few of the " sock-and-buskin " sort from town, was not likely to be going out again for a time ; while Mr. Puffing-ton, finding where Mr. Sponge had taken refuge, determined not to meet within reach of Puddingpote Bower, if he could possibly help it ; and Lord Scamperdale was almost always be- yond distance, unless horse and rider lay out over-night — a proceed- ing always deprceated by prudent sportsmen. Mr. Sponge, therefore, got more of Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey's company than he wanted, and Sir. Crowdey got more of Mr. Sponge's than he desired. In vain Jog took him up into his attics and his closets, and his various holes and corners, and showed him his enormous crop of sticks — some tied in sheaves, like corn; some put up more sparingly; and others, a ga m, wrapped in silver paper, with their valuable heads enveloped in old gloves. Jog would untie the strings of these, and placing the heads in the most favourable position before our friend, just as an artist would a portrait, question him as to whom he thought they were. 306 mr. sponge's SPORTING tour. " There, now (puff)," said he, holding up one that he thought there could be no mistake about ; " who do you (wheeze) that is ? " " Deaf Burke," replied Mr. Sponge, after a stare. " Deaf Burke ! " (puff) replied Jog, indignantly. " "Who is it, then ? " asked Mr. Sponge. " Can't you see ? (wheeze)," replied Jog, tartly. " No," replied Sponge, after another examination. " It's not Scroggins, is it ? " " Napoleon (puff) Bonaparte," replied Jog, with great dignity, re- turning the head to the glove. He showed several others, with little better success, Mr. Sponge seeming rather to take a pleasure in finding ridiculous likenesses, in- stead of helping his host out in his conceits. The stick-mania was a failure, as far as Mr. Sponge was concerned. Neither were the pere- grinations about the farms, or ter-ri-to-ry, as Jog called his estate, more successful ; a man's estate, like his children, being seldom of much interest to any but himself. Jog and Sponge were soon most heartily sick of each other. Nor did Mrs. Jog's charms, nor the voluble enunciation of " Obin and Ichard," followed by " Bah, bah, black sheep," &c, from that won- derful boy, Gustavus James, mend matters; for the young rogue having been in Mr. Sponge's room while Murry Ann was doing it out, had torn the back of Sponge's " Mogg," and made such a mess of his tooth-brush, by cleaning his shoes with it, as never was seen. Mr. Sponge soon began to think it was not worth while staying at Puddiugpote Bower for the mere sake of his keep, seeing there was no hunting to be had from it, and it did not do to keep hack hunters idle, especially in open weather. Leather and he, for once, were of the same opinion, and that worthy shook his head, and said Mr. Crowdey was " awful mean," at the same time pulling out a sample of bad ship oats, that he had got from a neighbouring ostler, to show the " stuff " their " osses " were eatin' of. The fact was, Jog's beer was nothing like so strong as Mr. Puffington's ; added to which, Mr. Crowdey carried the principles of the poor-law union into his own establishment, and dieted his servants upon certain rules. Sunday, roast beef, potatoes, and pudding under the meat; Monday, fried beef, and stick-jaw (as they profanely called a certain pudding); Wednesday, leg of mutton, and so on. The allowance of beer was a pint and a half per diem to Bartholomew, and a pint to each woman ; and Mr. Crowdey used to observe from the head of the servants' din- ner-table on the arrival of each cargo, u Now this (puff) beer is to (wheeze) a month, and, if you choose to drink it in a (gasp) day, you'll go without any for the rest of the (wheeze) time ; " an intima- tion that had a very favourable effect upon the tap. Mr. Leather, however, did not like it. " Puffington's servants," said he, " had beer whenever they chose," and he thought it " awful mean " restrict- 307 ing the quantity. Mr. Jog, however, was not to be moved. Thus time crawled heavily on. Mr. and Mrs. Jog had a long confab one night on the expediency of getting rid of Mr. Sponge. Mrs. Jog wanted to keep him on till after the christening ; while Jog combated her reasons by represent- ing the improbability of its doing Gustavus James any good having him for a god-papa, seeing Sponge's age, and the probability of his marrying himself. Mrs. Jog, however, was very determined ; rather too much so, indeed, for she awakened Jog's jealousy, who lay toss- ing and tumbling about all through the night. He was up very early, and as Mrs. Jog was falling into a com- fortable nap, she was aroused by his well-known voice hallooing as loud as he could in the middle of the entrance-passage. " BxRTHo-LO-me-e-w ? " the last syllable being pronounced or pro- longed like the mew of a cat. " BARTiioLO-me-e-w / " repeated he, not getting an answer to the first shout. " Murry Ann ! " shouted he, after another pause. " Murry Ann ! " exclaimed he, still louder. Just then, the iron latch of a door at the top of the house opened, and a female voice exclaimed hurriedly over the banisters — " Yes, sir ! here, sir ! comin', sir ! comin' ! " " Oh, Murry Ann (puff), that's (wheeze) you, is it ? " asked Jog, still speaking at the top of his voice. " Yes, sir," replied Mary Ann. " Oh ! then, Murry Ann, I wanted to (puff) — that you'd better get the" (puff) breakfast early, I think Mr. (gasp) Sponge will be (wheezing) away to-day." " Yes, sir," replied Mary Ann. All this was said in such a tone as could not fail to be heard all over tne house ; certainly into Mr. Sponge's room, which was mid- way between the speakers. What prevented Mr. Sponge wheezing away, will appear in the next chapter. 308 me. CHAPTER L The reason Mr. Sponge did not take his departure, after the pretty intelligible hint given by his host, was, that as he was passing his shilling army razor over his soapy chin, he saw a stockingless lad, in a purply coat and faded hunting-cap, making his way up to the house, at a pace that betokened more than ordinary vagrancy. It was the kennel, stable, and servants' hall courier of Nonsuch House, come to say that Sir Harry hunted that day. Presently Mr. Leather knocked at Mr. Sponge's bedroom door, and, being invited in, announced the fact. " Sir Arry's 'ounds 'unt," said he, twisting the door handle as he spoke. " What time ? " asked Mr. Sponge, with his half-shaven face turned towards hin. " Meet at eleven," replied Leather. " Where ? " inquired Mr. Sponge. " Nonsuch House, 'bout nine miles off." It ivas thirteen, but Mr. Leather heard the malt liquor was good, and wanted to taste it. " Take on the brown, then," said Mr. Sponge, quite pompously ; " and tell Bartholomew to have the hack at the door at ten — or say a quarter to. Tell him, I'll lick him for every minute he's late ; and, mind, don't let old Rorey O'More here know," meaning our friend Jog, " or he may take a fancy to go, and we shall never get there," alluding to their former excursion. " No, no," replied Mr. Leather, leaving the room. Mr. Sponge then arrayed himself in his hunting costuine — scarlet coat, green tie, blue vest, gosling coloured cords, and brown tops ; and was greeted with a round of applause from the little Jogs as he entered the breakfast room. Gustavus James would handle him ; and, considering that hie paws were all over raspberry jam, our friend would as soon have dispensed with his attentions. Mrs. Jog was all smiles, and Jog all scowls. A little after ten our friend, cigar in mouth, was in the saddle. Mrs. Jog, with Gustavus James in her arms, and all the children clustering about, stood in the passage to see him start, and watch the capers and caprioles of the piebald, as he ambled down the avenue. " Nine miles — nine miles," muttered Mr. Sponge to himself, as he passed through the Lodge and turned up the Quarryburn Road ; "do mr. sponge's sporting tour. 309 it in an hour well enough," said he, sticking spurs into the hack, and cantering away. Having kept this pace up for about five miles, till he thought from the view he had taken of the map it was about time to be turning, he hailed a blacksmith in his shop, who, next to saddlers, are gene- rally the most intelligent people about hounds, and how far it was to Sir Harry's ? " Eight miles," replied the man in a minute. " Impossible ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge. " It was only nine at starting, and I've come I don't know how many." The next person Mr. Sponge met told him it was ten miles ; the third, after asking him where he had come from, said he was a stranger in the country, and had never heard of the place ; and, what with Mr. Leather's original mis-statement, misdirections from other people, and mistakes of his own, it was more good luck than good management that got Mr. Sponge to Nonsuch House in time. The fact was, the whole hunt was knocked up in a hurry. Sir Harry, and the choice spirits by whom he was surrounded, had not finished celebrating the triumphs of the Snobston Green day, and as it was not likely that the hounds would be out again soon, the people of the hunting establishment were taking their ease. TVatchorn had gone to be entertained at a public supper given by the poachers and fox-stealers of the village of Bark-shot, as a " mark of respect for his abilities as a sportsman and his integrity as a man," meaning his in- difference to his master's interests ; while the first whip had gone to visit his aunt, and the groom was away negotiating the exchange of a cow. With things in this state, wily Tom of Tinklerhatch, a noted fox-stealer in Lord Scamperdale's country, had arrived with a great thundering dog fox, stolen from his lordship's cover near the cross roads at Dallington Burn, which being communicated to our friends about midnight in the smoking room at Nonsuch House, it was re- solved to hunt him forthwith, especially as one of the guests, Mr. Orlando Bugles, of the Surry Theatre, was obliged to return to town immediately, and, as he sometimes enacted the part of Squire Tally- ho, it was thought a little of the reality might correct the Tom and Jerry style in which he did it. Accordingly, orders were issued for a hunt, notwithstanding the hounds were fed and the horses watered. Sir Harry didn't " care a rap; let them go as fast as they could." All these circumstances conspired to make them late ; added to which, when Watchorn, the huntsman, cast up, which he did on a higgler's horse, he found the only sound one in his stud had gone to the neighbouring town to get some fiddlers — her ladyship Laving determined to compliment Mr. Bugles' visit by a quadrille party. Bugles and she were old friends. When Mr. Sponge cast at half- past eleven, things were still behindhand. 310 MR. sponge's sporting tour. Sir Harry and party had had a wet night of it, and were all more or less drunk. They kept up the excitement with a champagne break- fast and various liqueurs, to say nothing of cigars. They were a sad debauched-looking set, some of them scarcely out of their teens, with pallid cheek, trembling hands, sunken eyes, and all the symptoms of premature decay. Others — the sock-and-buskin ones — were - a made-up, wigged, and padded set. Bugles was resplendent. He had on a dress scarlet coat, lined and faced with yellow satin (one of the properties, we believe, of the Victoria), a beautifully worked pink shirt-front, a pitch-plaster coloured waistcoat, white ducks, and jack-boots, with brass heel spurs. He carried his whip in the arni's- length-way of a circus master following a horse. Some dozen of these curiosities were staggering, and swaggering, and smoking in front of Nonsuch House, to the edification of a lot of gaping grooms and chawbacons, when Mr. Sponge cantered becomingly up on the piebald. Lady Scattercash, with several elegantly-dressed females, all with cigars in their mouths, were conversing with them from the open drawing-room windows above, while sundry good-looking damsels ogled them from the attics above. Such was the tableau that pre- sented itself to Mr. Sponge as he cantered round the turn that brought him in front of the Elizabethan mansion of Nonsuch House. Sir Harry, who was still rather drunk, thinking that every person there must be either one of his party, or a friend of one of his party, or a neighbour, or some one that he had seen before, reeled up to our friend as he stopped, and shaking him heartily by the hand, asked him to come in and have something to eat. This was a godsend to Mr. Sponge, who accepted the proffered hand most readily, shaking it in a way that quite satisfied Sir Harry he was right in some one or other of his conjectures. Bugles, and all the reeling swaggering bucks, looked respectfully at the well-appointed man, and Bugles determined to have a pair of nut-brown tops as soon as ever he got back to town. Sir Harry was a tall, wan, pale young man, with a strong tendency to delirium tremens ; that, and consumption, appeared to be running a match for his person. He was a harum-scarum fellow, all strings and tapes, and ends, and flue. He looked as if he slept in his clothes. His hat was fastened on with a ribbon, or rather a ribbon passed round near the band, in order to fasten it on, for it was seldom or ever applied to the purpose, and the ends generally went flying out be- hind like a Chinaman's tail. Then his flashy, many-coloured cravats, stared and straggled in all directions, while his untied waiscoat-strings protruded between the laps of his old short-waisted swallow- tailed scarlet, mixing in glorious confusion with those of his breeches be- hind. The knee-strings were generally also loose ; the web-straps of his boots were seldom in; and, what with one set of strings and another, he had acquired the name of Sixteen-string'd Jack. Mr. Sponge having dismounted, and given his hack to the now half-drunken MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 311 Leather, followed Sir Harry through a foil and four-in-hand whip-hung hall to the deserted breakfast-room, where chairs stood in all direc- tions, and crumpled napkins strewed the floor. The litter of eggs and remnants of muffins, and diminished piles of toast, and broken bread and empty toast-racks, and cups and saucers, and half-emptied glasses, and wholly emptied champagne bottles, were scattered up and down a disorderly table, further littered with newspapers, letter backs, County Court summonses, mustard-pots, anchovies, pickles — all the odds and ends of a most miscellaneous meal. The side-table exhibited cold joints, game, poultry, lukewarm hashed vension, and sundry lamp- lit dishes of savory grills. " Here you are ! " exclaimed Sir Harry, taking his hunting-whip and sweeping the contents of one end of the table on to the floor with a crash that brought in the butler and some theatrical-looking servants. " Take those filthy things away!" (hiccup), exclaimed Sir Harry, crushing the broken china smaller under his heels ; and (hiccup) bring some red-herrings and soda-water. What the deuce does the (hiccup) cook mean by not (hiccuping) things as he ought ? " Now," said he, addressing Mr. Sponge, and raking the plates and dishes up to him with the handle of his whip, just as a gaming-table keeper rakes up the stakes, " now," said he, " make your (hiccup) game. There'll be some hot (hiccup) in directly." He meant to say " tea," but the word failed him. Mr. Sponge fell to with avidity. He was always ready to eat, and attacked first one thing and then another, as though he had not had any breakfast at Puddingpote Bower. Sir Harry remained mute for some minutes, sitting cross-legged and backwards in his chair, with his throbbing temples resting upon the back, wondering where it was that he had met Mr. Sponge. He lookefl. different without his hat ; and though he saw it was no one he knew particularly, he could not help thinking he had seen him before. Indeed, he thought it was clear, from Mr. Sponge's manner, that they had met, and he was just going to ask him whether it was at Offley's or the Coal Hole, when a sudden move outside attracted his attention. It was the hounds. The huntsman's horse having at length returned from the fiddler hunt, and being whisped over, and made tolerably decent, Mr. Watchorn, having exchanged the postilion saddle in which it had been ridden, for a horn-cased hunting one, had mounted, and opening the kennel-door, had liberated the pent-up pack, who came tearing out full cry, and spread themselves over the country, regardless alike of •the twang, twang, twang of the horn and the furious onslaught of a couple of stable lads in scarlet and caps, who, true to the title of " whippers-in," let drive at all they could get within reach of. The hounds had' not been out, even to exercise, since the Snobston-Green 312 MR. sponge's sporting tour. day, and were as wild as hawks. They were ready to run anything. Furious and Furrier tackled with a cow. Bountiful ran a black cart- colt, and made him leap the haw-haw. Sempstress, Singwell, and Saladin (puppies), went after some crows. Mercury took after the stable cat, while old Thunderer and Come-by-chance (supposed to be one of Lord Scamperdale's), joined in pursuit of a cur. Watchorn, however, did not care for these little ebullitions of spirit, and never having been accustomed to exercise the " Camberwell and Balham Hill Union Harriers," he did not see any occasion for troubling the fox-hounds. u They would soon settle," he said, " when they got a scent." It was this riotous start that diverted Sixteen-string'd Jack's at- tention from our friend, and, looking out of the window, Mr. Sponge saw all the company preparing to be off. There was the elegant Bu- gles mounting her ladyship's white Arab ; the brothers Spangles climbing on to their cream-colours ; Mr. This getting on to the post- man's pony, and Mr. That on to the gamekeeper's. Mr. Sponge hur- ried out to get to the brown ere his anger arose at being left behind, and provoked a scene. He only just arrived in time ; for the twang of the horn, the cracks of the whips, the clamorous rates of the ser- vants, the yelping of the hounds, and the general commotion, had got up his courage, and he launched out in such a way, when Mr. Sponge mounted, as would have shot a loose rider into the air. As it was, Mr. Sponge grappled manfully with him, and, letting the Latchfords into his sides, shoved him in front of the throng, as if nothing had happened. Mr. Leather then slunk back to the stable, to get out the hack to have a hunt in the distance. The hounds, as we said before, were desperately wild ; but at length, by dint of coaxing and cracking, and whooping and hal- looing, they got some ten couple out of the five-and-twenty gathered together, and Mr. Watchorn, putting himself at their head, trotted briskly on, blowing most lustily, in the hopes that the rest would follow. So he clattered along the avenue, formed between rows of sombre-headed firs and sweeping spruce, out of which whirred clouds of pheasants, and scuttling rabbits, and stupid hares kept crossing and recrossing, to the derangement of Mr. Watchorn's temper and the detriment of the unsteady pack. Squeak, squeak, squeal sounded right and left, followed sometimes by the heavy retributive hand of Justice on the offender's hides, and sometimes by the snarl, snap, and worry of a couple of hounds contending for the prey. Twang, tvjanrj, twang, still went the horn ; and when the huntsman reached the unicorn-crested gates, between tea-caddy looking lodges, he found himself in possession of a clear majority of his un.^izeable pack: Some were rather bloody to be sure, and a few carried scraps of game, which fastidious masters would as soon have seen them with- MR. sponge's sporting tour. 313 out ; but neither Sir Harry nor his huntsman cared about appear- ances. On clearing the lodges, and passing about a quarter of a mile on the Hardington Road, hedge-rows ceased, and they came upon Far- lyfair Downs, across which Mr. Watchorn now struck, making for a square plantation, near the first hill-top, where it had been arranged the bag-fox should be shook. It was a fine day, rather brighter, per- haps, than sportsmen like, and there was a crispness in the air indi- cative of frost, but then there is generally a burning scent just before one. So thought Mr. Watchorn, as he turned his feverish face up to the bright, blue sky, imbibing the fine fresh air of the wide- extending downs, instead of the stale tobacco smoke of the fetid beer- shop. As he trotted over the springy sward, up the gently rising ground, he rose in his stirrups; and, laying hold of his horse's mane, turned to survey the long-drawn, lagging field behind. " You'll have to look sharp, my hearties," said he to himself, as he run them over in his eye, and thought there might be twenty or five-and twenty horsemen ; " 3-ou'll have to look sharp my hearties," said he, " if }tou mean to get away, for Wily Tom has his hat on the ground, which shows he has put him down, and if he's the sort of gem'man I expect he'll not be long in cover." So saying, he resumed his seat in the saddle, and easing his horse, endeavoured by sundry dog noises — such as, " Yooi doit, Ravager ! " u Gently, Paragon ! " " Here again, Mercury ! " — to restrain the ardour of the leading hounds, so as to let the rebellious tail ones up . and go into cover with something like a body. This was rather a difficult task to accomplish, for those with him being light, and con- sequently anxious to be doing and ready for riot, were difficult to re- strain from dashing forward ; while those that had taken their diver- sion and refreshment among the game, were easy whether they did anything more or not. While Watchorn was thus manoeuvring his forces Wily Tom beckoned him on, and old Cruiser and Marmion, who had often been at the game before, and knew what Wily Tom's hat on the ground meant, flew to him full cry, drawing all their companions after them. "I think he's away to the west," said Tom, in an undertone, rest- ing his hand on Watchorn's horse's shoulder ; " back home" added he, jerking his head with a knowing leer of his roguish eye. They're on him ! " exclaimed he after a pause, as the outburst of melody proclaimed that the hounds had crossed his line. Then there was such racing and striving among the field to get up, and such squeezing and crowding, and " Mind my horse kicks ! " at the little white hunting wicket leading into cover. " Knock down the wall ! " exclaimed one. "Get out of the way; I'll ride over it!" roared another. " We shall be here all day ! " vociferated a third. " That's a header 1 " cried another, as a clatter of stones was followed by a 14 314 MR. sponge's sporting tour. pair of "white breeches suminersetirig in the air with a horse under- neath. " It's Tom Sawbones, the doctor ! " exclaimed one, " and he can mend himself." " By Jove ! but he's killed ! " shrieked another. " Not a bit of it," added a third, as the dead man rose and ran after his horse. " Let Mr. Bugles through," cried Sir Harry, seeing his friend, or rather his wife's friend, was fretting the Arab. Meanwhile the melody of hounds increased, and each man, as he got through the little gate, rose in his stirrups and hustled his horse along the green ride to catch up those on before. The plantation was about twenty acres, rather thick and briary at the bottom ; and master Reynard, finding it was pretty safe, and, moreover, having at- tempted to break just by where some chawbacons were ploughing, had headed short back, so that when the excited field rushed through the parallel gate on the far side of the plantation, expecting to see the pack streaming away over the downs, they found most of the hounds with their heads in the air, some looking for halloos, others watching their companions trying to carry the scent over the fallow. "Watchorn galloped up in the frantic state half-witted huntsmen generally are, and one of the impromptu whips being in attendance, got quickly round the hounds, and commenced a series of assaults upon them that very soon sent them scuttling to Mr. Watchorn for safety. If they had been at the hares again, or even worrying sheep, he could not have rated or flogged more severely. " Marksman ! Marksman ! oh, you old Divil, get to him ! " roared the whip, aiming a stinging cut with his heavy knotty-pointed whip, at a venerable sage who still snuffed down a furrow to satisfy himself the fox was not on before he returned to cover, — an exertion that overbalanced the whip, and would have landed him on the ground, had not he caught by the spur in the old mare's flank. Then he went on scrambling and rating after Marksman, the field exclaiming, as the Edmonton people did, by Johnny Gilpin, He's on ! no, he's off, ho hangs by the inane ! At last he got shuifled back into the saddle, and the cry of hounds in cover attracting the outsiders back, the scene quickly changed, and the horsemen were again overhead in wood. They now swept up the grass ride to the exposed part of the higher ground, the trees gradu- ally diminishing in size, till, on reaching the top they did not come much above a horse's shoulder. This point commanded a fine view over the adjacent country. Behind was the riuh vale of Dairylow, with its villages and spires, and trees and inclosures, while in front was nothing but the undulating, wide-stretching downs, reaching to the soft grey hills in the distance. There was not, however, much time for contemplating scenery ; for Wily Tom, who had stolen to this point immediately the hounds took up the scent, now viewed the fox stealing over a gap in the wall, and, the field catching sight, there MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 315 was such a hullabaloo as would have made a more composed and orderly-minded fox think it better to break instead of running the outside of the wall as this one intended to do. What wind there was swept over the downs ; and putting himself straight to catch it, he went away whisking his brush in the air, as if he was fresh out of his kennel instead of a sack. Then what a commotion there was ! Such jumpings off to lead down, such huggings and holdings, and wooa-ings of those that sat on, such slidings and scramblings, and loosenings and rolling of stones. Then the frantic horses began to bound, and the riders to exclaim, " Do get out of my way, sir ! " " Mind, sz> ! I'm a-top of you ! " " Give him his head and let him go ! " exclaimed the still drunken brother Bob Spangles, sliding his horse down with a slack rein. " That's your sort ! " roared Sir Harry, and just as he said it, his horse dropped on his hind-quarters like a rabbit, landing Sir Harry comfortably on his feet, amid the roars of the foot-people, and the mirth of such of the horsemen as were not too frightened to laugh. 