290 MP. SPONGE'S SPORTING- TOUR. 



writing;, he had accumulated 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 out- 

 houses, were crowded with others in a state of deshabille. He 

 calculated his stock at immense worth, 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 emi- 

 nent 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 mole- 

 skins 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 Crowdey did in Mr. Sponge's. In truth, Jogglebury 

 was one of those unsportsmanlike 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 pro- 

 cure 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 forahanclle, out of countenance. 



" What for, Jog ? Why, can't you guess ? " 



" No," replied Jog, doggedly. 



" No ! " ejaculated his spouse. " Why, Jog, you certainly arc 

 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. 



