312 MB. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



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, many, have I, three bags full ; 

 Un for ye master, un for ye dame, 

 Un for ye 'ittle boy 'ot 'uns about ye 'anc." 



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 I 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, 

 addressing 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 Spouge, eating away; "Mr. 

 Crowdey 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, went 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 briug 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' \mvre. 



Mrs. Jog was delighted, and found herself pouring the tea into 

 the sugar-basin instead of into Jog's cup. 