11 I think I'll stay where I am,'" observed Mr. Bugles, preparing for a bird's-eye view where he was. u This hunting," said he, getting off the fidgety Arab, " seems dangerous." The parties who accomplished the descent had now some fine plain sailing for their trouble. The line lay across the open downs, composed of sound, springy, racing-like turf, extremely well adapted for trying the pace either of horses or hounds. And very soon it did try the pace of them, for they had not gone above a mile before there was very considerable tailing with both. To be sure they had never beeft very well together, but still the line lengthened instead of con- tracting. Horses that could hardly be held down hill, and that ap- plied themselves to the turf on landing, as if they could never have enough of it, now began to bear upon the rein and hang back to those behind ; while the hounds came straggling along like a flock of wild geese, with full half a mile between the leader and the last. However, they all threw their tongues, and each man flattered him- self that the hound he was with was the first. In vain the galloping Watchorn looked back and tootled his horn ; in vain he worked with his cap ; in vain the whips rode at the tail hounds, cursing and swear- ing, and vowing they would cut them in two. There was no getting them together. Every now and then the fox might be seen, looking about the size of a marble, as he rounded some distant hill, each succeeding view making him less, till, at last, he seemed no bigger than a pea. Five-and-twenty minutes best pace over downs is calculated to try the metal of anything; and, long before the leading hounds 316 mr. sponge's sporting tour. reached Cockthropple Dean, the field was choked by the pace. Sir Harry had long been tailed off; both the brothers Spangles had dropped astern ; the horse of one had dropped too ; Sawbone's, the doctor's, had got a stiff neck ; "Willing, the road surveyor, and Mr. Lavender, the grocer, pulled up together. Muddyman, the farmer's, four-year-old had enough at the end of ten minutes ; both the whips tired theirs in a quarter of an hour ; and in less than twenty minutes Watchorn and Sponge were alone in their glory, or rather Sponge was in his glory, for Watchorn's horse was beat. " Lend me }^our horn ! " exclaimed Sponge, as he heard by the hammer and pincering of Watchorn's horse, it was all U P with him. The horse stopped as if shot ; and getting the horn, Mr. Sponge went on, the brown laying himself out as if still full of running. Cockthropple Dean was now close at hand, and in all probability the fox would not leave it. So thought Mr. Sponge as he dived into it, astonished at the chorus and echo of the hounds. " Tally-ho ! " shouted a countryman on the opposite side ; and the road Sponge had taken being favorable to the point, he made for it at a hand gallop, horn in hand, to blow as soon as he got there. " He's away ! " cried the man as soon as our friend appeared ; " reet 'cross tornops ! " added he, pointing with his hoe. Mr. Sponge then put his horse's head that way, and blew a long shrill reverberating blast. As he paused to take breath and listen, he heard the sound of horses' hoofs, and presently a stentorian voice, half frantic with rage, exclaimed from behind, " Who the Dickens are you ? " " Who the Dickens are you ? " retorted Mr. Sponge, without looking round " They commonly call me the Earl of Scamperdale," roared the same sweet voice, " and those are my hounds." " They^re not your hounds ! " snapped Mr. Sponge, now looking round on his big-spectacled, flat-hatted lordship, who was closely followed by his double, Mr. Spraggon. " Not my hounds ! " screeched his lordship. " Oh, ye barber's apprentice! Oh, ye diaper's assistant! Oh, ye unmitigated Ma- homedon ! Sing out, Jack ! sing out ! For Heaven's sake sing out!" added he, throwing out his arms in perfect despair. " Not his lordship's hounds ! " roared Jack, now rising in his stirrups and brandishing his big whip. " Not his lordship's hounds ! Tell me that, when they cost him iive-and-twenty 'underd — two thou- sand five 'underd a-year ! Oh, by Jingo, but that's a pretty go ! If they're not his lordship's hounds, I should like to know whose they are ? " and thereupon Jack wiped the foam from his mouth on his sleeve. MR. SPONGE'S 8PORT1NG TOUR. 317 " Sir Harry's ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, again putting the horn to his lips, and blowing another shrill blast. " Sir Harry' }s ! " screeched his lordship in disgust, for he hated the very sound of his name — " Sir Harry's ! Oh, you rusty-booted ruffian ! Tell me that to my very face ! " " Sir Harry's ! " repeated Jack, again standing erect in his stir- rups. " What ! impeach his lordship's integrity — oh, by Jove, there's an end of everything ! Death before dishonour ! Slugs in a saw- pit ! Pistols and coffee for two ! Cock-pheasant at Weybridge, six o'clock i' the mornin' ! " And Jack, sinking exhausted on his saddle, again wiped the foam from his mouth. His lordship then weut at Sponge again. " Oh, you sanctified, putrified, pestilential, perpendicular, ginger- bread-booted, counter-skippin' snob, you think because I'm a lord, and can't swear or use coarse language, that you may do what you like ; but I'll let you see the contrary," said he, brandishing his brother to Jack's whip. " Mark you, sir, I'll fight you, sir, any non- huntin' day you like, sir, 'cept Sunda}7." Just then the clatter and blowing of horses was heard, and Frosty- face emerged from the wood followed by the hounds, who, swinging themselves " forrard " over the turnips, hit off the scent and went away full cry, followed by his lordship and Jack, leaving Mr. Sponge transfixed with astonishment. " Changed foxes," at length said Sponge, with a shake of his head ; and just then the cry of hounds on the opposite bank con- firmed his conjecture, and he got to Sir Harry's in time to take up his lordship's fox. His lordship's hounds ran into Sir Harry's fox about two miles farther on, but the hounds would not break him up ; and, on examin- ing him, he was found to have been aniseeded ; and, worst of all, by the'mark on his ear to be one that they had turned down themselves the season before, being one of the litter that Sly had stolen from Sir Harry's cover at Seedygorse — a beautiful instance of retributive justice. 318 MR. SPONGE S SPORTING TOUR. CHAPTER LI. FARMER PEASTRAW'S D1NE-MATINEE. There are pleasanter situations than being left alone with twenty couple of even the best-mannered fox-hounds ; far pleasanter situa- tions than being left alone with such a tearing, frantic lot as com- posed Sir Harry Scattercash's pack. Sportsmen are so used (with some hounds at least) to see foxes " in han '," that they never think there is any difficulty in getting them there ; and it is only a single- handed combat with the pack that shows them that the hound does not bring the fox up in his mouth like a retriever. A tyro's first tete-d-tete with a half-killed fox, with the baying pack circling round, must leave as pleasing a souvenir on the memory as Mr. Gordon Cumming would derive from his first interview with a lion. Our friend Mr. Sponge was now engaged with a game of " pull devil, pull baker," with the hounds for the fox, the difficulty of his situation being heightened by having to contend with the impetuous temper of a high-couraged, dangerous horse. To be sure, the gal- lant Hercules was a good deal subdued by the distance and severity of the pace, but there are few horses that get to the end of a run that have not sufficient kick left in them to do mischief to hounds, especially when raised or frightened by the smell of blood ; never- theless, there was no help . for it. Mr. Sponge knew that unless he carried off some trophy, it would never be believed he had killed the fox. Considering all this, and also that there was no one to tell what damage he did, he just rode slap into the middle of the pack, as Marksman, Furious, Thunderer, and Bountiful were in the act of despatching the fox. Singwell and Saladin (puppies) having been sent away howling, the one bit through the jowl, the other through the foot. " Ah ! leave him — leave him — leave him!'1'' screeched Mr. Sponge, trampling over "Warrior and Tempest, the brown horse lash- ing out furiously at Melody and Lapwing. " Ah ! leave him! leave him ! " repeated he, throwing himself off his horse by the fox, and clearing a circle with his whip, aided by the hoofs of the animal. There lay the fox before him killed, but as yet little broken by the pack. He was a noble fellow ; bright and brown, in the full vigor of life and condition, with a gameness, even in death, that no other ani- mal shows. Mr. Sponge put his foot on the body, and quickly whipped off his brush. Before he had time to pocket it, the repulsed pack broke in upon him and carried off the carcass. MR. sponge's sporting tour. 319 " Ah ! dash ye, you may have that" said he, cutting at theni with his whip, as they clustered upon it like a swarm of bees. They had not had a wild fox for five weeks. " Who-hoop ! " cried Mr. Sponge, in the hopes of attracting some of the field. " Who-hoop ! " repeated he as loud as he could halloo. " Where can they all be, I wonder? " said he, looking around; and echo answered — where ? The hounds had now crunched their fox, or as much of him as they wanted. Old Marksman ran about with his head, and Warrior with a haunch. " Drop it, you old beggar ! " cried Mr. Sponge, cutting at Marks- man with his whip, and Mr. Sponge being too near to make a trial of speed prudent, the old dog did as he was bid, and slunk away. Our friend then appended this proud trophy to his saddle -Hap by a piece of whipcord, and, mounting the now tractable Hercules, be- gan to cast about in search of a landmark. Like most down coun- tries, this one was somewhat deceptive; there were plenty of land- marks, but they were all the same sort — clumps of trees on hill-tops, and plantations on hill-sides, but nothing of a distinguishing charac- ter, nothing that a stranger could say, " I remember seeing that as I came ; " or, " I remember passing that in the run." The land- scape seemed all alike : north, south, east, and west, equally indif- ferent. " Curse the thing," said Mr. Sponge, adjusting himself in his saddle, and looking about; u I haven't the slightest idea where I am. I'll blow the horn, and see if that will bring any one." So saying, he applied the horn to his lips, and blew a keen, shrill blast, that spread over the surrounding country, and was echoed back by the distant hills. A few lost hounds cast up from various quar- ters* in the unexpected way that hounds do come to a horn. Among them were a few branded with S,* who did not at all set off the beauty of the rest. " 'Ord rot you, you belong to that old ruffian, do you ? " said Mr. Sponge, riding and cutting at one with his whip, exclaiming, <( Get away to him, ye beggar, or I'll tuck you up short." He now, for the first time, saw them together in anything like numbers, and was struck with the queerness and inequality of the whole. They were of all sorts and sizes, from the solemn towering calf-like fox-hound down to the little wriggling harrier. They seemed, too, to be troubled with various complaints and infirm: Some had the mange ; some had blear eyes ; some had but one ; many were out at the elbows ; and not a few down at the toes. However, they had killed a fox, and " Handsome is that handsome * "S," for Seamperdale, showing they were his lordship'?. 320 mr. does," said Mr. Sponge, as, with his horse surrounded by them, he moved on in quest of his way home. At first, he thought to retrace his steps by the marks of his horse's hoofs, and succeeded in getting back to the dean, where Sir Harry's hounds changed foxes with Lord Scamperdale's ; but he got confused with the imprints of the other horses, and very soon had to trust entirely to chance. Chance, we are sorry to say, did not befriend him ; for after wandering over the wide-extending dovns, he came upon the little hamlet of Tinkler Hatch, and was informed that he had been riding in a semi-circle. He there got some gruel for his horse, and, with day closing in, now set off, as directed, on the Ribchester road, with the assurance that he " couldn't miss hi3 way." Some of the hounds here declined following him any further, and slunk into cottages and outhouses as they passed along. Mr. Sponge, however, did not care for their company. Having travelled musingly along two or three miles of road, now thinking over the glorious run — now of the gallant way in which Hercules had carried him — now of the pity it was that there was nobody there to see — now of the encounter with Lord Scamperdale, just as he passed a well-filled stack-yard that had shut out the view of a flaming red-brick house with a pea-green door and windows, an outburst of " hoo-rays ! " followed by one cheer more — uhooo-ray ! " made the remaining wild hounds prick up their ears, and our friend rein in his horse, to hear what was " up." A bright fire in a room on the right of the door overpowered the clouds of tobacco-smoke with which the room was enveloped, and revealed sundry scarlet coats in the full glow of joyous hilarity. It was Sir Harry and friends recruiting at Farmer Peastraw's after their exertions ; for, though they could not make much of hunting, they were always ready to drink. They were having a rare set-to — rashers of bacon, wedges of cheese, with oceans of malt-liquor. It was the appearance of a magnificent cold round of home-fed beef, red with salt-petre and flaky with white fat, borne on high by their host, that elicited the applause and the one cheer more that broke on Mr. Sponge's ear as he was passing, — applause that was renewed as they caught a glimpse of his red coat, not on account of his safety or that of the hounds, but simply because being in the cheering mood, they were ready to cheer anything. "Hil-Zoo/ there's Mr. What's-his-name ? " exclaimed brother Bob Spangles, as he caught view of Sponge and the hounds passing the window. " So there is ! " roared another ; " Hoo-rayf " " Hoo-ray ! " yelled two or three more. " Stop him ! " cried another. " Call him in," roared Sir Harry, " and let's liquor him." " Hilloo ! Mister W haV s-your-name I " exclaimed the other mr. sponge's sporting tour. 321 Spangles, throwing up the window. " Hilloo ! won't you come in and have some refreshment ? " " Who's there ? " asked Mr. Sponge, reining in the "brown. " Oh, we're all here," shouted brother Bob Spangles, holding up a tumbler of hot brandy-and-water ; " we're all here — Sir Harry and all," added he. " But what shall I do with the hounds ? " asked Mr. Sponge, looking down upon the confused pack, now crowding about his horse's head. " Oh, let the beef-eaters — the scene-shifters — I meant to say the servants — those fellows, you know, in scarlet and black caps, look after them," replied brother Bob Spangles. " But there are none of them here," exclaimed Mr. SpoDge, look- ing back on the deserted road. " None of them here ! " hiccupped Sir Harry, who had now got reeled to the window. " None of them here," repeated he, staring vacantly at the uneven pack. " Oh (hiccup), I'll tell you what do — (hiccup) them into a barn or a stable, or a (hiccup) of any sort, and we'll send for them when we want to (hiccup) again." " Then just you call them to you," replied Sponge, thinking they would go to their master. " Just you call them," repeated he, " and I'll put them to you." " (Hiccup) call to them ? " replied Sir Harry ; " I can't (hiccup)." " Oh, yes ! " rejoined Mr. Sponge ; " call one or two by their names, and the rest will follow." " Names ! (hiccup) I don't know any of their nasty names," re- plied Sir Harry, staring wildly. " Towler ! Towler ! Towler ! here, good dog — hoop ! — here's your liquor ! " cried brother Bob Spangles, holding the smoking tumbler of brandy-and-water out of the window, as if to tempt any hound that chose to answer to the name of Towler. There didn't seem to be a Towler in the pack ; at least none of them qualified for the brandy-and-water. " Oh, I'll (hiccup) you what we'll do," exclaimed Sir Harry; " I'll (hiccup) you what we'll do. " "We'll just give them a (hiccup) kick a-piece, and send them (hiccuping) home," Sir Harry reeling back into the room to the black horse-hair sofa, where his whip was. He presently appeared at the door, and, going into the midst of the hounds, commenced laying about him, rating and cutting, and kicking and shouting. " Geete away home with ye, ye brutes ; what are you all (hiccup- ing) here about ? Ah / cut off his tail ! " cried he, staggering after a venerable blear-eyed sage, who dropped his stern and took off. "Be off! Does your mother know you're out?" cried Bob Spangles, out of the window, to old Marksman, who stood wondering what to do. 14* 322 mr. sponge's sporting tour. The old hound took the hint also. " Now, then, old feller," cried Sir Harry, staggering up to Mr. Sponge, who still sat on his horse in mute astonishment at Sir Har- ry's mode of dealing with his hounds. " Now, then, old feller," said he, seizing Mr. Sponge by the hand, " get rid of your quadruped, and (hiccup) in, and make yourself c o'er all the (hiccups) of life victorious,' as Bob Spangles says, when he (hiccups) it neat. This is old (hiccup) Peastraw's, a (hiccup) tenant of mine, and he'll be most (hiccup) to see you." " But what must I do with my horse ? " asked Mr. Sponge, rub- bing some of the dried sweat off the brown's shoulder, as he spoke; adding, " I should like to get him a feed of corn." " Give him some ale, and a (hiccup) of sherry in it," replied Sir Harry ; " it'll do him far more good — make his mane grow," smooth- ing the horse's thin, silky mane as he spoke. " Well, I'll put him up," replied Mr. Sponge, " and then come to you," throwing himself, jockey-fashion, off the horse, as he spoke. " That's a (hiccup) feller," said Sir Harry ; adding, " here's old Pea himself come to see after you." So saying, Sir Harry reeled back to his comrades in the house, leaving Mr. Sponge in the care of the farmer. " This way, sir; this way," said the burly Mr. Peastraw, leading the way into his farmyard, where a line of hunters stood shivering under a long cart-shed. " But I can't put my horse in here," observed Mr. Sponge, look- ing at the unfortunate brutes. " No, sir, no," replied Mr. Peastraw; put yours in a stable, sir; put yours in a stable ; " adding, " these young gents don't care much about their horses." " Does anybody know the chap's name ? " asked Sir Harry, reel- ing back into the room. " Know his name ! " exclaimed Bob Spangles ; u why, don't you?" ." No," replied Sir Harry, with a vacant stare. " Why, you went up and shook hands with him, as if you were as thick as thieves," replied Bob. " Did I ? " hiccuped Sir Harry. " Well, I thought I knew him. At least, I thought it was somebody I had (hiccup)cd before ; and at one's own (hiccup) house, you know, one's 'bliged to be (hiccup) feller well (hiccup) with everybody that comes. But, surely, some of you know his (hiccup) name," added he, looking about at the company. " I think I know his (hiccup) face," replied Bob Spangles, imita- ting his brother-in-law. " I've seen him somewhere," observed the other Spangles, through a mouthful of beef. " So have I," exclaimed some one else, " but where I can't say." MR. sponge's sporting tour. 323 11 Most likely at church," observed brother Bob Spangles. " Well, I don't think he'll corrupt ine," observed Captain Quod, speaking between the fumes of a cigar. " He'll not borrow much of me," observed Captain Seedybuck, producing a much tarnished green purse, and exhibiting two four- penny pieces at one end, and three-halfpence at the other. " Oh, I dare say he's a good feller," observed Sir Harry ; " I make no doubt he's one of the right sort." Just then in came the man himself, hat and whip in hand, waving the brush proudly over his head. " Ah, that's (hiccup) right, old feller," exclaimed Sir Harry, again advancing with extended hand to meet him ; adding, " you'd (hiccup) all you wanted for your (hiccup) horse : mutton broth — I mean barley-water, foot-bath, everything right. Let me introduce my (hiccup) brother-in-law, Bob Spangles, my (hiccup) friend Cap- tain Ladofwax, Captain Quod, Captain (hiccup) Bouncey, Captain (hiccup) Seedybuck, and my (hiccup) brother-in-law, Mr. Spangles, as lushy a cove as ever was seen ; ar'n't you, old boy ? " added he, grasping the latter by the arm. All these gentlemen severally bobbed their heads as Sir Harry called them over, and then resumed their respective occupations — eating, drinking, and smoking. These were some of the debauched gentlemen Mr. Sponge had seen before Nonsuch House in the morning. They were all captains, or captains by courtesy. Ladofwax had been a painter and glazier in the Borough, where he made the acquaintance of Captain Quod, while that gentleman was an inmate of Captain Hudson's strong house. Captain Bouncey was the too well-known betting-office keeper ; and Seedybuck was such a constant customer of Mr. Com- missioner Fonblanque's court, that that worthy legal luminary, on diseharging hiin for the fifth time, said to him, with a very significant shake of the head, " You'd better not come here again, sir." Seedy- buck, being of the same opinion, had since fastened himself on to Sir Harry Scattercash, who found him in meat, drink, washing, and lodging. They were all attired in red coats, of one sort or another, though some of which were of a very antediluvian, and others of a very dressing-gown cut. Bouncey's had a hare on the button, and Seedybuck's coat sat on him like a sack. Still a scarlet coat is a scarlet coat in the eyes of some, and the coats were not a bit more unsportsmanlike than the men. To Mr. Sponge's astonishment, in- stead of breaking out in inquiries as to where they had run to, the time, the distance, who was up, who was down, and so on, they began recommending the victuals and drink; and this, notwithstanding Mr. Sponge kept flourishing the brush. " We've had a rare run," said he, addressing himself to Sir Harry. 324 MR. sponge's sporting tour. " Have you (hiccup) ? I'm glad of it (hiccup). Pray have some- thing to (hiccup) after it; you must be (hiccup)." " Let me help you to some of this cold round of beef? " exclaimed Captain Bouncey, brandishing the great broad-bladed carving-knife. " Have a slice of 'ot 'am," suggested Captain Quod. " The finest run I ever rode i " observed Mr. Sponge, still en- deavouring to get a hearing. " Dare say it would," replied Sir Harry; " those (hiccup) hounds of mine are uncommon (hiccup)." He didn't know what they were, and the hiceup came very opportunely. " The pace was terrific ! " exclaimed Sponge. " Dare say it would," replied Sir Harry ; "and that's what makes me (hiccup) you're so (hiccup). Pea, here, has some rare old October, — (hiccup) bushels to the (hiccup) hogshead." " It's capital ! " exclaimed Captain Seedybuck. frothing himself a tumblerful out of the tall brown jug. " So is this," rejoined Captain Quod, pouring himself out a liberal allowance of gin. " That horse of mine carried me iiAGnificently ! " observed Mr. Sponge, with a commanding emphasis on the mag. "Dare say he would," replied Sir Harry; "he looked like a (hiccup)er — a white 'un, wasn't he ? " " No; a broivn," replied Mr. Sponge, disgusted at the mistake. " Ah, well ; but there v:as somebody on a white," replied Sir Harry. " Oh, — ah — yes, — it was old Bugles on my lady's horse. By the (hiccup) way (hiccup), gentlemen, what's got Mr. Orlando (hiccup) Bugles ? " asked Sir Harry, staring wildly round. "Oh! old Bugles! old Pad-the-Hoof ! old Mr. Funker ! the horse frightened him so, that he went home crying," replied Bob Spangles. " Hope he didn't lose him ? " asked Sir Harry. " Oh, no," replied Bob ; " he gave a lad a shilling to lead him, and they trudged away very quietly together." " The old (hiccup) ! " exclaimed Sir Harry ; " he told me he was a member of the Surrey something." " The Sorry Union," replied Captain Quod. " He ivas out with them once, and fell on his head and knocked his hat-crown out." " Well, but I was telling you about the ran," interposed Mr. Sponge, again endeavouring to enlist an audience. " I was telling you about the run," repeated he. " Don't trouble yourself, my dear sir," interrupted Captain Bouncey ; " we know all about it — found — checked — killed, killed — found — checked." " You canH know all about it ! " snapped Mr. Sponge ; " for there wasn't a soul there but myself, much to my horror, for I had a reg'lar row with old Scamperdale, and never a soul to back me." mr. sponge's SPOUTING TOUR. 325 " "What ! you fell in with that mealy-mouthed gentleman, who can't (hiccup) swear because he's a (hiccup) lord, did you ? " asked Sir Harry, his attention being now drawn to our friend. " / did" replied Mr. Sponge ; " and a pretty passage of politeness we had of it." " Indeed ! (hiccup)," exclaimed Sir Harry. " Tell us (hiccup) all about it." " "Well," said Mr. Sponge, laying the brush lengthways before him on the table, as if he was going to demonstrate upon it. u Well, you see we had a devil of a run — I don't know how many miles, as hard as ever we could lay legs to the ground ; one by one the field all dropped astern, except the huntsman and myself. At last he gave in, or rather his horse did, and I was left alone in my glory. "Well, we went over the downs at a pace that nothing but blood could live with, and, though my horse has never been beat, and is as thorough- bred as Eclipse — a horse that I have refused three hundred guineas for over and over again, I really did begin to think I might get to the bottom of him, when all of a sudden we came to a dean." " Ah ! Cockthropple that would be," observed Sir Harry. " Dare say," replied Mr. Sponge ; " Cock-anything-you-like-to- call-it for me. Well, when we got there, I thought we should have some breathing time, for the fox would be sure to hug it. But no ; no sooner had I got there than a countryman hallooed him away on the far side. I got to the halloo as quick as I could, and just as I was blowing the horn," producing "Watchorn's from his pocket as he spoke ; u for I must tell you," said he, " that when I saw the huntsman's horse was beat, I took tim from him — a horn to a foot huntsman being of no more use, you know, than a side- pocket to a cow, or a frilled shirt to a pig. Well, as I was tootleing the horn for hard life, who should turn out of the wood but old mealy-mouth himself, as you call him, and a pretty volley of abuse he let drive at me." " Xo doubt," hiccupned Sir Harry; "but what was he doing there ? " " Oh ! I should tell you," replied Mr. Sponge, " his hounds had run a fox into it, and were on him full cry when I got there.' " I'll be bund," cried Sir Harry, "it was all sham — that he just (hiccup) and excuse for getting into that cover. The old (hiccup) beggar is always at some trick, (hiccup)ing my foxes or disturbing my covers or something." Sir Harry being just enough of a master of hounds to be jealous of the neighbouring ones. '• Well, however, there he was," continued Mr. Sponge ; " and the first intimation I had of the fact was a great, gruff