284 MB. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



exertion of successive dinner-giving — above all, of bachelor dinner- 

 giving — and that too in the country, where men sit, talk, talk, talking, 

 sip, sip, sipping, and "just another bottle-ing " ; more, we believe, 

 from want of some thing else to do than from any natural inclina- 

 tion 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 newspapers (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, 

 proceeded to spell his Morning Post — Tattersall's advertisements 

 — "Grosjean's Paletots "— " Mr. Albert Smith "— " Coals, best 

 Stewart Hetton or Lambton's " — " Police intelligence " and such 

 other light reading as does not require any great effort to connect 

 or comprehend. 



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 Swilling- 

 ford paper to see that they had got his "meets" right for the next 

 week. How astonished he w r as to find the previous clay's run 

 staring him in the face, headed "Splendid Run with Mr. 

 Puffington's Hounds," in the imposing type here displayed. 

 " 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 Mr. 

 Puffington's hounds," read he again, wondering who had done it : 

 — Bardolph, 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. 