voice, exclaim- ing, ' Who the Dickens are you ? ' Who the Dickens are you ? ' replied I." Bravo ! " shouted Sir Harry. u l 326 mil. sponge's sporting tour. " Capital ! " exclaimed Scedjbuck. " Go it, you cripples ! Newgate's on fire ! " shouted Captain Quod. " Well, what said he ? " asked Sir Harry. " c They commonly call me the Earl of Scamperdale,' roared he, and those are my hounds.' " ' They're not your hounds,' replied I. " J Whose are they, then ? ' asked he. " ' Sir Harry Scattercash's, a devilish deal better fellow,' replied I. " ' Oh, by Jove ! ' roared he, ' there's an end of everything. Jack,' shouted he to old Spraggon, ' this gentleman says these are not my hounds ! ' " ' I'll tell you what it is,my lord,' said I, gathering my whip and riding close up as if I was goin' to pitch into him, ' I'll tell you what it is ; you think, because you're a lord, you may abuse people as you like, but by Jingo you've mistaken your man. I'll not put up with any of your nonsense. The Sponges are as old a family as the Scamper dales, and I'll fight you any non-hunting day you like with pistols, broadswords, fists, or blunderbusses.' " " Well done you ! Bravo ! that's your sort ! '' with loud thumping of tables and clapping of hands, resounded from all parts. " By Jove, fill him up a stiff 'tin ! he deserves a good drink after that ! " exclaimed Sir Harry, pouring Mr. Sponge out a beaker, equal parts brandy and water. Mr. Sponge immediately became a hero, and was freety admitted into their circle. He was clearly a choice spirit — a trump of the first water — and they only wanted his name to be uncommonly thick with him. As it was, they plied him with victuals and drink, all seeming anxious to bring him up to the same happy state of inebriety as themselves. They talked and they chattered, and they abused old Scamperdale and Jack Spraggon, and lauded Mr. Sponge up to the skies. Thus day closed in, with farmer Peastraw's bright fire shedding its cheering glow over the now encircling group. One would have thought, that with their hearts mellow, and their bodies comfortable, their minds would have turned to that sport in whose honour they sported the scarlet; but no, hunting was never mentioned. They were quite as genteel as Nimrod's swell friends at Melton, who cut it altogether. They rambled from subject to subject, chiefly on in-door and London topics; billiards, betting offices, Coal Holes, Cremorne, Cider Cellars, Judge and Jury Courts, there being an evident confu- sion in their minds between the characters of sportsmen and sporting men, or gents as they are called. Mr. Sponge tried hard to get them on the right tack, were it only for the sake of singing the praises of the horse for which he had so often refused three hundred guineas, MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 62 ( but he never succeeded in retaining a hearing. Talkers were far more plentiful than listeners. At last they got to singing, and when men begin to sing, it is a sign that they are either drunk, or have had enough of each other's company. Sir Harry's hiccup, from which he was never wholly free, increased tenfold, and he hiccuped and spluttered at almost every word. His hand, which shook so at starting that it was odds whether he got his glass to his mouth or his ear, was now steadied, but his glazed eye and green haggard countenance showed at what a fearful sacrifice the temporary steadiness had been obtained. At last his jaw dropped on his chest, his left aim hung listlessly over the back of the chair, and he fell asleep. Captain Quod, too, was overcome, and threw himself full length on the sofa. Captain Seedybuck began to talk thick. Just as they were all about brought to a stand-still, the trampling of horses, the rumbling of wheels, and the shrill twang, twang, twang, of the now almost forgotten mail-horn, roused them from their rev- eries. It was Sir Harry's drag scouring the country in search of our party. It had been to all the public houses and beer-shops within a radius of some miles of Nonsuch House, and was now taking a specu- lative blow through the centre of the circle. It was a clear frosty night, and the horses' hoofs rang, and the wheels rolled soundly over the hard road, cracking the thin ice, yet hardly sufficiently frozen to prevent a slight upshot from the wheels. Twang, twang, tivang, went the horn full upon Farmer Pea- straw's house, causing the sleepers to start, and the waking ones to make for the window. " Coach- a-hoy ! " cried Bob Spangles, smashing a pane in a vain attempt to get the window up. The coachman pulled up at the sound. " Here we are, Sir Harry ! " cried Bob Spangles, into his bro- ther-in-law's ear, but Sir Harry was too far gone; he could not "come to time." Presently a footman entered with furred coats, and shawls, and checkered rugs, in which those who were sufficiently sober enveloped themselves, and those who were too far gone were huddled by Peastraw and the man ; and amid much hurry and con- fusion, and jostling for inside seats, the party freighted the coach, and whisked away before Mr. Sponge knew where he was. When they arrived at Nonsuch House, they found Mr. Bugles exercising the fiddlers by dancing the ladies in turns. 328 MR. sponge's sporting tour. CHAPTER LII. A MOONLIGHT RIDE. The position, then, of Mr. Sponge was this. He was left on a frosty, moonlight night at the door of a strange farmhouse, staring after a receding coach, containing all his recent companions. " You'll not be goin' wi 'em, then ? " observed Mr. Peastraw, who stood beside him, listening to the shrill notes of the horn dying out in the distance. " No," replied Mr. Sponge. " Rummy lot," observed Mr. Peastraw, with a shake of the head. " Are they ? " asked Mr. Sponge. " Very ! " replied Mr. Peastraw. " Be the death of Sir Harry anions 'em." " Who are they all ? " asked Mr. Sponge. " Rubbish ! " replied Peastraw with a sneer, diving his hands into the depths of his pockets. " Well, we'd better go in," added he, pulling his hands out and rubbing them, to betoken that he felt cold. " Mr. Sponge not being much of a drinker, was more overcome with what he had taken than a seasoned cask would have been ; added to which, the keen night air striking upon his heated frame, soon sent the liquor into his head. He began to feel queer. " Well," said he to his host, " I think I'd better be going." " Where are you bound for ? " asked Mr. Peastraw. " To Puddingpote Bower," replied Mr. Sponge. "S-o-o," observed Mr. Peastraw, thoughtfully; " Mr. Crowdey's — Mr. Jogglebury that was ? " " Yes," replied Mr. Sponge. " He is a deuce of a man, that, for breakin' people's hedges," observed Mr. Peastraw ; after a pause, " he can't see a straight stick of no sort, but he's sure to be at it." 14 He's a great man for walking-sticks," replied Sponge, stagger- ing in the direction of the stable in which he put his horse. The house clock then struck ten. " She's fast," observed Mr. Peastraw, fearing his guest might be wanting to stay all night. " How far will Puddingpote Bower be from here ? " asked Mr. Sponge. " Oh, no distance, sir, no distance," replied Mr. Peastraw, now leading out the horse. " Can't miss your way, sir — can't miss your mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 329 way. First turn on the right takes you to Collins' Green ; then keep by the side of the church, next the pond ; then go straight for- ward for about a mile and a half, or two miles, till you come to a small village called Lea Green ; turn short at the finger-post as you enter, and keep right along by the side of the hills till you come to the Winslow Woods ; leave them on the left, and pass by Mr. Roby's farm, at Runton — you'll know Mr.. Roby ? " " Not I," replied Mr. Sponge, hoisting himself into the saddle, and holding out a hand to take leave of his host. " Good night, sir ; good night ! " exclaimed Mr. Peastraw, shaking it ; " and have the goodness to tell Mr. Crowdey from me, that the next time he comes here a bush-rangin', I'll thank him to shut the gates after him. He set all my young stock wrong the last time he was here." '• I will," replied Mr, Sponge, riding off. Mr. Peastraw's directions were well calculated to confuse a clearer head than Mr. Sponge then carried ; and the reader will not be sur- prised to learn that, long before he reached the Winslow Woods, he was regularly bewildered. Indeed, there is no surer way of losing oneself than trying to follow a long train of directions in a strange country. It is far better to establish one's own landmarks, and make for them as the natural course of the country seems to direct. Our forefathers had a wonderful knack of getting to points with as little circumlocution as possible. Mr. Sponge, however, knew no points, and was quite at sea ; indeed, even if he had, they would have been of little use, for a fitful and frequently obscured moon threw such bewildering lights and shades around, that a native would have had some difficulty in recognizing the country. The frost grew more in- tense, the stars shone clear and bright, and the cold took our friend by the nape of the neck, shooting across his shoulder-blades and right down his back. Mr. Sponge wished and wished he was anywhere but where he was — flattening his nose against the coffee-room window of the Bantam, tooling in a Hansom as hard as he could go, squaring aloDg Oxford-street criticising horses — nay, he wouldn't care to be undergoing Gustavus James himself — anything, rather than rambling about a strange country in a cold winter's night, with nothing but the hooting of owls and the occasional bark of shepherds' dogs to enliven his solitude. The houses were few, and far between. The lights in the cottages had long been extinguished, and the occupiers of such of the farmhouses as would come to his knocks were gruff in their answers and short in their directions. At length, after riding, and riding, and riding, more with a view of keeping himself awake than in the expectation of finding his way, just as he was preparing to arouse the inmates of a cottage by the roadside a sudden gleam of moonlight fell upon the building, revealing the half-Swiss, half-Gothic lodge of Puddingpote Bower. 330 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. CHAPTER LIII. PUDDINGPQTE BOWER. We must now back the train a little, and have a look at Jog and Co. Mr. and Mrs. Jog had had another squabble after Mr. Sponge's departure in the morning, Mr. Jog reproving Mrs. Jog for the in- terest she seemed to take in Mr. Sponge, as shown by her going to the door to see him amble away on the piebald hack. Mrs. Jog justified herself on the score of Gustavus James, with whom she was quite sure Mr. Sponge was much struck, and to whom, she made no doubt, he would leave his ample fortune. Jog, on the other hand, wheezed and puffed into his frill, and reasserted that Mr. Sponge was as likely to live as Gustavus James, and to marry, and to have a bushel of children of his own; while Mrs. Jog rejoined that he was " sure to break his neck " — breaking their necks being, as she con- ceived, the inevitable end of fox-hunters. Jog, who had not prose- cuted the sport of hunting long enough to be able to gainsay her assertion, though he took especial care to defer the operation of breaking his own neck as long as he could, fell back upon the expense and inconvenience of keeping Mr. Sponge and his three horses, and his saucy servant, who had taught their domestics to turn up their noses at his diet table; above all, at his stick-jaw and undeniable small-beer. So they went fighting and squabbling on, till at last the scene ended as usual, by Mrs. Jogglebury bursting into tears, and declaring that Jog didn't care a farthing either for her or her children. Jog then bundled off, to try and fashion a most incorrigible-looking, knotty blackthorn into a head of Lord Chancellor Lyndhurst. He after- wards took a turn at a hazel that he thought would make a Joe Hume. Having occupied himself with these till the children's dinner-hour, he took a wandering, snatching sort of meal, and then put on his paletot, with a little hatchet in the pocket, and went off in search of the raw material in his own and the neighbouring hedges. Evening came, and with it came Jog, laden, as usual, with an arm- ful of gibbies, but the shades of night followed evening ere there was any tidings of the sporting inmates of the house. At length just as Jog was taking his last stroll prior to going in for good, he espied a pair of vacillating white breeches coming up the avenue with a clearly drunken man inside them. Jog stood straining his eyes watching their movements, wondering whether they would keep the Mil. SPONGE S SPORTING TOUR 331 saddle or come off — whenever the breeches seemed irrevocably gone, they invariably recovered themselves with a jerk or a lurch — Jog now saw it was Leather on the piebald, and though he had no fancy for the man, he stood to let him come up, thinking to hear something of Sponge. Leather in due time saw the great looming outline of our friend, and came staring and shaking his head endeavouring to identify it. He thought at first it was the Squire — next he thought it wasn't — then he was sure it wasn't. " Oh ! it's you, old boy, is it ? " at last exclaimed he, pulling up beside the large holly against which our friend had placed himself, " It's you, old boy, is it ? " repeated he, extending his right hand and nearly overbalancing himself, adding, as he recovered his equilibrium, " I thought it was the old woolpack at first," nodding his head to- wards the house. " Well," spluttered he, pulling up, and sitting, as he thought, quite straight in the saddle, " we've had the finest day's sport and the most equitable drink I've enjoyed for many a long day. 'Ord bless us, what a gent that Sir 'Arry is ! He's the sort of man that should have money. I'm blowed, if I were queen, but I'd melt all the great blubber-headed fellows like this 'ere Crowdey down, and make one sich man as Sir 'Arry out of the 'ole of 'em. Beer ! they don't know what beer is there ! Nothin' but the werry strongest hale, instead of the puzzon one gets at this awful mean place, that looks like nothin' but the weshin' o' brewers' haprons. 0 ! I umbly begs pardon," exclaimed he, dropping from his horse on to his knees on discovering that he was addressing Mr. Crowdey — " I thought it was Robins, the mole-ketcher." " Thought it was Robins, the mole-catcher," growled Jog; "what have you to do with (puff) Robins, the (wheeze) mole-catcher ? " Jog boiled over with indignation. At first he thought of kicking Leather, a feat that his suppliant position made extremely convenient, if not tempting. Prudence, however, suggested that Leather might have him up for the assault. So he stood puffing and wheezing and eyeing the blear-eyed, brandy-nosed, old drunkard with, as he thought, a withering look of contempt ; and then, though the man was drunk, and the night was dark, he waddled off, leaving Mr. Leather on his once white breeches' knees. If Jog had had reasonable time, say an hour or an hour and twenty minutes, to improvise it in, he would have said something uncommonly sharp ; as it was he left him with the pertinent inquiry we have recorded — " What have you to do with Robins, the mole-catcher ? " We need hardly say that this little incident did not at all ingratiate Mr. Sponge with his host, who re-entered his house in a worse humour than ever. It was in- sulting a gentleman on his OAvn ter-ri-tory — bearding an Englishman in his own castle. " Not to be borne (puff)," said Jog. It was now nearly five o'clock, Jog's dinner-hour, and still no Mr. Sponge. Mrs. Jog proposed waiting half-an-hour, indeed she had 332 mr. told Susan, the cook, to keep the dinner back a little, to give Mr. Sponge a chance, who could not possibly change his tight hunting things for his evening tights in the short space of time that Jog couid drop off his loose flowing garments, wash his hands, and run the comb through his lank, candle-like hair. Five o'clock struck, and Jog was just applying his hand to the fat red-and-black worsted bell-pull, when Mrs. Jog announced what she had done. " Put off the dinner (wheeze), put off the dinner (puff)," repeated he, blowing furiously into his clean shirt-frill, which stuck up under his nose like a hand-saw ; " put off the dinner (wheeze), put off the dinner (puff), I wish you wouldn't do such (wheeze) things without consulting (gasp) me." " Well, but, my dear, you couldn't possibly sit down without him," observed Mrs. Jog, mildly. " Possibly ! (puff), possibly ! (wheeze)," repeated Jog. " There's no possibly in the matter," retorted he, blowiDg more furiously into the frill. Mrs. Jog was silent. " A man should conform to the (puff) hours of the (wheeze) house," observed Jog, after a pause. " Well, but, my dear, you know hunters are always allowed a little law," observed Mrs. Jog. " Law ! (puff), law ! (wheeze)," retorted Jog. " I never want any law," thinking of Smiler v. Jogglebury. Half-past five o'clock came, and still no Sponge ; and Mrs. Jog, thinking it would be better to arrange to have something hot for him when he came, than to-do further battle with her husband, gave the bell the double ring indicative of " bring dinner." " Nay (puff), nay (wheeze) ; when you have (gasp)ed so long," growled Jog, taking the other tack, " you might as well have (wheez)ed a little longer " — snorting into his frill as he spoke. Mrs. Jogglebury said nothiDg, but slipped quietly out, as if after her keys, to tell Susan to keep so-and-so in the meat-screen, and havo a few potatoes ready to boil against Mr. Sponge arrived. She then sidled back quietly into the room, Jog and she presently proceeded to that all-important meal, Jog blowing out the company candles on the side-table as he passed. Jog munched away with a capital appetite ; but Mrs. Jog, who took the bulk of her ladiDg at the children's dinner, sat trifling with the contents of her plate, listening alternately for the sound of horse's hoofs outside, and for nursery squalls in. Dinner passed over, and the fruity port and sugary sherry soon usurped the places that stick-jaw pudding and cheese had occupied. " Mr. (puff) Sponge must be (wheeze), I think," observed Jog, MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 333 hauling his great silver ^atch out, like a bucket, from his fob, on seeing that it only wanted ten minutes to seven. " Oh, Jog ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jog, clasping her beautiful hands, and casting her bright beady eyes up to the low ceiling. " Oh, Jog ! What's the matter now? (puff — wheeze — gasp)," ex- claimed our friend, reddening up, and fixing his stupid eyes intently on his wife. " Oh, nothing," replied Mrs. Jog, unclasping her hands, and bring- ing down her eyes. " Oh, nothin' ! " retorted Jog. " Nothin? ! " repeated he. " Ladies don't get into such tantrums for nothin'." " Well, then, Jog, I was thinking if anything should have ha — ha — happened Mr. Sponge, how G-ustavus Ja — Ja — James will have lost his chance." And thereupon she dived for her lace-fringed pocket-handkerchief, and hurried out of the room. But Mrs. Jog had said quite enough to make the caldron of Jog's jealousy boil over, and he sat staring into the fire, imagining all sorts of horrible devices in the coals and cinders, and conjuring up all sorts of evils, until he felt himself possessed of a hundred and twenty thousand devils. " I'll get shot of this chap at last," said he, with a knowing jerk of his head and a puff into his frill, as he drew his thick legs under his chair, and made a semicircle to get at the bottle. " I'll get shot of this chap," repeated he, pouring himself out a bumper of the syrupy port, and eyeing it at the composite candle. He drained off the glass, and immediately filled another. Thatx too, went down ; then he took another, and another, and another ; and seeing the bottle get low, he thought he might as well finish it. He felt better after it. Not that he was a bit more reconciled to our friend Mr. Sponge, but he felt,more equal to cope with him — he even felt as if he could fight him. There did not, however, seem to be much likelihood of his having to perform that ceremony, for nine o'clock struck and no Mr. Sponge, and at half-past Mr. Crowdey stumped off to bed. Mrs. Crowdey, having given Bartholomew and Susan a dirty pack of cards to play with to keep them awake till Mr. Sponge arrived, went to bed, too, and the house was presently tranquil. It, however happened, that that amazing prodigy, Gustavus James, having been out on a sort of eleemosynary excursion among the neighbouring farmers and people, exhibiting as well his fine blue feathered hat, as his astonishing proficiency in " Bah ! bah ! black sheep," and " 'Obin and Ichard," getting seed-cake from one, sponge- cake from another, and toffy from a third, was troubled with a very bad stomach-ache during the night, of which he soon made the house sensible by his screams and his cries. Jog and his wife were presently at him ; and as Jog sat in his white cotton nightcap and flowing flan- nel dressing-gown in an easy chair in the nursery, he heard the crack 334 MR. SPONGE S SPORTING TOUR. of the whip, and the prolonged yeca-yu-u-p of Mr. Sponge's arrival. Presently the trampling of a horse was heard passing round to the stable. The clock then struck one. " Pretty hour for a man to come home to a strange house ! " ob- served Mr. Jog, for the nurse, or Murry Ann, or Mrs. Jog, or any one that liked, to take up. Mrs. Jog was busy with the rhubarb and magnesia, and the others said nothing. After the lapse of a few minutes, the clank, clank, clank of Mr. Sponge's spurs was heard as he passed round to the front, and Mr. Jog stole out on to the landing to see how he would get in. Thump! thump! thump! went Mr. Sponge at the door; rap — tap — tap, he went at it with his whip. " Coniin', sir ! comin' ! " exclaimed Bartholomew from the inside Presently the shooting of bolts, the withdrawal of bands, and the opening of doors, were heard. " Not gone to bed yet, old boy ? " said Mr. Sponge, as he entered. " No, thir ! " snuffled the boy ; who had a bad cold, " been thitten up for you." " Old puff-and-blow gone ? " asked Mr. Sponge, depositing his hat and whip on a chair. The boy gave no answer. " Is old bellow s-to-mend gone to bed ? " asked Mr. Sponge in a louder voice. " The charman's gone," replied the boy, who looked upon his master — the chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Union — as the impersonifi- cation of all earthly greatness. "Dash your impittance," growled Jog, slinking back into the nursery — " Fll pay you off ! (puff)," added he, with a jerk of his white night-capped head, " Fll bellow s-to-m.end you ! (wheeze)." CHAPTER LIV. FAMILY JARS. Gustavus James's internal qualms being at length appeased, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey returned to bed, but not to sleep — sleep there was none for him. He was full of indignation and jealousy, and felt suspicious of the very bolster itself. He had been insulted — grossly insulted. Three such names — the " Woolpack," " Old puff- and-blow," and " Bellows-to-mend " — no gentleman, surely, ever was called before by a guest in his own house. Called, too, before his MR. SrONGE's SPORTING TOUR. 335 own servant. What veneration, what respect, could a servant feel for a master whom he heard called " Old Bellows-to-mend ? " It damaged the respect inspired by the chairmanship of the Stir-it-stiff Union, to say nothing of the trusteeship of the Sloppyhocks, Tol- puddle, and other turnpike-roads. It annihilated everything. So he fumed, and fretted, and snorted and snored. Worst of all he had no one to whom he could unburden his grievances. He could not make the partner of his bosom a partner in his woes, because — and he bounced about so that he almost shot the clothes off the bed, at the thoughts of the " why." Thus he lay tumbling and tossing, and fuming and wheezing and puffing, now vowing vengeance against Leather, who he recollected had called him the " Woolpack," and determining to have him turned off in the morning for his impudence — now devising schemes for getting rid of Mr. Sponge and him together. Oh, could he but see them off ! could he but see the portmanteau and carpet-bag again standing in the passage, he would gladly lend his phaeton to carry them anywhere. He would drive it himself for the pleasure of know- ing and feeling he was clear of them. He wouldn't haggle about the pikes ; nay, he would even give Sponge a gibbey, any he liked — the pick of the whole — Wellington, Napoleon Bonaparte, a crowned head even, though it would damage the set. So he lay, rolling and restless, hearing every clock strike ; now trying to divert his thoughts, by making a rough calculation what all his gibbies put together were worth ; now considering whether he had forgotten to go for any he had marked in the course of his peregrinations ; now wishing he had laid one about old Leather, when he fell on his knees after calling him the " Woolpack ; " then wondering whether Leather would have had him before the County Court for damages, or taken him before Justice Slowcoach for the assault. As morning advanced, his thoughts again turned upon the best mode of getting rid of his most unwelcome guests, and he arose and dressed, with the full determination of try- ing what he could do. Having tried the effects of an up-stairs shout the morning before, he decided to see what a down one would do; accordingly, he mounted the stairs and climbed the sort of companion-ladder that led to the servants' attics, where he kept a stock of gibbies in the rafters. Having reached this, he cleared his throat, laid his head over the banisters, and putting an open hand on each side of his mouth to direct the sound, exclaimed with a loud and audible voice, " Bartholo — m — e — w ! " "Bar — tho — lo — m — e — e — w'/n repeated he, after a pause, with a full separation of the syllables and a prolonged intonation of the m — e — w. No Bartholomew answered. " Murry Ann ! " then hallooed Jog, in a sharper, quicker key. " Murry Ann ! " repeated he, still louder, after a pause. 336 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 11 Yes, sir! here, sir ! " exclaimed that invaluable servant, tidy- ing her pink-ribboned cap as she hurried into the passage below. Looking up, she caught sight of her master's great sallow chaps hang- ing like a flitch of bacon over the garret banister. Oh, Murry Ann," bellowed Mr. Jog, at the top of his voice, still holding his hands to his mouth, as soon as he saw her, " Oh, Murry Ann, you'd better get the (puff) breakfast ready ; I think the (gasp) Mr. Sponge will be (wheezing) away to-day." " Yes, sir," replied Mary Ann. " And tell Bartholomew to get his washin' bills in." ^ " He harn't had no washin' done," replied Mary Ann, raising her voice to correspond with that of her master. " Then his bill for postage," replied Mr. Jog, in the same tone. " He harn't had no letters neither," replied Mary Ann. " Oh, then, just get the breakfast ready," rejoined Jog ; adding, " he'll be (wheezing) away as soon as he gets it, I (puff) expect." " Will he," said Mr. Sponge to himself, as, with throbbing head, he lay tumbling about in bed, alleviating the recollections of the previous day's debauch with an occasional dive into his old friend "Mogg." Corporeally, he was in bed at Puddingpote Bower, but, mentally, he was at the door of the Goose and Gridiron, in St. Paul's Churchyard, waiting for the three o'clock buss, coming from the Bank to take him to Isleworth Gate. Jog's bellow to " Bartholo — m — e — w " interrupted the journey, just as in imagination Mr. Sponge was putting his foot on the wheel and hallooing to the driver to hand him the strap to help him on to the box. " Will he" said Mr. Sponge to himself, as he heard Jog's re- iterated assertion that he would be wheezing away that day. " Wish you may get it, old boy," added he, tucking the now backless " Mogg " under his pillow, and turning over for a snooze. When he got down, he found the party ranged at breakfast, minus the interesting prodigy, Gustavus James, whom Sponge proceeded to inquire after as soon as he had made his obeisance to his host and hostess, and distributed a round of daubed comfits to the rest of the juvenile party. " But where's my little friend, Augustus James ? " asked he, on arriving at the wonder's high chair by the side of mamma. — "Where's my little friend, Augustus James ? " asked he, with an air of con- cern. " Oh, Gustavus James," replied Mrs. Jog, with an emphasis on Gustavus; " Gustavus James is not very well this morning; had a little indigestion during the night." " Poor little hound," observed Mr. Sponge, filling his mouth with hot kidney, glad to be rid for a time of the prodigy. " I thought I heard a row when I came home, which was rather late for an early 337 man like me ; but the fact was, nothing would serve Sir Harry but I should go with him to get some refreshment at a tenant's of his : and we got on, talking first about one thing, and then about another, and the time slipped away so quickly, that day was gone before I knew where I was ; and though Sir Harry was most anxious — indeed, would hardly take a refusal — for me to go home with him, I felt that, being a guest here, I couldn't do it, — at least not then ; so I got my horse, and tried to find my way with such directions as the farmer gave me, and soon lost my way, for the moon was uncertain, and the country all strange both to me and my horse." " What farmer was it ? " asked Jog, with the butter streaming down the gutters of his chin from a mouthful of thick toast. '; Farmer — farmer — farmer, — let me see, what farmer it was," replied Mr. Sponge, thoughtfully, again attacking the kidneys. " Oh, Farmer Beanstraw, I should say." " Peastraw, p'raps ? " suggested Jog, colouring up, and staring intently at Mr. Sponge. " Pea — Peastraw was the name," replied Mr. Sponge. " I know him," said Jog ; " Peastraw of Stoke." "Ah, he said he knew you," replied Mr. Sponge. " Did he ? " asked Jog, eagerly. " What did he say ? " " Say — let me see what he said," replied he, pretending to recol- lect. " He said ' you are a deuced good feller,' and I'd to make his compliments to you, and to say that there were some nice young ash saplings on his farm that you were welcome to cut." " Did he ? " exclaimed Jog; " I'm sure that's very (puff) polite of hint; I'll (wheeze) over there the first opportunity." " And what- did you make of Sir Harry ? " asked Mrs. Jog. " Did you (puff) say you were going to (wheeze) over to him ? " asked Jog, eagerly. " 1 told him I'd go to him before I left the country," replied Mr. Sponge, carelessly ; adding, " Sir Harry is rather too fast a man for me." " Too fast for himself, I should think," observed Mrs. Jog. " Fine (puff — wheeze) young man," growled Jog into the bottom of his cup. " Have you known him long ? " asked Mrs. Jogglebury. " Oh, we fox-hunters all know each other," replied Mr. Sponge, evasively. " Well, now that's what I tell Mr. Jogglebury," exclaimed she. u Mr. Jog's so shy, that there's no getting him to do what he ought,*' added the lady. " No one, to hear him, would think he's the great man he is." " Ought (puff) — ought (wheeze)," retorted Jog, puffing furiously into his capacious shirt-frill " It's one (puff) thing to know (pun) 15 388 mr. sponge's sporting tour. people out with the (wheeze) hounds, and another to go calling upon them at their (gasp) houses.'1 " Well, but, my dear, that's the way people make acquaintance," replied his wife. " Isnt, it, Mr. Sponge ? " continued she, appealing to our friend. " Oh, certainly," replied Mr. Sponge, " certainly all men are equal out hunting." " So I say," exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury ; " and yet I can't get Jog to call on Sir George Stiff, though he meets him frequently out hunting." " Well, but then I can't (puff) upon him out hunting (wheeze), and then we're not all equal (gasp) when we go home." So saying, our friend rose from his chair, and after giving each leg its usual shake, and banging his pockets behind to feel that he had his keys safe, he strutted consequentially up to the window to see how the day looked. Mr. Sponge not being desirous of continuing the " calling " con- troversy, especially as it might lead to inquiries relative to his ac- quaintance with Sir Harry, finished the contents of his plate quickly, drank up his tea, and was presently alongside of his host, asking him whether he " was good for a ride, a walk, or what ? " " A (puff) ride, a (wheeze) walk, or a (gasp) what?" repeated Jog, thoughtfully. " No, I (puff) think I'll stay at (puff) home," thinking that would be the safest plan. " 'Orel, hang it, you'll never lie at earth such a day as this! " ex- claimed Sponge, looking out on the bright sunny landscape. " Got a great deal to do," retorted Jog, who, like all thoroughly idle men, was always dreadfully busy. He then dived into a bundle of rough sticks, and proceeded to select one to fashion into the head of Mr. Hume. Sponge being unable to make anything of him, was obliged to exhaust the day in the stable, and in sauntering about the country. It was clear Jog was determined to get rid of him, and he was sadly puzzled what to do. Dinner found his host in no better humour, and after a sort of Quakers' meeting of an evening, they parted heartily sick of each other. MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING tour. 339 CHAPTER LV. THE TRIGGER. Jog slept badly again, and arose next morning full of projects for getting rid of his impudent, unceremonious, free-and-easy guest. Having tried both an up and a down-stairs shout, he now went out and planted himself immediately under Mr. Sponge's bedroom window, and, clearing his voice, commenced his usual vociferations. " Bartholo — m — e — w ! " whined he. " Bariholo — m — e — w ! " repeated he, somewhat louder. "Bar — tholo — m — e — wl " roared he, in a voice of thunder. Bartholomew did not answer. " Murry Ann ! " exclaimed Jog, after a pause. " Hurry Ann! " repeated he, still louder. " Murry Ann ! " roared he, at the top of his voice. " Comin,' sir ! coram' ! " exclaimed Mary Ann, peeping down upon him from the garret-window. " Oh, Murry Ann," cried Mr. Jog, looking up, and catching the ends of her blue ribbons streaming past the window-frame, as she changed her nightcap for a day one, — " Oh, Murry Ann, you'd bet- ter bo- (puff)in' forrard with the (gasp) breakfast; Mr. Sponge '11 most likely be (wheez)in' away to-day." " Yes, sir," replied Mary Ann, adjusting the cap becomingly. " Confounded, puffing, wheezing, gasping, broken-winded old blockkead it is ! " growled Mr. Sponge, wishing he could get to his former earth at Pumngton's, or anywhere else. When he got down he found Jog in a very roomy, bright, green-plush shooting-jacket. with pockets innumerable, and a whistle suspended to a button-hole. His nether man was encased in a pair of most dilapidated white moleskins, that had been degraded from hunting into shooting ones, and whose cracks and darns showed the perils to which their wearer had been exposed. Below these were drab, horn-buttoned gaiters, and hob-nailed shoes. " Going a-gunning, are you ? " asked Mr. Sponge, after the morn- ing salutation, which Jog returned most gruffly. " I'll go with you," said Mr. Sponge, at once dispelling the delu- sion of his wheezing away. " Only going to frighten the (puff) rooks of the (gasp) wheat," replied Jog, carelessly, not wishing to let Sponge see what a numb hand he was with a gun. " I thought you told me you were going to get me a Jiare," 0b- 340 mr. sponge's sporting tour. served Mrs. Jog ; adding, " I'm sure shooting is a much, more rational amusement than tearing your clothes going after the hounds," eyeing the much-dilapidated moleskins as she spoke. Mrs. Jog found shooting more useful than hunting. " Oh, if a (puff) hare comes in my (gasp) way, I'll turn her over," replied Jog, carelessly, as if turning them over was quite a matter of course with him; adding, "but I'm not (wheezing) out for the express purpose of shooting one." " Ah, well," observed Sponge, " I'll go with you, all the same." " But I've only got one gun," gasped Jog, thinking it would be worse to have Sponge laughing at his shooting than even leaving him at home. " Then, we'll shoot turn and turn about," replied the pertinacious guest. Jog did his best to dissuade him, observing that the birds were (puff) scarce and (wheeze) wild, and the (gasp) hares much troubled with poachers ; but Mr. Sponge wanted a walk, and moreover had a fancy for seeing Jog handle his guD. Having cut himself some extremely substantial sandwiches, and filled his " monkey " full of sherry, our friend Jog slipped out the back way to loosen old Ponto, who acted the triple part of pointer, house-dog, and horse to Gustavus James. He was a great fat, black- and-white brute, with a head like a hat-box, a tail like a clothes-peg, and a back as broad as a well-fed sheep's. The old brute was so frantic at the sight of his master in his green coat, and wide-awake to match, that he jumped and bounced, and barked, and rattled his chain, and set up such yells, that his noise sounded all over the house, and soon brought Mr. Sponge to the scene of action, where stood our friend, loading his gun and looking as consequential as possible. " I shall only just take a (puff) stroll over moy (wheeze) ter-ri- to-ry," observed Jog, as Mr. Sponge emerged at the back door. Jog's pace was about two miles and a half an hour, stoppages included, and he thought it advisable to prepare Mr. Sponge for the trial. He then shouldered his gun and waddled away, first over the stile into Farmer Stiffland's stubble, round which Ponto ranged in the most riotous, independent way, regardless of Jog's whistles and rates, and the crack of his little knotty whip. Jog then crossed the old pasture into Mr. Lowland's turnips, into which Ponto dashed in the same energetic way, but these impediments to travelliDg soon told on his great buttermilk carcass, and brought him to a more sub- dued pace ; still, the dog had a good deal more energy than his master. Round he went, sniffing and hunting, then dashing right through the middle of the field, as if he was out on his own account alone, and had nothing whatever to do with a master. " Why, your dog'll spring all the birds out of shot," observed 341 Mr. Sponge ; and, just as lie spoke, ivhirr ! rose a covey of par- tridges, eleven in number, quite at an impossible distance, but Jog blazed away all the same. " Ord rot it, man ! If you'd only held your (something) tongue," growled Jog, as he shaded the sun from his eyes to mark them down, "I'd have (wheezed) half of them over." " Nonsense, man ! " replied Mr. Sponge. " They were a mile out of 'shot." " I think I should know my (puff) gun better than (wheeze) you," replied Jog, bringing it down to load. " They're down ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, who, having watched them till they began to skim in their flight, saw them stop, flap their wings, and drop among some straggling gorse on the hill before them. " Let's break the covey ; we shall bag them better singly." " Take time (puff)," replied Jog, snorting into his frill, and mea- suring out his powder most leisurely. " Take time (wheeze)," re- peated he ; " they're just on the bounds of moy ter-ri-to-ry." Jog had had many a game at romps with these birds, and knew their haunts and habits to a nicety. The covey consisted of thirteen at first, but by repeated blazings into the "brown of 'em," he had succeeded in knocking down two. Jog was not one of your conceited shots, who never fired but when he was sure of killing ; on the con- trary, he always let drive far or near ; and even if he shot a hare, which he sometimes did, with the first barrel, he always popped the second into her, to make sure. The chairman's shooting afforded amusement to the neighbourhood. On one occasion a party of reap- ers, having watched him miss twelve shots in succession, gave him three cheers on coming to the thirteenth. — But to our day. Jog had now got his gun reloaded with mischief, the cap put on, and all ready for a iresh start. Ponto, meanwhile, had been ranging, Jog thinking it better to let him take the edge off his ardour than conform to the strict rules of lying down or coming to heel. " Now, let's on," cried Mr. Sponge, stepping out quickly. " Take time (puff), take time (wheeze)," gasped Jog, waddling along; " better let 'em settle a little (puff). Better let 'em settle a little (gasp)," added he, labouring on. " Oh no, keep them moving," replied Mr. Sponge, — " keep them moving. Only get at 'em on the hill, and drive 'em into the fields below, and we shall have rare fun." " But the (puff) fields below are not mine," gasped Jog. ".Whose are they ? " asked Mr. Sponge. " Oh (puff), Mrs. Moses's." gasped Jog. " My stoopid old uncle," continued he, stopping, and laying liold of Mr. Sponge's arm, as if to illustrate his position, but in reality to get breath, — " my stoopid old uncle (puff) missed buying that (wheeze) land when 342 mil sponge's sporting tour. old Harry Griperton died. I only wanted that to make moy (wheeze) ter-ri-to-ry extend all the (gasp) way up to Cockwhistle Park there," continued he, climbing on to a stile they now approached, and setting aside the top stone. " That's Cockwhistle Park, up there — just where you see the (puff) windmill — then (puff) moy (wheeze) ter-ri- to-ry comes up to the (wheeze) fallow you see all yellow with runch ; and if my old (puff) uncle (wheeze) Crowdey had had the sense of a (gasp) goose, he'd have (wheezed) that when it was sold. Moy (puff) name was (wheeze) Jogglebury," added he, "before my (gasp) uncle died." " Well, never mind about that," replied Mr. Sponge ; " let us go on after these birds." " Oh, well (puff) up to them presently," observed Jog, labouring away, with half a ton of clay at each foot, the sun having dispelled the frost where it struck, and made the land carry. " Presently ! " retorted Mr. Sponge. " But you should make haste, man." " Well, but let me go my own (puff) pace," snapped Jog, labour- ing away. " Pace ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, " your own crawl, you should say." " Indeed ! " growled Jog, with an angry snort. They now got through a well-established cattle-gap into a very rushy, squashy, gorse-grown pasture, at the bottom of the rising ground on which Mr. Sponge had marked the birds. Ponto, whose energetic exertions had been gradually relaxing, until he had settled down to a leisurely hunting-dog, suddenly stood transfixed, with the right foot up, and his gaze settled on a rushy tuft. " P-o-o-n-io I " ejaculated Jog, expecting every minute to see him dash at it. " P-o-o-n-to ! " repeated he, raising his hand. " Mr. Sponge stood on the tip-toe of expectation ; Jog raised his wide-awake hat from his eyes, and advanced cautiously with the en- gine of destruction cocked. Up started a great hare ; bang ! went the gun with the hare none the worse. Bang ! went the other barrel, which the hare acknowledged by two or three stotting bounds and an increase of pace. " Well missed ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge. Away went Ponto in pursuit. " P-o-o-n-to ! " shrieked Jog, stamping with rage. " I could have wiped your nose," exclaimed Mr. Sponge, covering the hare with a hedge-stake placed to his shoulder like a gun. " Could you ? " growled Jog ; " 'spose you wipe your own," add- ed he, not understanding the meaning of the term. Meanwhile, old Ponto went rolling away most energetically, the farther he went the farther he was left behind, till the hare having scuttled out of sight, he wheeled about and came leisurely back, as if he was doing all right. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 343 Jog was very wroth, and vented his anger on the dog, which, he declared, had caused him to miss, vowing, as he rammed away at the charge, that he never missed such a shot before. Mr. Sponge stood eyeing him with a look of incredulity, thinking that a man who could miss such a shot could miss anything. They were now all ready for a fresh start, and Ponto, having pocketed his objurgation, dashed forward again up the rising ground over which the covey had dropped. Jog's thick wind was a serious impediment to the expeditious mounting of the hill, and the dog seemed aware of his infirmity, and to take pleasure in aggravating him. " P-o-o-n-io ! " gasped Jog, as he slipped, and scrambled, and toiled, sorely impeded by the incumbrance of his gun. But P-o-o-n-to heeded him not. He knew his master couldn't catch him, and if he did, that he durstn't flog him. " P-o-o-n-to ! " gasped Jog again, still louder, catching at a bush to prevent his slipping back. " T-o-o-h-o-o. P-o-o-n-to ! " wheezed he ; but the dog just rolled his great stern, and bustled about more actively than ever. " Hang ye ! but I'd cut you in two if I had you ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, eyeing his independent proceedings. " He's not a bad (puff) dog," observed Jog, mopping the perspi- ration from his brow. " He's not a good 'un," retorted Mr. Sponge. " D'ye think not (wheeze) ? " asked Jog. " dure of it," replied Sponge. " Serves me," growled Jog, labouring up the hill. " Easy served," replied Mr. Sponge, whistling, and eyeing the in- dependent animal. "T-o-o-h-o-o / P-o-o-n-to ! " gasped Jog, as he dashed forward on reaching level ground more eagerly than ever. " P-o-o-n-to ! T-o-o-h-o-o ! "/ repeated he, in a still louder tone, with the same success. " You'd better get up to him," observed Mr. Sponge, or he'll spring all the birds." Jog, however, blundered on at his own pace, growling — u Most (puff) haste, least (wheeze) speed." The dog was now fast drawing upon where the birds lit ; and Mr. Sponge and Jog having reached the top of the hill, Mr. Sponge stood still to watch the result. Up whirred four birds out of a patch of gorse behind the dog, all presenting most beautiful shots. Jog blazed a barrel at them with- out touching a feather, and the report of the gun immediately raised three brace more, into the thick of which he fired with similar suc- cess. They all skimmed away unhurt. " Well missed ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge again. " You're what they call a good shooter, but a bad hitter." 3-4-1 MR. sponge's sporting tour. " You're what they call a (wheeze) fellow," growled Jog. He meant to say " saucy," bat the word wouldn't rise. He then commenced re-loading his gun, and lecturing P-o-o-n-to, who still continued his exertions, and inwardly anathematising Mr. Spougo. He wished he had left him at home. Then recollecting Mrs. Jog, he thought perhaps he was as well where he was. Still his presence made him shoot worse than usual, and there was no occa- sion for that. " Let me have a shot now," said Mr. Sponge. " Shot (puff) — shot (wheeze) ; well, take a shot if you choose," replied he. Just as Mr. Sponge got the gun, up rose the eleventh bird, and he knocked it over. " Thatfs the way to do it ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, as the bird fell dead before Ponto. The excited dog, unused to such descents, snatched it up and ran off. Just as he was getting out of shot, Mr. Sponge fired the other barrel at him, causing him to drop the bird and run yelpiDg and howling away. Jog was furious. He stamped, and gasped, and fumed, and wheezed, and seemed like to burst with anger and indig- nation. Though the dog ran away as hard as he could lick, Jog in- sisted that he was mortally wounded, and would die. " He never saw so (wheeze) a thing done. He wouldn't have taken twenty pounds for the dog. No, he wouldn't have taken thirty. Forty wouldn't have bought him. He was worth fifty of anybody's money," and so he went on, fuming and advancing his value as he spoke. Mr. Sponge stole away to where the dog had dropped the bird ; and Mr. Jog, availing himself of his absence, retraced his steps down the hill, and struck off home at a much faster pace than he came. Arrived there, he found the dog in the kitchen, somewhat sore from the visitation of the shot, but not sufficiently injured to prevent his enjoying a most liberal plate of stick-jaw pudding, sup- plied by a general contribution of the servants. Jog's wrath was then turned in another direction, and he blew up for the waste and extravagance of the act, hinting pretty freely that he knew who it was that had set them against it. Altogether he was full of troubles, vexations, and annoyances ; and after spending another most disa- greeable evening with our friend Sponge, went to bed more deter- mined than ever to get rid of him. mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 345 CHAPTER LVI. NONSUCH HOUSE AGAIN. Poor Jog again varied his hints the next morning. After sundry prefatory " Murry Anns ! " and " Bar-tho-lo-mews / " he at length got the latter to answer, when, raising his voice so as to fill the whole house, he desired him to go to the stable, and let Mr. Sponge's man know his master would be (wheezing) away. " You're wrong there, old buck," growled Leather, as he heard the foregoing ; " he's half way to Sir 'Arry's by this time." And, sure enough, Mr. Sponge was, as none knew better than Leather, who had got him his horse, the hack being indisposed — that is to say, having been out all night with Mr. Leather on a drinking excursion, Leather having just got home in time to receive the pur- ple-coated, bare-footed runner of Nonsuch House, who dropped in, en passant, to see if there was anything to stow away in his roomy trouser-pockets, and leave word that Sir Harry was going to hunt, and would meet before the house. Leather, though somewhat muzzy, was sufficiently sober to be able to deliver this message, and acquaint Mr. Sponge with the im- possibility of his " ridin' the 'ack." Indeed, he truly said, that he had u been hup with him all night, and at one time thought it was all hover with him," the all-overishness consisting of Mr. Leather being nearly all over the hack's head, in consequence of the animal shying at another drunken man lying across the road. jJlr. Sponge listened to the recital with the indifference of a man who rides hack horses, and coolly observed that Leather must take on the chestnut, and he would ride the brown to cover. " Couldn't, sir, couldnH" replied Leather, with a shake of the head, and a twinkle of his roguish, watery grey eyes. " Why not ? " asked Mr. Sponge, who never saw any difficulty. " Oh, sur," replied Leather, in a tone of despondency, " it would be quite unpossible. Consider wot a day the last one was ; why, he didn't get to rest till three the next mornin'." " It'll only be walking exercise," observed Mr. Sponge; "do him good." " Better valk the chestnut," replied Mr. Leather ; " Multum-in- Parvo hasn't 'ad a good day this I don't know wen, and will be all the better of a bucketin'." " But I hate crawling to cover on my horse," replied Mr. Sponge, who liked cantering along with a flourish. 15* 346 MR. sponge's sporting tour. " You'll 'ave to crawl if you ride 'Ercles," observed Leather, "if not walk. Bless you ! I've been a nussin' of hhn and the 'ack most the 'ole night." " Indeed ! " replied Mr. Sponge, who began to be alarmed lest his hunting might be brought to an abrupt termination. " True, as I'm 'ere," rejoined Leather. " He's just as much off his grub as he vos when he come'd in ; never see'd an 'oss more reg- 'larly dished — more " "Well, well," said Mr. Sponge, interrupting the catalogue of grievances ; " I s'pose I must do as you say — I s'pcse I must do as you say : what sort of a day is it ? " " Vy, the day's not a bad day ; at least, that's to say, it's not a wery haggrivatin' day. I've seen a betterer day, in course ; but I've also seen many a much worser day, and days at this time of year, you know, are apt to change, — sometimes, in course, for the betterer — sometimes, in course, for the worser." " Is it a frost ? " snapped Mr. Sponge, tired of his loquacity. "Is it a frost?" repeated Mr. Leather, thoughtfully; "is it a frost? Vy, no; I should say it isn't a frost, — at least, not a frost to 'urt ; there may be a little rind on the ground and a little rawness in the hair, but the general concatenation " "Hout, tout/ " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, "let's have none of your dictionary words. Mr. Leather stood silent, twisting his hat about. The consequence of all this was, that Mr. Sponge determined to ride over to Nonsuch House to breakfast, which would give his horse half an hour in the stable to eat a feed of corn. Accordingly, he desired Leather to bring him his shaving-water, and have the horse ready in the stable in half an hour, whither, in due time, Mr. Sponge emerged by the back door, without encountering any of the family. The ambling piebald looked so crestfallen and woe-begone in all the swaddling-clothes in which Leather had got him enveloped, that Mr. Sponge did not care to look at the gallant Hercules, who occu- pied a temporary loose box at the far end of the dark stable, lest he might look worse. He, therefore, just mounted Multum-in-Parvo as Leather led him out at the door, and set off without a word. " Well, hang me but you are a good judge of weather," exclaimed Sponge to himself, as he got into the field at the back of the house, and found the horse made little impression on the grass. " No frost / " repeated he, breathing into the air ; " why, it's freezing now, out of the sun." On getting into Marygold Lane our friend drew rein, and was for turning back, but the resolute chestnut took the bit between his teeth and shook his head, as if determined to go on. " Oh, you brute ! " growled Mr. Sponge, letting the spurs into his sides with a hearty good-will, which caused the animal to kick, MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 347 as if he meant to stand on his head. M Ah, you ivill, will ye ? " ex- claimed Mr. Sponge, letting the spurs in again as the animal replaced his legs on the ground. Up they went again, if possible higher than before. The brute was clearly full of mischief, and even if the hounds did not throw off, which there was little prospect of their doing from the appearance of the weather, Mr. Sponge felt that it would be well to get some of the nonsense taken out of him ; and, moreover, going' to Nonsuch House, would give him a chance of establishing a billet there — a chance that he had been deprived of by Sir Harry's abrupt departure from Farmer Peastraw's. So saying, our friend gathered his horse together, and settling himself in his saddle, made his sound hoofs ring upon the hard road. "He may hunt," thought Mr. Sponge, as he rattled along; "such a rum beggar as Sir Harry may think it fun to go out in a frost. It's hard, too," said he, as he saw the poor turnip-rollers enveloped in their thick shawls, and watched them thumping their arms against their sides to drive the cold from their finger ends. Multum-in-Parvo was a good sound-constitutioned horse, hard and firm as a cricket-ball, a horse that would not turn a hair for a trifle even on a hunting morning, let alone on such a thorough chiller as this one was ; and Mr. Sponge, after going along at a good round pace, and getting over the ground much quicker than he did when the road was all new to him, and he had to ask his way, at length drew in to see what o'clock it was. It was only half-past nine, and already in the far distance he saw the encircling woods of Nonsuch House. " Shall be early," said Mr. Sponge, returning his watch to his waistcoat-pocket, and diving into his cutty coat-pocket for the cigar- case. Having struck a light, he now laid the rein on the horse's neck and proceeded leisurely along, the animal stepping gaily and throwing its head about as if he was the quietest, most trustworthy nag in the world. If he got there at half-past ten, Mr. Sponge cal- culated he would have plenty of time to see after his horse, get his own breakfast, and see how the land lay for a billet. It would be impossible to hunt before twelve ; so he went smoking and sauntering along, now wondering whether he would be able to establish a billet, now thinking how he would like to sell Sir Harry a horse, then considering whether he would be likely to pay for him, and enlivening the general reflections by ringing his spurs against his stirrup-irons. Having passed the lodges at the end of the avenue, he cocked his hat, twiddled his hair, felt his tie, and arranged for a becoming ap- pearance. The sudden turn of the road brought him full upon the house. How changed the scene ! Instead of scarlet-coated youths thronging the gravelled ring, flourishing their scented kerchiefs and 348 hunting-whips — instead of buxom Abigails and handsome mistresses hanging out of the windows, flirting and chatting and ogling, the door was shut, the blinds were down, the shutters closed, and the whole house had the appearance of mourning. Mr. Sponge reined up involuntarily, startled at the change of scene. What could have happened ! Could Sir Harry be dead ? Could my lady have eloped ? " Oh, that horrid Bugles ! " thought he; " he looked like a gay deceiver." And Mr. Sponge felt as if he had sustained a personal injury. Just as these thoughts were passing in his mind, a drowsy, slat- ternly charwoman, in an old black straw bonnet and grey bedgown, opened one of the shutters, and throwing up the sash of the window by where Mr. Sponge sat, disclosed the contents of the apartment. The last waxlight was just dying out in the centre of a splendid can- delabra on the middle of a table scattered about with claret-jugs, glasses, decanters, pine-apple tops, grape-dishes, cakes, anchovy-toast plates, devilled biscuit-racks — all the concomitants of a sumptuous entertainment. "Sir Harry at home ? " asked Mr. Sponge, making the woman sensible of his presence, by cracking his whip close to her ear. " No," replied the dame, gruffly, commencing an assault upon the nearest chair with a duster. " Where is he ? " asked our friend. " Bed, to be sure," replied the woman, in the same tone. " Bed, to be sure," repeated Mr. Sponge. " I don't think there's any ' sure ' in the case. Do you know what o'clock it is ? " asked he. " No," replied the woman, flopping away at another chair, and arranging the crimson velvet curtains on the holders. Mr. Sponge was rather nonplussed. His red coat did not com- mand the respect that a red coat generally does. The fact was, they had such queer people in red coats at Nonsuch House, that a red coat was rather an object of suspicion than otherwise. " Well, but my good woman," continued Mr. Sponge, softening his tone, " can you tell me where I shall find anybody who can tell me anything about the hounds ? " " No," growled the woman, still flopping, and whisking, and knocking the furniture about. " I'll remember you for your trouble," observed Mr. Sponge, diving his right hand into his breeches' pocket. " Mr. Bottleends be gone to bed," observed the woman, now ceasing her evolutions, and parting her grisly, disordered tresses, as she advanced and stood staring, with her arms akimbo, out of the window. She was the under-housemaid's deputy ; all the servants at Nonsuch House doing the rough of their work by deputy. Lady Scattercash was a real lady, and liked to have the credit of the house maintained, which of course can only be done by letting the upper MR. sponge's sporting touk. 349 servants do nothing. " Mr. Bottleends be gone to bed," observed the woman. " Mr. Bottleends ? " repeated Mr. Sponge ; " who's he ? " " The butler, to be sure," replied she, astonished that any person should have to ask who such an important personage was. " Can't you call him ? " asked Mr. Sponge, still fumbling in his pocket. " Couldn't, if it was ever so," replied the dame, smoothing her dirty blue-checked apron with her still dirtier hand. " Why not ? " asked Mr. Sponge. " Why not ? " repeated the woman ; " why, 'cause Mr. Bottle- ends won't be disturbed by no one. He said when he went to bed that he hadn't to be called till to-morrow." " Not called till to-morrow !" exclaimed Mr. Sponge-, "then is Sir Harry from home ? " " From home, no ; what should put that i' your head ? " sneered the woman. " Why, if the butler's in bed, one may suppose the master's away." "Houtf" snapped the woman; "Sir Harry's i' bed — Captin Seedeybuck's i' bed — Captin Quod's i' bed — Captin Spangle's i' bed — Captin Bouncey's i' bed — Captin Cutitfat's i' bed — they're all i' bed 'cept me, and I've got the house to clean and right, and high time it was cleaned and righted, for they've not been i' bed these three nights any on 'em." So saying, she flourished her duster as if about to set-to again. 'rWell, but tell me," exclaimed Mr. Sponge, " can I see the foot- man, or the huntsman, or the groom, or a helper, or anybody ? " " Deary knows," replied the woman, thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand. " I dare say they'll be all i' bed too." & But they are going to hunt, arn't they ? " asked our friend. " Hunt ! " exclaimed the woman ; " what should put that i' your head ? " " Why, they sent me word they were." " It'll be i' bed, then," observed she, again giving symptoms of a desire to return to her dusting. Mr. Sponge, who still kept his hand in his pocket, sat on his horse in a state of stupid bewilderment. He had never seen a case of this sort before — a house shut up, and a master of hounds in bed when the hounds were to meet before the door. It couldn't be the case ; the woman must be dreaming, or drunk, or both. " Well, but my good woman," exclaimed he, as she gave a pun- ishing cut at the chair, as if to make up for lost time ; " well, but my good woman, I wish you would try and find somebody who can tell me something about the hounds. I'm sure they must be going 350 mr. sponge's sporting tour. to hunt. I'll remember you for your trouble, if you will," added he, again diving his hand up to the wrist in his pocket. " I tell you," replied the woman slowly and deliberately, "there'll be no huntin' to-day. Huntin' ! " exclaimed she ; " how can they hunt when they've all had to be carried to bed." " Carried to bed ! had they ? " exclaimed Mr. Sponge ; " what, were they drunk ? " " Drunk ! ay, to be sure. What would you have them be ? " replied the crone, who seemed to think that drinking was a necessary concomitant of hunting. " Well, but I can see the footman or somebody, surely," observed Mr. Sponge, fearing that his chance was out for a billet, and recol- lecting all Jog's " Bartholo-m-e-ws / " and " Murry Anns ! " and intimations for him to start. " 'Deed you can't," replied the dame — " ye can see nobody but me," added she, fixing her twinkling eyes intently upon him as she spoke. " Well, that's a pretty go," observed Mr. Sponge aloud to him- self, ringing his spurs against his stirrup-irons. " Pretty go or ugly go," snapped the woman, thinking it was a reflection on herself, " it's all you'll get ; " and thereupon she gave the back of the chair a hearty bastinadoing, as if in exemplification of the way she would like to serve Mr. Sponge out for the observa- tion. " I came here thinking to get some breakfast," observed Mr. Sponge, casting an eye upon the disordered table, and reconnoitring the bottles and the remains of the dessert. " Did you," said the woman ; " I wish you may get it." " I wish I may," replied he. " If you would manage that for me, just some coffee and a mutton chop or two, I'd remember you," said he, still tantalising her with the sound of the silver in his pocket. " Me manish it! " exclaimed the woman, her hopes again rising at the sound ; " me manish it ! how d'ye think I'm to manish sich things?" asked she. " Why, get at the cook, or the housekeeper, or somebody," re- plied Mr. Sponge. " Cook or housekeeper ! " exclaimed she. " There'll be no cook or housekeeper astir here these many hours yet ; I question," added she, " they get up to-day." " What ! they've been put to bed too, have they ? " asked he. "W-h-yno — not zactly that," drawled the woman; "but when sarvants are kept up three nights out of four, they must make up for lost time when they can." "Well," mused Mr. Sponge, "this is a bother, at all events; get no breakfast, lose my hunt, and perhaps a billet into the bargain. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 351 "Well, there's sixpence for you, my good woman," said he at length, drawing his hand out of his pocket and handing her the contents through the window ; adding, " don't make a beast of yourself with it." " It's nabbut fourpence" observed the woman, holding it out on the palm of her hand. " Ah, well, you're welcome to it whatever it is," replied our friend, turning his horse to go away. A thought then struck him. " Could you get me a pen and ink, think you ? " asked he ; "I want to write a line to Sir Harry." " Pen and ink ! " replied the woman, who had pocketed the groat and resumed her dusting; " I don't know where they keep no such things as penses and inkses." " Most likely in the drawing-room or the sitting-room, or perhaps in the butler's pantry," observed Mr. Sponge. " Well, you can come in and see," replied the woman, thinking there was no occasion to give herself any more trouble for the four- penny-piece. Our worthy friend sat on his horse a few seconds staring intently into the dining-room window, thinking that lapse of time might cause the four penny-piece to be sufficiently respected to procure him something like directions how to proceed as well to get rid of his horse, as to procure access to the house, the door of which stood frowningly shut. In this, however, he was mistaken, for no sooner had the woman uttered the words, " Well, you can come in and see," than she flaunted into the interior of the room, and commenced a regular series of assaults upon the furniture, throwing the hearth-rug over one chair back, depositing the fire-irons in another, rearing the steel fender up against the Carrara marble chimney-piece, and knock- ing things about in the independent way that servants treat unoffend- ing furniture when master and mistress are comfortably ensconced in bed. "Flop" went the duster again; "bang" went the furni- ture ; " knock " this chair went against that, and she seemed bent upon putting all things into that happy state of sixes and sevens that characterises a sale of household furniture, when chairs mount tables, and the whole system of domestic economy is revolutionised. Seeing that he was not going to get anything more for his money, our friend at length turned his horse and found his way to the stables by the unerring drag of carriage-wheels. All things there beiDg as matters were in the house, he put the redoubtable nag into a stall, and helped him to a liberal measure of oats out of the well-stored unlocked corn-bin. He then sought the back of the house by the worn flagged-way that connected it with the stables. The back yard was in the admired confusion that might be expected from the woman's account. Empty casks and hampers were piled and stowed away in all directions, while regiments of champagne and other bot- 352 mr. sponge's sporting tour. ties, stood and lay about among blacking bottles, Seltzer water bot- tles, boot-trees, bath-bricks, old brushes, and stumpt-up besoms. Several pair of dirty top-boots, most of them with the spurs on, were chucked into the shoe-house just as they had been taken off. The kitchen, into which our friend now entered, was in the same disorderly state. Numerous copper pans stood simmering on the charcoal stoves, and the jointless jack still revolved on the spit. A dirty slip-shod girl sat sleeping, with her apron thrown over her head, which rested on the end of a table. The open door of the servants' hall, hard by> disclosed a pile of dress and other clothes, which, after mopping up the ale and other slops, would be carefully folded and taken back to the rooms of their respective owners. " Halloo ! " cried Mr. Sponge, shaking the sleeping girl by the shoulder, which caused her to start up, stare, and rub her eyes in wild affright. " Halloo ! " repeated he, " what's happened you?" " Oh, beg pardon, sir ! " exclaimed she; "beg pardon," continued she, clasping her hands; "I'll never do so again, sir; no, sir, I'll never do so again, indeed I wonH" She had just stolen a shape of blanc-mange, and thought she was caught. " Then show me where I'll find pen and ink and paper," replied our friend. " Oh, sir, I don't know nothing about them," replied the girl; indeed, sir, I donH ; " thinking it was some other petty larceny he was inquiring about. " Well, but you can tell me where to find a sheet of paper, sure- ly ? " rejoined he. " Oh, indeed, sir, I canH" replied she ; " I know nothin' about nothin' of the sort." Servants never do. " What sort ? " asked Mr. Sponge, wondering at her vehemence. " Well, sir, about what you said," sobbed the girl, applying the corner of her dirty apron to her eyes. " Hang it, the girl's mad," rejoined our friend, brushing by, and making for the passage beyond. This brought him past the still room, the steward's room, the housekeeper's room, and the butler's pantry. All were in most glorious confusion ; in the latter, Captain Cutitfat's lacquer-tocd, lavender-coloured dress-boots were reposing in the silver soup-tureen, and Captain Bouncey's varnished pumps were stuffed into a wine-cooler. The last detachment of empty bot- tles stood or lay about the floor, commingling with boot-jacks, knife- trays, bath-bricks, coat-brushes, candle-end boxes, plates, lanterns, lamp-glasses, oil bottles, corkscrews, wine-strainers — the usual mis- cellaneous appendages of a butler's pantry. All was still and quiet; not a sound, save the loud ticking of a time-piece, or the occasional creak of a jarring door, disturbed the solemn silence of the house. A nimble-handed mugger or tramp might have carried off whatever he liked. MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 853 Passing onward, Mr. Sponge came to a red-baized, brass-nailed door, which, opening freely on a patent-spring, revealed the fine proportions of a light picture-gallery with which the bright niahoga* ny doors of the entertaining rooms communicated. Opening the first door he came to, our friend found himself in the elegant draw- ing-room, on whose round bird's-eye maple table, in the centre, were huddled all the unequal-lengthed candles of the previous night's illumination. It was a handsome apartment, fitted up in the most costly style ; with rose-colour brocaded satin damask, the curtains trimmed with silk tassel fringe, and ornamented with massive bullion tassels on cornices, Cupids supporting wreaths under an arch, with open carved-work and enrichments in burnished gold. The room, save the muster of the candles, was just as it had been left; and the richly gilt sofa still retained the indentations of the sitters, with the luxurious down pillows, left as they had been supporting their backs. The room reeked of tobacco, and the ends and ashes of cigars dotted the tables and white marble chimney-piece, and the gilt slabs and the finely-flowered Tournay carpet, just as the fires of gipsies dot and disfigure the fair face of a country. Costly china and nick- nacks of all sorts were scattered about in profusion. Altogether, it was a beautiful room. " No want of money here," said Mr. Sponge to himself, as he eyed it, and thought what havoc Grustavus James would make among the ornaments if he had a chance. He then looked about for pen, ink, and paper. These were dis- tributed so wide apart as to show the little request they were in. Having at length succeeded in getting what he wanted gathered to- gether, Mr. Sponge sat down on the luxurious sofa, considering how he should address his host, as he hoped. Mr. Sponge was not a shy man, but, considering the circumstances under which he made Sir Harry Scattercash's acquaintance, together with his design upon his hospitality — above all, considering the crew by whom Sir Harry was surrounded — it required some little tact to pave the way without raising the present inmates of the house against him. There are no people so anxious to protect others from robbery as those who are robbing them themselves. Mr. Sponge thought, and thought, and thought. At last he resolved to write on the subject of the hounds. After sundry attempts on pink, blue, and green-tinted paper, he at last succeeded in hitting off the following, on yellow : — "Nonsuch Hoi " Dear Sir Harry, — I rode over this morning, hearing you were to hunt, and am sorry to find you indisposed. I wish you would drop me a line to Mr. Crowdey's, Puddingpote Bower, saying when next you go out, as I should much like to have another look at your 354 MR. sponge's sporting tour. splendid pack, before I leave this country, which I fear will have to be soon. Yours in haste, "H. Sponge. " P.S. — I hope you all got safe home the other night from Mr Peastraw's." Having put this into a richly gilt and embossed envelope, our friend directed it conspicuously to Sir Harry Scattercash, Bart., and stuck it in the centre of the mantel-piece. He then retraced his steps through the back regions, informing the sleeping beauty he had before disturbed, and who was now busy scouring a pan, that he had left a letter in the drawing-room for Sir Harry, and if she would see that he got it, he (Mr. Sponge) would remember her the next time he came, which he inwardly hoped would be soon. He then made for the stable, and got his horse, to go home, sauntering more leisure- ly along than one would expect of a man who had not got his break- fast, especially one riding a hack hunter. The truth was, Mr. Sponge did not much like the aspect of af- fairs. Sir Harry's was evidently a desperately " fast " house ; added to which, the guests by whom he was surrounded, were clearly of the wide-awake order, who could not spare any pickings for a stranger. Indeed, Mr. Sponge felt that they rather cold-shouldered him at Farmer Peastraw's, and were in a greater hurry to be off when the drag came, than the mere difference between inside and outside seats required. He much questioned whether he got into Sir Harry's at all. If it came to a vote he thought he should not. Then, what was he to do ? Old Jog was clearly tired of him ; and he had nowhere else to go to. The thought made him stick spurs into the chestnut, and hurry home to Puddingpote Bower, where he endeavored to soothe his host by more than insinuating that he was going on a visit to Nonsuch House. Jog inwardly prayed that he might. CHAPTER LVII. THE DEBATE. It was just as Mr. Sponge predicted with regard to his admission to Nonsuch House. The first person who spied his note to Sir Harry Scattercash, was Capt. Seedeybuck, who, going into the drawing- room the day after Mr. Sponge's visit to look for the top of his cigar case, saw it occupying the centre of the mantel-piece. Having mas- tered its contents, the captain refolded and placed it where he MR. SPONGE S SPORTING TOUR. 355 found it, with the simple observation to himself of — " that cock won't fight," Captain Quod saw it next, then Captain Bounce}*, who told Captain Cutitfat what was in it, who agreed with Bouncey that it wouldn't do to have Mr. Sponge there. Indeed, it seemed agreed on all hands that their party rather wanted weeding than increasing. Thus, in due time, everybody in the house knew the contents of the note save Sir Harry, though none of them thought worth while telling him of it. On the third morning, however, as the party were assembling for breakfast, he came into the room reading it. " This (hiccup) note ought to have been delivered before," ob- served he, holding it up. " Indeed, my dear," replied Lady Scattercash, who was sitting gloriously fine and very beautiful at the head of the table, " I don't know anything about it." -' Who is it from ? " asked brother Bob Spangles. " Mr. (hiccup) Sponge," replied Sir Harry. " What a name ! " exclaimed Captain Seedeybuck. " Who is he ? " asked Captain Quod. " Don't know," replied Sir Harry ; " he writes to (hiccup) about the hounds." " Oh, it'll be that brown-booted buffer," observed Captain Boun- cey, •' that we left at old Peastraw's." " No doubt," assented Captain Cutitfat ; adding, " what business has he^with the hounds ? " " He wants to know when we are going to (hiccup) again," ob- served Sir Harry. " Does he ? " replied Captain Seedybuck. " That, I suppose, will depend upon Watchorn." The party now got settled to breakfast, and as soon as the first burst of appetite was appeased, the conversation again turned upon our friend Mr. Sponge. " Who is this Mr. Sponge ? " asked Captain Bouncey, the bil- liard-marker, with the air of a thorough exclusive. Nobody answered. " Who's your friend ? " asked he of Sir Harry direct. " Don't know," replied Sir Harry, from between the mouthfuls of a highly cayenned grill. " P'raps a bolting betting-office keeper," suggested Captain Lad- ofwax, who hated Captain Bouncey. " He looks more like a glazier, I think," retorted Captain Boun- cey, with a look of defiance at the speaker. " Lucky if he is one," retorted Captain Ladofwax, reddening up to the eyes ; " he may have a chance of repairing somebody's daylights." The captain raising his saucer, to discharge it at his opponent's head. 356 mr. sponge's sporting tour. " Gently ivith the cheney ! " exclaimed Lady Scattercash, who was too much used to such scenes to care about the belligerents. Bob Spangles caught Ladofwax's arm at the nick of time, and saved the saucer. M Hout ! you (hiccup) fellows are always (hiccup)ing," exclaimed Sir Harry. " I declare I'll have you both (hiccup) ed over to keep the peace." They then broke out into wordy recrimination and abuse, each declaring that he wouldn't stay a day longer in the house if the other remained ; but as they had often said so before, and still gave no symptoms of going, their assertion produced little effect upon any- body. Sir Harry would not have cared if all his guests had gone together. Peace and order being at length restored, the conversation again turned upon Mr. Sponge. " I suppose we must have another (hiccup) hunt soon," observed Sir Harry. " In course," replied Bob Spangles; "it's no use keeping the hungry brutes unless you work them." " You'll have a bagman, I presume," observed Captain Seedeybuck, who did not like the trouble of travelling about the country to draw for a fox. " Oh, yes," replied Sir Harry ; " Watchorn will manage all that. He's always (hiccup) in that line. We'd better have a hunt soon, and then Mr. (hiccup) Bugles, you can see it." Sir Harry addressing him- self to a gentleman he was as anxious to get rid of as Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey was to get rid of Mr. Sponge. " No ; Mr. Bugles won't go out any more," replied Lady Scatter- cash, peremptorily. " He was nearly killed last time ; " her lady- ship casting an angry glance at her husband, and a very loving one on the object of her solicitude. " Oh, nought's never in danger ! " observed Bob Spangles. " Then you can go, Bob," snapped his sister. " I intend," replied Bob. " Then (hiccup), gentlemen, I think I'll just write this Mr. (hiccup) What's-his-name to (hiccup) over here," observed Sir Harry, " and then he'll be ready for the (hiccup) hunt whenever we choose to (hiccup) one." The proposition fell still-born among the party. " Don't you think we can do without him ? " at last suggested Captain Seedeybuck. " / think so," observed the elder Spangles, without looking up from his plate. " Who is it ? " asked Lady Scattercash. " The man that was here the other morning — the man in the queer chestnut-coloured boots," replied Mr. Orlando Bugles. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 357 " Oh, I think he's rather good-looking ; I vote we have him," replied her ladyship. That was rather a damper for Sir Harry ; but upon reflection, he thought he could not be worse off with Mr. Sponge and Mr. Bugles than he was with Mr. Bugles alone ; so, having finished a poor ap- petiteless breakfast, he repaired to what he called his " study," and with a feeble, shaky hand, scrawled an invitation to Mr. Sponge to come over to Nonsuch House, and take his chance of a run with his hounds. He then sealed and posted the letter without further to-do. CHAPTER LVIII. FACEY ROMFORD. Four days had now elapsed since Mr. Sponge penned his overture to Sir Harry, and each succeeding day satisfied him more of the utter impossibility of holding on much longer in his then billet at Pudclingpote Bower. Not only was Jog coarse and incessant in his hints to him to be off, but Jawleyford-like he had lowered the standard of entertainment so greatly, that if it hadn't been that Mr. Sponge had his servant and horses kept also, he might as well have been living at his own expense. The company lights were all extin- guished; great, strong-smelling, cauliflower-headed moulds, that were always wanting snuffing, usurped the place of Belmont wax ; napkins were withdrawn ; second-hand table-cloths introduced ; marsala did duty for sherry ; and the stick-jaw pudding assumed a consistency that was almost incompatible with articulation. In the course of this time Sponge wrote to Puffington, saying, if he was better he would return and finish his visit ; but the wary Puff sent a messenger off express with a note, lamenting that he was ordered to Handley Cross for his health, but " pop'lar man" like, hoping that the pleasure of Sponge's company was only deferred for another season. Jawleyford even SpoDge thought hopeless; and, altogether, he was very much perplexed. He had made a little money, certainly, with his horses ; but a permanent investment of his elegant person,* such as he had long been on the look out for, seemed as far off as ever. On the afternoon of the fifth day, as he was taking a solita^ stroll about the country, having about made up his mind to be off to town, just as he was crossing Jog's buttercup meadow on his way to the stable, a rapid hang ! hang ! caused him to start, and, looking over the hedge, he saw a brawny-looking sportsman in brown, 358 mr. sponge's sporting tour. reloading his gun, with a brace of liver and white setters crouchiDg like statues in the stubble. " Seek dead ! " presently said the shooter, with a slight wave of his hand ; and in an instant each dog was picking up his bird. " I'll have a word with you," said Sponge, " on and off-ing " the hedge, his beat causing the shooter to start and look as if inclined for a run ; second thoughts said Sponge was too near, and he'd better brave it. " What sport? " asked Sponge, striding towards him. " Oh, pretty middling," replied the shooter, a great red-headed, freckley-faced fellow, with backward-lying whiskers, crowned in a drab rustic. " Oh, pretty middling," repeated he, not knowing whether to act on the friendly or defensive. " Fine day ! " said Sponge, eyeing his fox-maskey whiskers and stout, muscular frame. " It is," replied the shooter ; adding, " Just followed my birds over the boundary. No 'fence, I s'pose — no 'fence." " Oh, no," said Mr. Sponge. " Jog, I des-say, '11 be very glad to see you." " Oh, you'll be Mr. Sponge? " observed the stranger, jumping to a conclusion. " I am," replied our hero ; adding, " May I ask who I have the honour of addressing ? " " My name's Romford — Charley Romford ; every body knows me. Yery glad to make your 'quaintance," tendering Sponge a great, rough, heavy hand. " I was goin' to call upon you," observed the stranger, as he ceased swinging Sponge's arm to and fro like a pump- handle ; " I was goin' to call upon you, to see if you'd come over to Washingforde, and have some shootin' at me Oncle's — oncle Gilroy's at Queercove Hill." " Most happy ! " exclaimed Sponge, thinking it was the very thing he wanted. " Get a day with the harriers, too, if you like," continued the shooter, increasing the temptation. " Better still ! " thought Sponge. " I've only bachelor 'commodation to offer you ; but p'raps you'll not mind roughing it a bit ? " observed Romford. " Oh, faith, not I ! " replied Sponge, thinking of the luxuries of Puffington's bachelor habitation. " What sort of stables have you?" asked our friend. • " Capital stables — excellent stables ! " replied the shooter ; "stalls six feet in the clear, by twelve dip (deep), iron racks, oak stall-posts covered with zinc, beautiful oats, capital beans, splendacious hay — won without a shower ! " " Bravo ! " exclaimed Sponge, thinking he had lit on his legs, and MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. - 359 might snap his fingers at Jog and his hints. He'd take the high hand, and give Jog up. " Tm your man / " said Sponge, in high glee. " When will you come ?" asked Romford. " To-morrow ! " replied Sponge, firmly. " So be it," rejoined his proffered host ; and, with another hearty swing of the arm, the newly-made friends parted. Charley Romford, or Facey, as he was commonly called, from his being the admitted most impudent man in the country, was a great, round-faced, coarse-featured, prize-fighting sort of fellow, who lived chiefly by his wits, which he exercised in all the legitimate lines of industry — poaching, betting, boxing, horse-dealing, cards, quoits — anything that came uppermost. That he was a man of en- terprise, we need hardly add, when he had formed a scheme for doing our Sponge — a man that we do not think any of our readers would trouble themselves to try a " plant " upon. This impudent Facey, as if in contradiction of terms, was origin ally intended for a civil engineer ; but having early in life voted himself heir to his uncle, Mr. Gilroy, of Queercove Hill, a great cattle-jobber, with a " small independence of his own " — three hun- dred a year, perhaps, which a kind world called six — Facey thought he would just hang about until his uncle was done with his shoes, and then be lord of Queercove Hill. Now, "me Oncle Gilroy," of whom Facey was constantly talking, had a left-handed wife and promising family in the sylvan retirement of St. John's Wood, whither he used to retire after his business in " Smi'fiel' " was over ; so that Facey, for once, was out in his calcu- lations. Gilroy, however, being as knowing as " his nevvy," as he called him, just encouraged Facey in his shooting, fishing, and idle propensities generally, doubtless finding it more convenient to have his fish and game for nothing than to pay for them. Facey, having the apparently inexhaustible sum of a thousand pounds, began life as a fox-hunter — in a very small way to be sure — more for the purpose of selling horses than anything else; but, having succeeded in " doing " all the do-able gentlemen, both with the " Tip and Go " and Cranerfield hounds, his occupation was gone, it requiring an extended field — such as our friend Sponge roamed — to carry on cheating in horses for any length of time. Facey was soon blown, his name in connection with a horse being enough to prevent any one looking at him. Indeed, we question that there is any less desirable mode of making, or trying to make money, than by cheating or even dea'ing in horses. Many people fancy themselves cheated, whatever they get; while the man who is really cheated never forgets it, and proclaims it to the end of time. Moreover, no one can go on cheat- ing in horses for any length of time, without putting himself in the power of his groom ; and let those who have seen how servants lord 360 * MR. sponge's sporting tour. it over each other say how they would like to subject themselves to similar treatment. — But to our story. Facey Romford had now a splendid milk-white horse, well-known in Mr. Nobbington's and Lord Leader's hunts as Mr. Hobler, but who Facey kindly christened the " Nonpareil," which the now rising price of oats, and falling state of his finances, made him particularly anxious to get rid of, ere the horse performed the equestrian feat of "eating its head off." He was a very hunter-like looking horse, but his misfortune consisted in having such shocking seedy toes that he couldn't keep his shoes on. If he got through the first field with them on, they were sure to be off at the fence. This horse Facey voted to be the very thing for Mr. Sponge, and hearing that he had come into the country to hunt, it occurred to him that it would be a capital thing if he could get him to take Mother Overend's spare bed and lodge with him, twelve shillings a-week being more than Facey liked paying for his rooms. Not that he paid twelve shillings for the rooms alone ; on the contrary, he had a two-stalled stable, with a sort of kennel for his pointers, and a sty for his pig into the bargain. This pig, which was eaten many times in anticipation, had at length fallen a victim to the butcher, and Facey's larder was un- commonly well found in black-puddings, sausages, spareribs, and the other component parts of a pig : so that he was in very hospitable circumstances, — at least, in his rough and ready idea of what hospi- tality ought to be. Indeed, whether he had or not, he'd have risked it, being quite as good at carrying things off with a high hand as Mr. Sponge himself. The invitation came most opportunely ; for, worn out with jealousy and watching, Jog had made up his mind to cut to Australia, and when Sponge returned after meeting Facey, Jog was in the act of combing out an advertisement, offering all that desirable sport- ing residence called Puddingpote Bower, with the coach-house, stables, and offices thereunto belonging, to let, and announcing that the whole of the valuable household furniture, comprising mahogany, dining, loo, card, and Pembroke tables; sofa, couch, and chairs in hair seat- ing; cheffonier, with plate glass; book-case; flower-stands; piano- forte, by Collard and Collard ; music stool and Canterbury ; chimney and pier-glasses ; mirror ; ormolu time-piece ; alabaster and wax figures and shades ; China ; Brussels carpets and rugs ; fenders and fire-irons ; curtains and cornices ; Venetian blinds ; mahogany four- post, French, and camp bedsteads ; feather beds ; hair mattresses ; mahogany chests of drawers ; dressing-glasses ; wash and dressing- tables ; patent shower bath; bed and table-linen ; dinner and tea- ware ; warming-pans, &c, would be exposed to immediate and unre- served sale. - How gratefully Sponge's inquiry if he knew Mr. Romford fell on his ear, as they sat moodily together after dinner over some' very low- priced Port. 361 " Oh, yes (puff) — oh, yes (wheeze) — oh, yes (gasp) ! Know Char- ley Eomford — Facey, as they call him. He's (puff, wheeze, gasp), heir to old Mr. Gilroy, of Queercove Hill." " Just so," rejoined Sponge, — "just so ; that's the man, — stout, square-built fellow, with backward-growing whiskers. I'm going to stay with him to shoot at old Gil's. Where does Charley live ?" " Live ! " exclaimed Jog, almost choked with delight at the in- formation ; " live ! live ! " repeated he, for the third time ; " lives at (puff, wheeze, gasp, cough), Washingforde — yes, at Washingforde ; 'bout ten miles from (puff, wheeze) here. When d'ye go?" " To-morrow," replied Sponge, with an air of offended dignity. Jog was so rejoiced that he could hardly sit on his chair. Mrs. Jog, when she heard of it felt that Gustavus James's chance of independence was gone ; for well she knew that Jog would never let Sponge come back to the Bower. We need scarcely say that Jog was up betimes in the morning, most anxious to forward Mr. Sponge's departure. He offered to al- low Bartholomew to convey him and his " traps " in the phaeton — an offer that Mr. Sponge availed himself of as far as his "traps " were concerned, though he preferred cantering over on his piebald to trail- ing along in Jog's jingling chay. So matters were arranged, and Mr. Sponge forthwith proceeded to put his brown boots, his substantial cords, his superfine tights, his cuttey scarlet, his dress blue saxony, his clean linen, his heavy spurs, and though last, not least in import- ance, his now backless " Mogg," into his solid leather portmanteau, sweeping the surplus of his wardrobe into a capacious carpet-bag. While the guest was thus busy up-stairs, the host wandered about reslessly, now stirring up this person, now hurrying that, in the full enjoyment of the much-coveted departure. His pleasure was, per- haps, rather damped by a running commentary he overheard through the lattice-window of the stable, from Leather, as he stripped his horses and tried to roll up their clothing in a moderate compass. " Ord rot your great carcass ! " exclaimed he, giving the roll a hearty kick in its bulging-out stomach, onjpding that he had not got it as small as he wanted. " Ord rot your great carcass," repeated he, scratching his head and eyeing it as it lay ; " this is all the conse- quence of your nasty brewers' hapron weshins, — bio win' of one out, like a bladder ! " and, thereupon, he placed his hand on his stomach to feel how his own was. " Never see'd sich a house, or sich an awful mean man ! " continued he, stooping and pommelling the package with his fists. It was of no use, he could not get it as small as he wished — " Must have my jacket out on you I do believe," added he, seeing where the impediment was ; " sticks in your gizzard just like a. lump of old Puff-and-blow's puddin' ; " and then he thrust his band into the folds of the clothing, and pulled out the greasy garment. " Now," said he, stooping agoin, " I think we may manish ye ; " and 16 362 MR. sponge's sporttng tour. he took the roll in his arms and hoisted it on to Hercules, whom he meant to make the led horse, observing aloud, as he adjusted it on the saddle, and whacked it well with his hands to make it lie right, " I ivish it was old Jog — ivoiddnH I sarve him out ! " He then turned his horses round in their stalls, tucked his greasy jacket under the flap of the saddle-hags, took his ash-stick from the crook, and led them out of the capacious door. Jog looked at him with mingled feelings of disgust and delight. Leather just gave his old hat flipe a rap with his forefinger as he passed with the horses — a salute that Jog did not condescend to return. Having eyed the receding horses with great satisfaction, Jog re- entered the house by the kitchens, to have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Sponge off. He found the portmanteau and carpet-bag standing in the passage ; and just at the moment the sound of the phaeton wheels fell on his ear, as Bartholomew drove round from the coach-house to the door. Mr. Sponge was already in the parlour, making his adieus to Mrs. Jog and the children, who were all assembled for the purpose. " What, are you goin' ? " (puff) asked Jog, with an air of surprise. " Yes," replied Mr. Sponge ; adding, as he tendered his hand, " the best friends must part, you know." " Well (puff), but you'd better have your (wheeze) horse round," observed Jog, anxious to avoid any overture for a return. " Thankee," replied Mr. Sponge, making a parting bow ; " I'll get him at the stable." " I'll go with you," said Jog, leading the way. Leather had saddled, and bridled, and turned him round in the stall, with one of Mr. Jog's blanket-rugs on, which Mr. Sponge just swept over his tail into the manger, and led the horse out. " Adieu ! " said he, offering his hand to his host. " G-ood-bye ! — good (puff) sport to you," said Jog, shaking it heartily. Mr. Sponge then mounted his hack, and cocking out his toe, rode off at a canter. At the same moment Bartholomew drove away from the front door ; and Jog, having stood watching the phaeton over the rise of Pennypound Hill, scraped his feet, re-entered his house, and rubbing them heartily on the mat as lie closed the sash-door, observed alouc to himself, with a jerk of his head — " Well, now, that's the most (puff) impittent feller I ever saw my life ! Catch me (gasp) godpapa-hunting again." mr. sponge's sporting tour. 363 CHAPTER LIX. THE ADJOURNED DEBATE. The fatal invitation of Mr. Sponge having been sent, the question that now occupied the minds of the assembled sharpers at Nonsuch House, was whether he was a " pigeon," or one of themselves. That point occupied their very deep and serious consideration. If he was a " pigeon," they could clearly accommodate him, but if, on the other hand, he was one of themselves, it was painfully apparent that there were far too many of them there already. Of course the subject was not discussed in full and open conclave — they were all highly honourable men in the gross — and it was only in the small and secret groups of those accustomed to hunt together, and unburden their minds, that the real truth was elicited. u What an ass Sir Harry is, to ask this Mr. Sponge," observed Captain Quod to Captain Seedeybuck, as (cigar in mouth) they paced backwards and forwards under the nagged verandah on the west side of the house, on the morning that Sir Harry had announced his in- tention of asking him. " Confounded ass," assented Seedeybuck, from between the whiffs of his cigar. " Dash it ! one would think he had more money than he knew what to do with," observed the first speaker, " instead of not knowing wheretto lay hands on a halfpenny." " Soon be ivho-hoop here," observed Quod, with a shake of the head. " Fear so," replied Seedeybuck. " Have you heard anything fresh ? " " Nothing particular. The County Court bailiff was here with some summonses, which, of course, he put in the fire." " Ah ! that's what he always does. He got tired of papering the smoking-room with them," replied Seedeybuck. " Well, it's a pity," observed Quod, spitting as he spoke ; " but what can you expect, eaten up as he is by such a set of rubbish ? " " Shockin'," replied Seedeybuck, thinking how long he and his friend might have fattened there together. " Do you know anything of this Mr. Sponge ? " asked Captain Quod, after a pause. " Nothin'," replied Seedeybuck, " except what we saw of him here : but I'm sure he won't do." 364 MR. sponge's sporting tour. " Well, I think not either," replied Quod ; " I didn't like his looks — he seems quite one of the free-and easy sort." " Quite," observed Seedeybuck, determined to make a set against him, instead of cultivating his acquaintance. " This Mr. Sponge won't be any great addition to our party, I think," muttered Captain Bouncey to Captain Cutitfat, as they stood within the bay of the library window, in apparent contemplation of the cows, but in reality conning the Sponge matter over in their minds. " I think not," replied Captain Cutitfat, with an emphasis. " Wonder what made Sir Harry ask him ! " whispered Bouncey, adding, aloud, for the bystanders to hear, — " That's a fine cow, isn't it ? " " Very," replied Cutitfat in the same key, adding, in a whisper, with a shrug of his shoulders ; " wonder what made him ask half the people that are here ! " " The black and white one isn't a bad un," observed Bouncey, nodding his head towards the cows, adding in an under tone; " most of them asked themselves, I should think." " Admiring the cows, Captain Bouncey ? " asked the beautiful and tolerably virtuous Miss Glitters, of the Astley's Royal Amphi- theatre, who had come down to spend a few days with her old friend, Lady Scattercash. " Admiring the cows, Captain Bouncey ? " asked she, sidling her elegant figure between our friends in the bay. " We were just saying how nice it would be to have two or three pretty girls, and a sillabub, under those cedars," replied Captain Bouncey. " Oh, charming ! " exclaimed Miss Glitters, her dark eyes spark- ling as she spoke. " Harriet ! " exclaimed she, addressing herself to a young lady, who called herself Howard, but whose real name was Brown — Jane Brown. — " Harriet ! " exclaimed she, " Captain Boun- cey is going to give a, fete champHre under those lovely cedars." " Oh, how nice ! " exclaimed Harriet, clapping her hands in ecsta- sies— theatrical ecstasies at least. " It must be Sir Harry," replied the billiard-table man, not fancy- ing being " let in " for anything. " Oh ! Sir Harry will let us have anything we like, I'm sure," rejoined Miss Glitters. " What is it (hiccup) ?" asked Sir Harry, who, hearing his name, now joined the party. " Oh, we want you to give us a dance under those charming cedars," replied the lady, looking lovingly at him. " Cedars ! " hiccuped Sir Harry, " where do you see any cedars ?" " Why there," replied Miss Glitters, nodding towards a clump of evergreens. " Those are (hiccup) hollies," replied Sir Harry. MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 365 " Well, under the hollies," rejoined Miss Glitters; adding, "it was Captain Bouncey who said they were cedars." " Ah, I meant those beyond," observed the captain, nodding in another direction. " Those are (hiccup) Scotch firs," rejoined Sir Harry. " Well, never mind what they are," resumed the lady ; " let us have a dance under them." " Certainly," replied Sir Harry, who was always ready for any- thing. "We shall have plenty of partners," observed Miss Howard, recollecting how many men there were in the house. " And another coming," observed Captain Cutitfat, still fretting at the idea. " Indeed ! " exclaimed Miss Howard, raising her hands and eye- brows in delight ; " and who is he ? " asked she, with unfeigned glee. " Oh such a (hiccup) swell," replied Sir Harry; "reg'lar Leices- tershire man. A (hiccup) Quornite in fact." " We'll not have the dance till he comes, then," observed Miss Glitters. " No more we will," said Miss Howard, withdrawing from the group. CHAPTER LX. FACEY ROMFORD AT HOME. We will now suppose our distinguished Sponge entering the village, or what the natives call the town of Washingforde, towards the close of a short December day, on his arrival from Mr. Jog's. " What sort of stables are there?" asked he, reining up his hack, as he encountered the brandy-nosed Leather airing himself on the' main street. " Stables be good enough — forage, too," replied the stud groom, — "per-wided you likes the sittivation." " Oh, the sittivation '11 be good enough," retorted Sponge, think- ing that, groom-like, Leather was grumbling because he hadn't got the best stables. " Well, sir, as you please," replied the man. " Why, where are they ? " asked Sponge, seeing there was more in Leather's manner than met the eye. " Rose and Crown ! " replied Leather, with an emphasis. "Rose and Crown!" exclaimed Sponge, starting in his sad- dle ; " Rose and Crown ! Why, I am going to stay with Mr. Rom- ford ! " 366 mr. " So he said," replied Leather; " so he said. I met him as I com'd in with the osses, and said he to me, said he, ' You'll find captle quarters at the Crown ! ' " " The deuce ! exclaimed Mr. Sponge, dropping the reins on his hack's neck; "the deuce /" repeated he, with a look of disgust. " Why, where does he live ? " " 'Bove the saddler's, thonder," replied Leather, nodding to a small bow-windowed white house a little lower down, with the gilt- lettered words : — 1 OVEREND, SADDLER AND HARNESS-MAKER TO THE QUEEN, above a very meagrely stocked shop. " The devil ! " replied Mr. Sponge, boiling up as he eyed the cottage-like dimensions of the place. The dialogue was interrupted by a sledge-hammer-like blow on Sponge's back, followed by such a proffered hand as could proceed from none but his host. " Glad to see ye ! " exclaimed Facey, swinging Sponge's arm to and fro. " Get off ! " continued he, half dragging him down, " and let's go in ; for it's beastly cold, and dinner '11 be ready in no time ! " So saying, he led the captive Sponge down street, like a prisoner, by the arm, and, opening the thin house-door, pushed him up a very straight staircase into a little low cabin-like room, hung with boxing- gloves, foils, and pictures of fighters and ballet-girls. " Glad to see ye ! " again said Facey, poking the diminutive fire. " Axed Nosey Nickel and Gutty Weazel to meet you," continued he, looking at the little " dinner-for-two " table ; but Nosey's gone wrong in a tooth, and Gutty's away sweetheartin'. However, we'll be very cozey and jolly together, and if you want to wash your hands, or anything afore dinner, I'll show you your bedroom," continued he, backing Sponge across the staircase landing to where a couple of lit- tle black doors opened into rooms, formed by dividing what had been the duplicate of a sitting-room into two. " There ! " exclaimed Facey, pointing to Sponge's portmanteau and bag, standing midway between the window and door ; — " There ! there are your traps. Yonder's the washhand-stand. You can put your shavin'-things on the chair below the lookin'-glass 'gainst the wall," pointing to a fragment of glass nailed against the stencilled wall, all of which Sponge stood eyeing with a mingled air of resig- nation and contempt ; but when Facey pointed to — " The chest, contrived a double debt to pay — A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; " mr. sponge's spouting tour. 367 and said that was where Sponge would have to curl himself up, our friend shook his head, and declared he could not. " Oh, fiddle ! " replied Facey, Jack Weatherley slept in it for months, and he's half a hand higher than you — sixteen hands, if he's an inch." And Sponge jerked his head, and bit his lips, thinking he was " done " for once. " W-h-o-y, ar thought you'd been a fox-hunter," observed Facey, seeing his guest's disconcerted look. " Well, but bein' a fox-hunter won't enable one to sleep in a band-box, or to shut one's-self up like a telescope," retorted the in- dignant Sponge. " Ord hang it, man ! you're so nasty partickler," rejoined Facey; "your're so nasty partickler. You'll never do to go out duck-shoot- in' i' your shirt. Dash it, man ! Oncle Grilroy would disinherit me if ar was such a chap. " However, look sharp," continued he," if you are goin' to clean yourself; for dinner'll be ready in no time, indeed, I hear Mrs. End dishin' it up." So saying, Facey rolled out of the room, and Sponge presently heard him pulling off his clogs of shoes in the adjoining one. Dinner spoke for itself, for the house reeked with the smell of fried onions and roast pork. Now, Sponge didn't like pork ; and there was nothing but pork, or pig in one shape or another. Spare-ribs, liver and bacon, sausages, black puddings, &c, — all very good in their way, but which came with a bad grace after the comforts of Jog's, the elegance of Puffington's, and the early splendour of Jawleyford's. Our hero was a good deal put out, and felt as if he was imposed upon. What business had a man like this to ask him to stay with him — a man who dined by daylight, and ladled his meat with a great two-pronged fork? Facey, though he saw Mr. Sponge wasn't pleased, praised and pressed everything in succession down to a very strong cheese ; and as the slip-shod girl whisked away crumbs and all in the coarse table-cloth, he exclaimed with a most open-hearted air, " Well, now, what shall we have to drink," adding, " You smoke, of course — shall it be gin, rum or Hollands — Hollands, rum, or gin ? " \ Sponge was half inclined to propose wine, but recollecting -what sloe-juice sort of stuff it was sure to be, and that Facey, in all pro- bability, would make him finish it, he just replied, " Oh, I don't care ; 'spose we say gin ? " " Gin be it," said Facey, rising from his seat, and making for a little closet in the wall, he produced a bottle labelled " Fine London Spirit; " and hallooing to the girl to get a few " Captins' " out of the box under his bed, he scattered a lot of glasses about the table, and placed a green dessert-dish for the biscuits against they came. 368 MR. sponge's sporting tour. Night had now closed in — a keen, boisterous, wintry night, making the pocketful of coals that ornamented the grate peculiarly acceptable. " B-o-y Jove, what a night ! " exclaimed Facey, as a blash of sleet dashed across the window, as if some one had thrown a hand- full of pebbles against it. " B-o-y Jove, what a night ! " repeated he, rising and closing the shutters, and letting down the little scanty red curtain. " Let us draw in and have a hot brew," continued he, stirring the fire under the kettle, and handing a lot of cigars out of the table-drawer. They then sat smoking and sipping, and smok- ing and sipping, each making a mental estimate of the other. " Shall we have a game at cards ? or what shall we do to pass the evenin' ? " at length asked our host. " Better have a game at cards, p'raps," continued he. " Thank'ee, no ; thankee, no. I've a book in my pocket," replied Sponge, diving into his jacket-pocket ; adding, as he fished up his Mo yellow and sickly. Long before mid-day the whole country was in commotion. The same sort of people commingled that one would expect to see if there was a balloon to go up, and a man to go down, or be hung at the same place. Fine ladies in all the colours of the rainbow; and swarthy, beady-eyed dames, with their stalwart, big-calve. 1, basket- carrying comrades ; genteel young people from behind the counter; Dandy Candy merchants from" behind the hedge; rough-coated 412 MR. sponge's sporting tour. dandies with their silver-mounted whips; and Shaggyford roughs, in their baggy, poacher-like- coats, and formidable clubs ; carriages and four, and carriages and pairs; and gigs, and dog-carts, and Whitechapels, and Newport Pagnels, and long carts, and short carts, and donkey-carts, converged from all quarters upon the point of attraction at Broom Hill. If farmer Scourgefield had made a mob, he could not have got one that would be more likely to do damage to his farm than this steeple-chase one. Nor was the assemblage confined to the people of the country, for the G-randdiddle Junction, by its connexion with the great network of railways, enabled all patrons of this truly national sport to sweep down upon the spot like flocks of wolves ; and train after train disgorged a generous mixture of sharps and flats, com- mingling with coatless, baggy-breeched vagabonds, the emissaries most likely of the Peeping Toms and Infallible Joes, if not the worthies themselves. " Dear, but it's a noble sight ! " exclaimed Yiney to Watchorn, as they sat on their horses, below a rickety green-baize covered scaffold, labelled, "Grand Stand; admission, Two-and-sixpence," raised against Scourgefield's stack-yard wall, eyeing the population pouring in from all parts. " Dear, but it's a noble sight ! " said he, shading the sun from his eyes, and endeavouring to identify the different vehicles in the distance. " Yoncler's the ' bus comin' again," said he, looking towards the station, " loaded like a market-gardener's turnip-waggon. That'll pay" added he, with a knowing leer at the landlord of the Hen Angel, Newington Butts. " And who have we here, with the four horses and sky-blue flunkies ? Jawleyford, as I live ! " added he, answering himself; adding, " The beggar had better pay me what he owes." How great Mr. Yiney was ! Some people, who have never had anything to do with horses, think it incumbent upon them, when they have, to sport top-boots, and accordingly, for the first time in his life, Yiney appears in a pair of remarkably hard, tight, country-made boots, above which are a pair of baggy, white cords, with the dirty finger-marks of the tailor still upon them. He sports a single- breasted green cutaway coat, with basket buttons, a black satin roll- collared waistcoat, and a new white silk hat, that shines in the bright sun like a fish-kettle. His blue-striped kerchief is secured by a butterfly brooch. Who ever saw an innkeeper that could resist a brooch ? He is riding a miserable rat of a badly-clipped, mouse-coloured pony, that looks like a velocipede under him. His companion, Mr. Watchorn, is very great, and hardly conde- scends to know the country people who claim his acquaintance as a huntsman. He is a Hotel Keeper — master of the Hen Angel, New- ington Butta. Enoch Wriggle stands beside them, dressed in the MR. 6P0NGE1S SPORTING TOUR. 413 imposing style of a cockney sportsman. He has been puffing u Sir Danapalus (the Bart.") in public, and taking all the odds he can get against him in private. Watchorn knows that it is easier to make a horse lose than win. The restless-looking, lynx-eyed caitiff, in the dirty green shawl, with his hands stuffed into the front pockets of the brown tarriar coat, is their jockey, the renowned Captain Hangallows ; he answers to the name of Sam Slick in Mr. Spavin, the horse-dealer's yard in Oxford Street, when not in the country on similar excursions, to the present. And now in the throng on the principal line are two conspicuous horses — a piebald and a white — carrying Mr. Sponge and Lucy Glitters. Lucy appears as she did on the frosty-day hunt, glowing with health and beauty, and rather straining the seams of Lady Scattercash's habit with the additional embonpoint she has ac- quired by early hours in the country. She has made Mr. Sponge a white silk jacket to ride in, which he has on under his grey tarriar coat, and a cap of the same colour is in his hard hat. He has dis- carded the gosling-green cords for cream-coloured leathers, and, to please Lucy, has actually substituted a pair of rose-tinted tops for the " 'hogany bouts." Altogether he is a great swell, and very like the bridegroom. But hark — what a crash ! The leaders of Sir Harry Scattercash's drag start at a blind fiddler's dog stationed at the gate leading into the fields, a wheel catches the post, and in an instant the sham cap- tains are scattered about the road : — Bouncey on his head, Seedeybuck across the wheelers, Quod on his back, and Sir Harry astride the gate. Meanwhile, the old fiddler, regardless of the shouts of the men and tfee shrieks of the ladies, scrapes away with the appropriate tune of " The Devil among the Tailors ! " A rush to the horses' heads arrests further mischief, the dislodged captains are at length righted, the nerves of the ladies composed, and Sir Harry once more essays to drive them up the hill to the stand. That feat being accomplished, tben came the unloading, and consternation, and huddling of the tight-laced occupants at the idea of these female women coming amongst them, and the usual peeping, and spying, and eyeing of the " creatures:" " What impudence ! " " Well, I think ! " " Ton my word!" "What next!" — exclamations that were pretty well lost upon the fair objects of them amid the noise and flutter and confu- sion of the scene. But hark again! What's up now? " Hooray ! " " hooray ! " " A-o-o-o-ray / " " Three cheers for the Squire ! H-o-o-y&j ! " Old Puff as we live ! The " amazin' instance of a pop'lar man" greeted by the Swillingford snobs. The old frost- bitten dandy is flattered by the cheers, and bows condescendingly ore he alights from the well-appointed mail phaeton. See how gra- ciously the ladies receive him, as, having ascended the stairs, he ap- pears among them. " A man is never too old to marry " is their maxim. 414 mr. sponge's sporting tour. The cry is still, "They come! they coine ! " See at a hand- gallop, with his bay pony in a white lather, rides Pacey, grinning from ear to ear, with his red-backed betting-book peeping out of the breast pocket of his brown cutaway. He is staring and gaping to see who is looking at him. Pacey has made such a book as none but a wooden-headed boy like himself could make. He has been surfeited with tips. Peeping Tom had advised him to back Daddy Longlegs ; and, nullus error ; Sneaking Joe has counselled him that the " Baronet" will be " Cali- fornia without cholera, and gold without danger; " while Jemmy something, the jockey, who advertises that his " tongue is not for falsehood framed," though we should think it was framed for nothing else, has urged him to back Parvo to half the amount of the national debt, Altogether, Pacey has made such a mess that he cannot possibly win, and may lose almost any sum from a thousand pounds, down to a hundred and eighty. Mr. Sponge has got on well with him, through the medium of Jack Spraggon. Pacey is now going to what he calls " compare" — see that he has got his bets booked right ; and, throwing his right leg over his cob's neck, he blobs on to the ground ; and leaving the pony to take care of itself, disappears in the crowd. What a hubbub ! what roarings, and shoutings, and recognisings ! " Bless my heart ! who'd have thought of seeing you ? " and, " By jingo ! what's sent you here ? " " My dear Waffles," cries Jawleyford, rushing up to our Laverick Wells friend (who is looking very debauched), "I'm overjoyed to see you. Do come up-stairs and see Mrs. Jawleyford and the dear girls. It was only last night we were talking about you." And so Jawley- ford hurries Mr. Waffles off, just as Waffles is in extremis about his horse. Looking around the scene there seems to be everybody that we have had the pleasure of introducing to the reader in the course of Mr. Sponge's Tour. Mr. and Mrs. Springwheat in their dog-cart, Mrs. Springey's figure, looking as though " wheat had got above forty, my lord ; " old Jog and his handsome wife in the ugly old phaeton, well garnished with children, and a couple of sticks in the rough peeping out of the apron, Gustavus James held up in his mother's arms, with the curly blue feather nodding over his nose. There is also Farmer Peastraw, and faces that a patient inspection enables us to appropriate to Dribble, and Hook, and Capon, and Calcot, and Lumpleg, and Crane of Crane Hall, and Charley Slapp of red-coat times — people look so different in plain clothes to what they do in hunting ones. Here, too, is George Cheek, running down with per- spiration, having run over from Dr. Latherington's for which he will MR. sponge's sporting tour. 415 most likely " catch it " when he gets back ; and oh, wonder of wonders, here's Robert Foozle himself ! " Well Robert, you've come to the steeple-chase ? " " Yes, I've come to the steeple-chase." " Are you fond of steeple-chases ? " 11 Yes, I'm fond of steeple-chases." "I dare say, you never were at one before," observes his mother. " No, I never was at one before," replies Robert. And though last not least, here's Facey Romford, with his arm in a sling, on Mr. Hobler, come to look after that sivin-p'und-ten, which we wish he may get. Hark ! there's a row below the stand, and Viney is seen in a state of excitement inquiring for Mr. Washball. Pacey has objected to a gentleman rider, and Guano and Puffington have differed on the point. A nice, slim, well-put-on lad (Buckram's roughrider) has come to the scales and claimed to be allowed 3lbs. as the Honourable Captain Boville. Finding the point questioned, he abandons the " handle," and sinks into plain Captain Boville. Pacey now objects to him altogether. " S-c-e-u-s-e me, sir ; s-c-e-u-s-e me, sir," simpers our friend Dick Bragg, sidling up to the objector with a sort of tendency of his turn- back- wristed hand to his hat. " S-c-e-u-s-e me, sir ; s-e-e-u-s-e me," repeats he, " but I think you was wrong, sir, in objecting to Cap- tain Boville, sir, as a gen'l'man rider, sir." " Why ? " demands Pacey, in the full flush of victory. " Oh, sir — because, sir — in fact, sir — he is a gen'l'man, sir." + " Is a gentleman ! How do you know ? " demands Pacey, in the same tone as before. " Oh, sir, he's a gen'l'man — an undoubted gen'l'man. Every- thing about him shows that. Does nothing — breeches by Anderson -r-boots by Bartley; besides which, he drinks wine every day, and has a whole box of cigars in his bedroom. But don't take my word for it, pray," continued Bragg, seeing Pacey was wavering; "don't take my word for it, pray. There's a gen'l'man, a countryman of his somewhere about," added he, looking anxiously into the surrounding crowd — " there's a gen'l'man, a countryman of his somewhere about, if we could but find him," Bragg standing on his tiptoes, and exclaim- ing, " Mr. Buckram ! Mr. Buckram ! Has anybody seen anything of Mr. Buckram ! " "Here/" replied a meek voice from behind; upon which there was an elbowing through the crowd, and presently a most respectable, rosy-gilled, grey-haired, hawbuck-looking man, attired in a new brown cut-away, with bright buttons and a velvet collar, with a buff waist- coat, came twirling an ash-stick in one hand, and fumbling the silver in his drab trousers' pocket with the other, in front of the bystanders. " Oh, ! 'ere he is ! " exclaimed Bragg, appealing to the stranger with a hasty " You know Captain Boville, don't you ? " 416 me. sponge's sporting tour. "Why, now, as to the matter of that," replied the gentleman, gathering all the loose silver up into his hand, and speaking very slowly, just as a country gentleman, who has all the livelong day to do nothing in, may be supposed to speak — " Why, now, as to the mat- ter of that," said he, eyeing Pacey intently, and beginning to drop the silver slowly as he spoke, " I can't say that I've any very 'ticklar 'quaintance with the captim I knows him, in course, just as one knows a neighbour's son. The captin's a good deal younger nor me," continued he, raising his new eight-and-sixpenny Parisian, as if to show his sandy grey hair. " I'm a'most sixty ; and he, I dare say, is little more nor twenty," dropping a half crown as he said it. " But the captin's a nice young gent* — a nice young gent, without any blan- dishment, I should say-; and that's more nor one can say of all young gents now-a-days," said Buckram, looking at Pacey as he spoke, and dropping two consecutive half crowns. " Why, but you live near him, don't you ? " interrupted Bragg. "Near him," repeated Buckram, feeling his well-shaven chin thoughtfully. " Why, yes — that's to say, near his dad. The fact is," continued he, " I've a little independence of my own," dropping a heavy five-shilling piece as he said it, " and his father — old Bo, as I call him — adjoins me ; and if either of us 'appen to have a battue, or a 'aunch of wenzun, and a few friends, we inwite each other, and wicey wersey, you know," letting off a lot of shillings and sixpences. And just at the moment the blind fiddler struck up " The Devil among the Tailors," when the shouts and laughter of the mob closed the scene. And now gentlemen, who heretofore have shown no more of the jockey than Cinderella's feet in the early part of the pantomime dis- close of her ball attire, suddenly cast off the pea-jackets and bearskin wraps, and shawls and over-coats of winter, and shine forth in all the silken flutter of summer heat. We know of no more humiliating sight than misshapen gentlemen playing at jockeys. Playing at soldiers is bad enough, but playing at jockeys is infinitely worse — above all, playing at steeple-chase jock- eys, combining, as they generally do, all the worst features of the hunting-field and and racecourse — unsympathlsing boots and breeches, dirty jackets that never fit, and caps that won't keep on. What a farce to see the great bulky fellows go to scale with their saddles strapped to their backs, as if to illustrate the impossibility of putting a round of beef upon a pudding-plate ! But the weighed in ones are mounting. See, there's Jack Sprag- gon getting a hoist on to Daddy Longlegs ! Did ever mortal see such a man for a jockey ? He has cut off the laps of a stunner tartan jacket, and looks like a great backgammon-board. He has got his head into an old gold-banded military foraging-cap, which comes down almost on to the rims of his great tortoise-shell spectacles. mr. sponge's sporting tour. 417 Lord Scamperdale stands with his hand on the horse's mane, talking earnestly to Jack, doubtless, giving him his final instructions. Other jockeys emerge from various parts of the farm-build ings ; some out of stables ; some out of cow-houses ; others from beneath cart-sheds. The scene becomes enlivened with the varied colours of the riders — red, yellow, green, blue, violet, and stripes without end. Then comes the usual difficulty of identifying the parties, many of whose mothers wouldn't know them. " That's Captain Tongs," observes Miss Simperley, " in the blue. I remember dancing with him at Bath, and he did nothing but talk about steeple-chasing." " And who's that in yellow ? " asks Miss Hardy. " That's Captain Grander," replies the gentleman on her left. " Well, I think he'll win," replies the lady. " I'll bet you a pair of gloves he doesn't," snaps Miss Moore, who fancies Captain Pusher, in the pink. " What a squat little jockey ! " exclaims Miss Hamilton, as a little dumpling of a man in Lincoln green is led past the stand on a fine bay horse, some one recognising the rider as our old friend Caingey Thornton. " And look who comes here ? " whispers Miss Jawleyford to her sister, as Mr. Sponge, having accomplished a mount without derange- ment of temper, rides Hercules quietly past the stand, his whip-hand resting on his thigh, and his head turned to his fair companion on the white. "Oh, the wretch! " sneers Miss Amelia; and the fair sisters look at Lucy and then at him with the utmost disgust. Mr. Sponge may now be doubled up by half a dozen falls ere either of them would suggest the propriety of having him bled. Lucy's cheeks are rather blanched with the " pale cast of thought," for she is not sufficiently initiated in the mysteries of steeple-chasing 'to know that it is often quite as good for a man to lose as to win, which it had just been quietly arranged between Sponge and Buckram should be the case on this occasion, Buckram having got uncommonly " well on" to the losing tune. Perhaps, however, Lucy was thinking of the peril, not the profit of the thing. The young ladies on the stand eye her with mingled feelings of pity and disdain, while the elderly ones shake their heads, call her a bold hussy — declare she's not so pretty — adding that they " wouldn't have come if they'd known," &c. &c. But it is half past two (an hour and a half after time), and there is at last a disposition evinced by some of the parties to go to the post. Broad-backed partycoloured jockeys are seen converging that way, and the betting-men close in, getting more and more clamorous for odds. What a hubbub ! How they bellow! How they roar! A universal deafness seems to have come over the whole of them. 418 mr. sponge's sporting tour. " Seven to one 'gain the Bart. ! " screams one — " I'll take eight ! " roars another. " Five to one agen Herc'les! " cries a third — " Done ! " roars a fourth. " Twice over ! " rejoins the other — " Done ! " replies the taker. " Ar'll take five to one agin the Daddy ! " — " I'll lay six ! " " What'll any one lay 'gin Parvo ? " And so they raise such an uproar that the squeak, squeak, squeak of the " Devil among the tailors," is hardly heard. Then, in a partial lull the voice of Lord Scamperdale rises, exclaiming, " Oh, you hideous Hobgoblin, bull-and-mouth of a boy ! you think, because I'm a lord, and can't swear, or use coarse language " And again the hubbub, led on by the " Devil among the tailors," drowns the exclamations of the speaker. It's that Pacey again ; he's accusing the virtuous Mr. Spraggon of handing his extra weight to Lord Scamperdale ; and Jack, in the full consciousness of injured guilt, intimates that the blood of the Spraggons won't stand that — that there's " only one way of settling it, and he'll be ready for Pacey half an hour after the race." At length the horses are all out — one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen — fifteen of them, moving about in all directions ; some taking an up- gallop, others a down : some a spicy trot, others walking to and fro ; while one has still his muzzle on, lest he should unship his rider and eat him ; and another's groom follows, imploring the mob to keep off his heels if they don't want their heads in their hands. The noisy bell at length summons the scattered forces to the post, and the variegated riders form into as good a line as circumstances will allow. Just as Mr. Sponge turns his horse's head Lucy hands him her little silver sherry-flask, which our friend drains to the dregs. As he returns it, with a warm pressure of her soft hand, a pent-up flood of tears burst their bounds, and suffuse her lustrous eyes. She turns away to hide her emotion; at the same instant a wild shout rends the air — " W-h-i-r-rf They're off!" Thirteen get a way, one turns tail, and our friend in the Lincoln green is left performing a pas seid, asking the rearing horse, with an oath, if he thinks "he stole him ?" while the mob shout and roar; and one wicked wag, in coaching parlance, advises him to pay the difference, and get inside. But what a display of horsemanship is exhibited by the flyers ! Tongs comes off at the first fence, the horse making straight for a pond, while the rest rattle on in a mass. The second fence is small, out there's a ditch on the far side, and Pusher and Gander severally mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 419 measure their lengths on the rushy pasture beyond. Still there are ten left, and nobody ever reckoned upon these getting to the far end. "Master wins, for a 'undrd ! " exclaims Leather, as getting into the third field, Mr. Sponge takes a decided lead ; and Lucy, encouraged by the sound, looks up, and sees her " white jacket " throwing the dry fallow in the faces of the field. " Oh, how I hope he ivill ! " exclaims she, clasping her hands, with upturned eyes ; but when she ventures on another look, she sees old Spraggon drawing upon him, Hangallows's flaming red jacket not far off, and several others nearer than she liked. Still the tail was beginning to form. Another fence, and that a big one, draws it out. A striped jacket is down, and the horse, after a vain effort to rise, sinks lifeless on the ground. On they go, all the same ! Loud yells of exciting betting burst from the spectators, and Buckram gets well on for the cross. There are now five in front — Sponge, Spraggon, Hangallows, Boville, and another ; and already the pace begins to tell. It wasn't possible to run it at the rate they started. Spraggon makes a desperate effort to get the lead ; and Sponge, seeing Boville handy, pulls his horse, and lets the light-weight make play over a rough, heavy fallow with the chestnut. Jack spurs and flogs, and grins and foams at the mouth. Thus they get half round the oval course. They are now directly in front of the hill, and the spectators gaze with intense anxiety ; — now vociferating the name of this horse, now of that; now shouting " Red jacket ! " now " White ! " while the blind fiddler perseveres with the old melody of — " The Devil among the Tailors." " Now they come to the brook ! " exclaims Leather, who has been over the ground ; and as he speaks, Lucy distinctly sees Mr. Sponge's gather and effort to clear it ; and — oh, horror ! — the horse falls — -he's down — no, he's up ! — and her lover's in his seat again ; and she flatters herself it was her sherry that saved him. Splash ! — a horse and rider duck under ; three get over ; two go in ; now another clears it, and the rest turn tail. What splashing and screaming, and whipping and spurring, and how hopeless the chance of any of them to recover their lost ground. The race is now clearly between five. Now for the wall ! It's five feet high, built of heavy blocks, and strong in the staked-out part, As he nears it, Jack sits well back, getting Daddy Longlegs well by the head, and giving him a refresher with the whip. It is Jack's last move ! His horse comes, neck and croup, over, rolling Jack up like a ball of worsted on the far side. At the same moment, Multnm-in- Parvo goes at it full tilt; and, not rising an inch, sends Captain Bo- ville flying one way, his saddle another, himself a third, and the stones all ways. Mr. Sponge then slips through, closely followed by Han- gallows and a jockey in yellow, with a tail of three after them. They 420 MR. sponge's sporting tour. then put on all the steam they can raise over the twenty-acre pasture that follows. The white ! — the red ! — the yaller ! The red ! — the white ! — the yaller ! and anybody's race ! A sheet would cover them ! — crack ! whack ! crack ! how they flog ! Hercules springs at the sound. Many of the excited spectators begin hallooing, and straddling, and working their arms, as if their gestures and vociferations would assist the race. Lord Scamperdale stands transfixed. He is staring through his silver spectacles at the awkwardly lying ball that repre- sents poor Spraggon. " By Heavens ! " exclaims he, in an undertone to himself, " / be- lieve he's killed/ " And thereupon he swung down the stand-stairs, rushed to his horse, and clapping spurs to his sides, struck across the country to the spot. Long before he got there the increased uproar of the spectators announced the final struggle ; and, looking over his shoulder, he saw white jacket hugging his horse home, closely followed by red, and shooting past the winning-post. " Dash that Mr. Sponge ! " growled his lordship, as the cheers of the winners closed the scene. " The brute's won, in spite of him ! " gasped Buckram, turning deadly pale at the sight. CHAPTER LXIX. HOW OTHER THINGS CAME OFF. 'Twere hard to say whether Lucy's joy at Sponge's safety, or Lord Scamperdale's grief at poor Spraggon's death, was most overpower- ing. Each found relief in a copious flood of tears. Lucy sobbed and laughed, and sobbed and laughed again ; and seemed as if her little heart would burst its bounds. The mob, ever open to sentiment — especially the sentiment of beauty — cheered and shouted as she rode with her lover from the winning to the weighing-post. " A', she's a bonny un ! " exclaimed a countryman, looking in- tently up in her face. " She is that ! " cried another doing the same. " Three cheers for the lady ! " shouted a tall Shaggyford rough, taking off his woolly cap, and waving it. " Hoo-rtxj ! Jwo-r&y ! hoo-rixj I " shouted a group of flannel-clad navvies. " Three for white jacket ! " then roared a blue-coated butcher, who had won as many half-crowns on the race. — Three cheers were #ivcn for the unwilling winner. mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 421 " Oh, my poor dear Jack ! " exclaimed his lordship, throwing himself off his horse, and wringing his hands in despair, as a select party of thimble-riggers, who had gone to Jack's assistance, raised him up, and turned his ghastly face, with his eyes squinting inside out, and the foam still on his mouth, full upon him. " Oh, my poor dear Jack ! " repeated his lordship, sinking on his kness beside him, and grasping his stiffening hand as he Spoke. His lordship sunk over- powered upon the body. The thimble-riggers then availed themselves of the opportunity to ease his lordship and Jack of their watches and the few shillings they had about them, and departed. When a lord is in distress, consolation is never long in coming ; and Lord Scamperdale had hardly got over the first paroxysms of grief, and gathered up Jack's cap and the fragments of his spectacles, ere Jawleyford, who had noticed his abrupt departure from the stand, and scurry across the country, arrived at the spot. His lordship was still in the full agongy of woe ; still grasping and bedewing Jack's cold hand with his tears. " Oh, my dear Jack ! Oh, my dear Jawleyford ! Oh, my dear Jack ! " sobbed he, as he mopped the fast-chasing tears from his grizzly cheeks with a red cotton kerchief. " Oh, my dear Jack. Oh, my dear Jawleyford ! Oh, my dear Jack ! " repeated he, as a fresh flood spread o'er the rugged surface. " Oh, what a tr-reasure, what a tr — tr — trump he was. Shall never get such another. Nobody could s — s — lang a fi — fi — field as he could ; no hu — hu — humbug 'bout him — never was su — su — such a fine natural bl — bl — black- guard ; " and then his feelings wholly choked his utterance as he recollected how easily Jack was satisfied ; how he could dine off tripe and cow-heel, mop up fat porridge for breakfast, and never grumbled at being put on a bad horse. , The news of a man being killed soon reached the hill, and drew the attention of the mob from our hero and heroine, causing such a spread of population over the farm as must have been highly gratify- ing to Scourgefield, who stood watching the crashing of the fences and the demolition of the gates, thinking how he was paying his landlord off. Seeing the rude, unmannerly character of the mob, Jawleyford got his lordship by the arm, and led him away towards the hill, his lordship reeling, rather than walking, and indulging in all sorts of wild incoherent cries and lamentations. " Sing out, Jack ! sing out ! " he would exclaim, as if in the agony of having his hounds ridden over ; then checking himself, he would shake his head and say, " Ah, poor Jack, poor Jack ! shall never look upon his like again — shall never get such a man to read the riot-act, and keep all square." And then a fresh gush of tears suffused his grizzly face. 422 MR. sponge's sporting tour. The minor casualties of those few butchering spasmodic moments may be briefly dismissed, though they were more numerous than most sportsmen see out hunting in a lifetime. One horse broke his back, another was drowned, Multum-in-Par- vo was cut all to pieces, his rider had two ribs and a thumb broken, while Farmer Slyfield's stack-yard was fired by some of the itinerant tribe, and all its uninsured contents destroyed — so that his landlord was not the only person that suffered by the grand occasion. Nor was this all, for Mr. Numboy, the coroner, hearing of Jack's death, held an inquest on the body ; and, having empanneled a mat- ter of-fact jury — men who did not see the advantage of steeple-chas- ing, either in a political, commercial, agricultural, or national point of view, and who, having surveyed the line, and found nearly every fence dangerous, and the wall and brook doubly so, returned a verdict of manslaughter against Mr. Viney for setting it out, who was forth- with committed to the county gaol of Limbo Castle for trial at the ensuing assizes, from whence let us join the benevolent clerk of ar- raigns in wishing him a good deliverance. Many of the hardy " tips " sounded the loud trump of victory, proclaiming that their innumerable friends had feathered their nests through their agency ; but Peeping Tom, and Infallible Joe, and Enoch Wriggle, the " offending soul," &c, found it convenient to bolt from their respective establishments, carrying with them their large fire-screens, camp-stools, and boards for posting up their lists, and setting up in new names in other quarters ; while the Hen Angel was shortly afterwards closed, and the presentation-tureen made into "white soup." So much for the " small deer." We will now devote a concluding chapter to the " great guns " of our story. CHAPTER LXX. HOW LORD SCAMPERDALE AND CO. CAME OFF. Our noble master's nerves were so dreadfully shattered by the lamentable catastrophe to poor Jack, that he stepped, or rather was pushed, into Jawleyford's carriage almost insensibly, and driven from the course to Jawleyford Court. There he remained sufficiently long for Mrs. Jawleyford to per- suade him that he would be far better married, and that either of her amiable daughters would make him a most excellent wife. His lordship, after very mature consideration, and many most scrutinising MR. sponge's sporting tour. 423 stares at both of them through his formidable spectacles, wondering which would be the least likely to ruin him — at length decided upon taking Miss Emily, the youngest, though for a long time the victory was doubtful, and Amelia practised her " Scamperdale " singing with unabated ardour and confidence up to the last. We believe, if the truth were known, it was a slight touch of rouge, that Amelia thought would clench the matter, that decided his lordship against her. Emily, we are happy to say, makes him an excellent wife, and has not got her head turned by becoming a countess. She has improved his lordship amazingly, got him smart new clothes, and persuaded him to grow bushy whiskers right down under his chin, and is now feeling her way to a pair of mustaches. Woodmansterne is quite another place. She has marshalled a proper establishment, and got him coaxed into the long put-a-way company rooms. Though he still indulges in his former cow-heel and other delicacies, they do not appear upon table ; while he sports his silver-mounted specs on all occasions. The fruit and venison are freely distributed, and we have come in for a haunch in return for our attentions. Best of all, Lady Scamperdale has got his lordship to erect a handsome marble monument to poor Jack, instead of the cheap country stone he intended. The inscription states that it was erected by Samuel, Eighth Earl of Scamperdale, and Viscount Hardup, in the Peerage of Ireland, to the Memory of John Spraggon, Esquire, the best of Sportsmen, and the firmest of Friends. Who or what Jack was, nobody ever knew, and as he only left a hat and eighteen pence behind him, no next of kin has as yet cast up. 'Jawleyford has not stood the honour of the Scamperdale alliance quite so well as his daughter ; and when our " amazin' instance of a pop'lar man," instigated perhaps by the desire to have old Scamp for a brother-in-law, oifered to Amelia, Jaw got throaty and consequen- tial, hemmed and hawed, and pretended to be stiff about it. Puff, however, produced such weighty testimonials, as soon exercised their wonted influence. In due time Puff very magnanimously proposed uniting his pack with Lord Scamperdale's, dividing the expense of one establishment between them, to which his lordship readily as- sented, advising Puff to get rid of Bragg by giving him the hounds, which he did ; and that great sporting luminary may be seen " s-c-e-u-s-e "-ing himself, and offering his service to masters of hounds any Monday at Tattersall's — though he still prefers a "qual- ity place." Benjamin Buckram, the gentleman with the small independence of his own, we are sorry to say has gone to the " bad." Aggravated by the loss he sustained by his horse winning the steeple-chase, he made an ill-advised onslaught on the cath-box of the London ami AVestminster Bank ; and at three score years and ten, this distin- 18* 424 mr. sponge's sporting tour. guished u turfite," who had participated with impunity in nearly all the great robberies of the last forty years, was doomed to transporta- tion. And yet we have seen this cracksman captain — for he, too, was a captain at times — jostling and bellowing for odds among some of the highest and noblest of the land ! Leather has descended to the cab-stand, of which he promises to be a distinguished ornament. He haunts the Piccadilly stands, and has what he calls " 'stablish'd a raw" on Mr. Sponge to the extent of three-and-sixpence a week, under threats of exposing the robbery Sponge committed on our friend Mr. Waffles. That volatile genius, we are happy to add, is quite well, and open to the attentions of any young lady who thinks she can tame a wild young man. His financial affairs are not irretrievable. And now for the hero and heroine of our tale. The Sponges — for our friend married Lucy shortly after the steeple-chase — stayed at Nonsuch House until the bailiffs walked in. Sir Harry then bolted to Boulogne, where he shortly afterwards died, and Bugles very properly married my lady. They are now living at Wands- worth; Mr. Bugles and Lady Scattercash, very " much thought of" — as Bugles says, Although Mr. Sponge did not gain as much by winning the steeple-chase as he would have done had Hercules allowed him to lose it, he still did pretty well ; and being at length starved out of Nonsuch House, he arrived at his old quarters, the Bantam, in Bond Street, where he turned his attention very seriously to providing for Lucy and the little Sponge, who had now issued its prospectus. He thought over all the ways and means of making money without capital, rejecting Australia and California as unfit for sportsmen and men fond of their " Moggs." Professional steeple-chasing Lucy de- cried, declaring she would rather return to her flag-exercises at Astley's, as soon as she was able, than have her dear Sponge risking his neck that way. Our friend at length began to fear fortune- making was not so easy as he thought — indeed, he was soon sure of it. One day as he was staring vacantly out of the Bantam cofl'ee- room window, between the gilt labels " Hot Soups " and " Dinners," he was suddenly seized with a fit of virtuous indignation at the dis- reputable frauds practised by unprincipled adventurers on the unwary public, in the way of betting-offices, and resolved that he would be the St. George to slay this great dragon of abuse. Accordingly, after due consultation with Lucy, he invested his all in fitting up and decorating the splendid establishment in Jermyn Street, St. James's, now known as the SroNGE Cigar and Betting Booms, whose rich- ness neither pen nor pencil can do justice to. We must, therefore, entreat our readers to visit this emporium of honesty, where, in addition to finding lists posted on all the great mr. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 425 events of the day, they can have the use of a " Mogg " while they indulge in one of Lucy's unrivalled cigars; and noblemen, gentle- men, and officers in the household troops, may be accommodated with loans on their personal security to any amount. We see by Mr. Sponge's last advertisements that he has £116,300 to lend at three- and-a-half per cent ! " What a farce," we fancy we hear some enterprising youngster exclaim, — " what a farce, to suppose that such a needy scamp as Mr. Sponge, who has been cheating everybody, has any money to lend, or to pay bets with if he loses ! " Eight, young gentleman, right ; but not a bit greater farce than to suppose that any of the plausible money-lenders, or infallible " tips " with whom you, per- haps, have had connection have any either, in case it's called for. Nay, bad as he is, we'll back old Soapey to be better than any of them, — with which encomium we most heartily bid him Adieu. the END. Ladies' Self-Instructor in Fancy Needlework. MRS. STEPHENS' PORTFOLIO r ART II Profusely Illustrated with over 400 Engravings, many occupying a full page, printed in different colors. In one royal quarto volume. Fancy boards gilt, price S3. 50; in muslin, $3.90; on very heavy paper, elegantly bound in full gilt extra, for pre- sentation, $3.00. Containing Designs and more full instructions than any other work, for Crochet Knittings Applique, ISraidwork, Straw-work, Bugle and Bead-work, Darned Netted-work, Potchimanie, Embroidery, Wax Modeling, Fruits and Flowers in Wax, Feather Flowers, Painting: on Velvet, Sec, Together with beautiful patterns for Patchwork ; also numerous Pat- terns printed in colors, for L.mbroidery, Slippers, Veils, Under Gar- ments, &c. Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, the accomplished authoress, in her preface to this valuable and most comprehensive work, says : — "In arranging this PORTFOLIO OF FANCY NEEDLEWORK, the most beau- tiful designs that could be obtained at home and abroad have beeu given ; and it is impossible for any lady to desire a design, for fancy work in its various branches, which will not be found in these pages. •• It will not be difficult for a new beginner to instruct herself entirely from this book, in any branch of the art ; for the directions are so concise and simple, that a person cannot fail to comprehend them almost at a glance. '• Being the first work of the kind published in America, wherein all branches of Needlework have been considered and illustrated, it must be welcome to every ^ork-table, both from its beauty and usefulness." From the New York Tribune. '' This richly illustrated volume is the first work of the kind ever published In America. It im- parts instruction on the subject of Needlework of essential value to the learner, with designs that must prove a very desirable acqui.sion to every lady vrho cultivates a taste of embroidery. It pre- sents the most beautiful patterns tliut could be obtained at home or abroad, giving every design in the various branches of fancy work which any lady could desire. The explanatory directions are so concise and simple that they can be comprehended at a glance, enabling the new beginner to instruct herself in every branch of the art without other aid. The volume is issued in a style of sumptuous beauty, and is well adapted to ornament the drawing room table." From the Home Journal, New York. " We can hardly enumerate the different kinds of knitting, netting, and needlework illustrated in these broad, white pages. Scarcely a fancy article known to the work t.ible is absent. Collars, cuffs, watch cases, cushions, point lace, embroidery, leather work, wax flowers and fruit— in sbort a world of beautiful designs, illustrate the work. Every page is illuminated with some beautiful de- sign, accompanied with directions so minute and clear, of the way in which these things are con- structed, that the study to a feminine learner, is as easy, we are told, as the alphabet. Indepen- dent of its usefulness, the book is a suon, »o tilted for the table of an elegant woman, so exquisitely artistic, and arranged in all its parts, that some of the more expensive kinds might be coveted for their elegance alone, even if they had no other object." STRINGER & TOWNSEND, Publishers, 222 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. f£7- For sale by all the principal Booksellers throughout the country. N. B.— Mailed by the Publishers. Vrf.k or Postagk. on reception of the price. ALEXANDRE DUMAS' GREAT WORK. THE CONSCKIPT; A Tale of the Empire. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS. In one beautiful 12mo. vol. of over 400 pages. Price $1. Since the appearance of " The Count of Monte Cristo," the author has written no work equal to this in brilliancy and power. It is essentially a story of peas ant life. All the phases of existance in the cottage-homes of France ; the domes- tic misery produced by the conscription and the terrors of the dreadful campaign of the first invasion of France, terminating in the first occupation of Paris by the Allies, the terrible hattles in the east of France, and the arrival of Napoleon like a thunderbolt to disturb the brief triumph of Absoluteism are most graphically por" trayed. Since de Saintine and Chateaubriand's romances, nothing superior has been written in the French language. EDITORIAL OPINIONS. From the Commercial Advertiser. " The present work is quite worthy of the translator's remark, that ' since the appear- ance of Picciola this is one of the most chaste, and at the same time most interesting stories, which have been printed in the French language.' The original title was ' dieu et diable : conscience l' innocent ;' but the translator has taken the liberty to give the story a name, which, while it is equally applicable, is more consultant with American ideas of propriety. No novel of greater power to' attract and retain attention has been laid on our table for some time." From the Charleston Mercury. " The story is one of the most touching of all the author's productions. Taking the Empire of Napoleon, as it was, hovering on the verge of its final catastrophe, it exhibits the terrible exactions of war on the peasantry, in their extremest form. The characters are lowly, but full of interest." From the Home Journal. " The scene of the tale lies chiefly in a French village, during the last years of Bona- § aire's reign, and the actors are nearly all of the peasant class— simple, earnest characters — rawn with the skill of an artist, and abounding in traits of pine, natural life. It presents a most delightful picture of rural life in France. The volume is full of incident and adventure." From the Hartford C our ant. " This novel, of the prolific French author, is, as usual, exciting, and intensely inte- resting. It describes the life of a conscript under the Empire of Napoleon, and is a good picture of the period." From the New- York Tribune. " It is free from the peculiar features which vitiate so large a portion of the lighter French literature, and may safely be recommended for family reading." From the Cleveland Plain Dealer. "'The Conscript' is a novel marked on every page with the characteristics of this great writer. It is a story of the times of the great Napoleon, and full of interesting in- cidents connected with the camp and battle-field." STRINGER & TOWNSEND, Publishers, No. 222 BROADWAY, NEW-YORK. And for sale by all the principal Booksellers. N. B. — Mailed Free of Postage on reception of the price. SAM SLICK'S YANKEE COURTSHIP. RECENTLY PUBLISHED, WISE SAWS; OR, SAM SLICK IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. By the Author of "Sana Sliek the Clockmaker," " The Old Judge," &c In One Elegant Volume, neatly bound in Muslin ; Price 75 Cts. — in Paper 50 Cts. Extract from tfte preface : * * * * Pun has no limits. It is like the human race and face ; there is a family likeness among all the species, but they all differ. New combinations pro duce new varieties. A man who has an eye for fun sees it in everything. * * * There is a work called ' The Horse.' and another ' The Cow,' and ' The Dog,' and so en ; why should'nt there be one on c The Galls V They are about the most diifi cult to choose and to manage of any created critter, and yet there aint any de- pendable directions about pickin' and choosin' of them. Is it any wonder then so , many fellows get taken in when they go for to swap hearts with them ? Besides; a»y one can find a gentleman that keeps a livery stable to get him a horse to order b it who can say, ; This is the Gall for your money!5 " fntioductory Letter, Chat with the President, Stealing a Speech, Everything in General, and Nothing in Particular, The Black Hawk: or Life in a Fore-and-After, Old Blowhaid, The Widow's Son, The Language oi Mackeiel, The Best-natured Man ia the World, CONTENTS. The Bait-Box, The Water-Glass; or a Day- Dream of Life, Old Sarsaparilla Pills, Our Colonies and Sailors, The House that Hope Built The House without Hope, An Old Friend with a New Face, Chat in a Calm, The Sable Island Ghost, The Witch of Eskisoony, Jericho beyond Jordan, Three Truths for One Li«, Aunt Thankful & herRoom A Single Idea, An Excellent Plan of Re- form. Goose Van Dam, A Hot Day, A Pic-Nic at La H?ir« A Narrow Escape. Published by STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 222 Broadway, N. *. Jlnifor sale by all the princinal Booksellers. SAM SLICK'S NEW WORK. " Buy it, and if you don't laugh, then there is no lau;?h in you."— Ohio Statesman JUST PUBLISHED, NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE A Sequel to " \\i\e Saws ; or, Sam Slick in Search of a Wile," BY JUDGE HALII5URTOIV, Sutfior of "Sam Slick, tfje Clockmaker," " ©in Sirtjffe," &c, *r. Neatly bound in Muslin, 75 cents ; in Paper, 50 cents. CONTENTS. Femalo Colleges. G-ipsoying. The World before tho Flocd. Lost at Sea- Holding up the Mirror. The Bundle of Sticks. Town and Country." The Honeymoon. A Dish of Clams. The Devil's Hole ; or, Fish and Flesh. The Cucumber Lake. The Recall. A Surprise. Clippers and Steamers. Unlocking a Woman's Pleart. A Critter with a Thousand Vir- tues and but One Vice. A New Way to Learn Gaelic. The Wounds of the Heart. Fiddling and Dancing, and Serv- ing the Devil Stitching a Button-Hole. The Plural of Moore. A Day on the Lakes. The Betrothal. A Foggy Night. | NOTICES OF THE PRESS. "The writings of Judge Ilaliburton have long been regarded as the production of the finest humorist that has ever attempted the delineation of Yankee charac- ter, and the entertaining work before us shows that he has lost none of his original wit and humor. It will be difficult to find a volume so full of fun and good sense as thi 5, which chronicles the last experiences of Sam Slick." — Commercial Advertiser '•'■ Since Sam Slick's first work he has written nothing so fresh, racy, and genu inely humorous as this. Every line of it tells, some way or other — instructively, satirically, jocosely or wittily."— London Observer. '• We sincerely pity the man WHO cannot nnci in it ttie materials for tho loosen- ing of several of his coffin nails. It is full of oddity aud fun, and must sell liko new tomatoes." — Buffalo Express. Published by STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 222 Broadway, N. Y. And for sale by all the principal Booksellers. J&g*Persons forwarding tin- prick by mail will receive the JVvrk Frbi BF Postage. -g" ZE'TTIKr FOR "3?X3:23 IVEXXjXjXOZLNT ! AND OTHER COMICALITIES. FROM "PUNCH." Ail endless feast of FUN, HUMOR k SUNSHINE, for the benefit of the Dyspeptic. Containing eight, full-page, Fine Tinted Engravings, from original designs, by McLellan, together with numerous Illustrations, drawn by Phiz, Cru.iksh.ank, Crowquill, and others ; making an elegant large volume of 600 pages. Neatly bound in muslin, Price $1,25. Punch baa made its mark on the age, and has done more for the wit and hu- mor of the nineteenth century than all the other periodicals published in Europe. From the start, Punch has been conducted with the most consummate ability. Among the writers who have sparkled on its pages are the names of HOOD, DICKENS, THACKERAY, MARK LEMON & DOUGLAS JERROLD. These writers have produced a series of papers which will endure as long as the language. Their humor does not take the shape of ephemeral jokes, but is so interwoven with good sense, that every laugh may be looked upon as a sermon in disguise. From the matter furnished by these authors, the publishers of " Our Honey- moon " have selected a series of articles which cannot do otherwise than meet the approval of every person who is at all sensitive to the humanizing effects of well directed ridicule. '' Fools have a greater dread of laughter than of law." — From each of these celebrated humorists has been made such a selection as would best convey to the reader an idea of his style and peculiarity. The first article'- Our Honeymoon," is peculiarly adapted to the wants of such of the rising generation as contemplate white vests and matrimony, yellow kids, and a month's sojourn at the Rockaway Pavillion. The " Complete Let- ter Writer" is a humorous production of the highest merit; with this for an aid, epistles may be written on all subjects, from the death of a bereaved creditor to the elopement of a kitchen maid. " Horace Fitzjersey's Experience" is full of " rich, racy and rollicking" fun and wit The "Heathen Mythology" ntroduces us to the ' upper circles,' to gods, goddesses and godlings — Jove, Juno Venus, Mars, Vulcan and his blacksmith's shop. This portion of the work ia written with the most surpassing ability— the wit running through it making it a model in every respect. The praise bestowed on the Mythology can be given with equal propriety to each of the other laughter provoking productions, particularly "The Labors of Hercules,"— it abounds in the richest humor, and is one et those exquisite drolleries- that not one man in a million could have produced.-- "Our Honeymoon and Other Comicalities" will be found, withou' exception Ihe most taking book that has been publifhed in the United States. STRINGER & TOWNSEND, Publishers, 222 Broadway, New York, And for sale by all BookssUeis. Jr*tt& im$Uxf$ Sprtsman's f itag. " Great in mouths of wisest censure." Frank Forester's Field Sports Of the United States, and British Provinces of North America. With Engravings of every species of Game, drawn from Nature, by th« Author. By Henry "William Herbert, Esq. 2 vols. 8vo., ele- gantly bound in cloth gilt. — Price $4. The Fourth Edition revised, with many additional Engravings, and valuable information. " 'Frank Forester's Field Sports' is a book which we venture to predict tl>* •portsman will hereafter swear by." — C. F. Hoffman, in Literary World. " Here we have all the learning touching the game of the country happily compressed, with the fruits of the observation of an enthusiastic sportsman." — Jf. 0. Picayune. Frank Forester's Fish and Fishing. Illustrated from Nature by the Author, Henry William Herbert, Esq., Author of " Field Sports," &c. 1 volume, handsomely bound in cloth.— Price $3. This edition has been entirely revised, and much valuable information added, together with the Supplementary Volume, heretofore issued in a separate form ; and Twenty Additional li'mbellishments, making in all nearly One Hundred highly finished Engravings, with a carefully engraved Steel Plate of Twen- ty-four elegantly coloeed Flies, making the most attractive pictorial volume that has appeared in this country, "equal in value and interest alike to the Sportsman and Naturalist," and forming a standard work on the subject ol Angling. " This is the third edition, revised and corrected, of a favorite work, and is brought out in the finest mechanical style. It is enriched with a great number of admirable illustrations, and also witk eighty pages of valuable supplementary matter. The engravings are most excellent^ and we deem it impossible to have a more complete work."— Spirit of the Times, " It is the most authentic work on Fishes yet produced in this country, and deserves a place in the library of the man of science and pleasure, by the side of Old Walton and Tarrel." — Newark Daily Advertiser. The Sportsman's Vade Mecum. By "Dinks." Edited by Frank Forester. Containing fall Instruc- tions in all that relates to the Breeding, Bearing, Breaking, Kennel- ing, and Conditioning of Dogs. With Remarks on Guns — their Loading and Carriage, designed for the Use of Young Sportsmen. Illustrated with Engravings. Bound in red cloth. — Price G2 cents. "This book contains full instructions for breeding, breaking, and keeping of •porting dogs, and many valuable recipes will be found in it for the prevention or cure of diseases to which the dogs are subject. "We commend it to our 6portinf readers." — Spirit of the Times. The Warwick Woodlands ; Or, Things as they were Twenty Years Ago. By Erank Forester, New Edition of these popular Sporting Scenes, elegantly illustrated. Muslin, 75 cents ; paper, 50 cents. STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 222 Broadway, New-York. W*8ter fiamRy Library of Veterinary Metfdne OummfeigB School of Veterinary Medicine at Tufts University 200 Westboro Road North Grafton MA 015^B ii:l n 11111 iiii Si '■a ■ft 1 ;■:■;;;;*:■;;;.!