S18 MB. SPONGE'S SPOBTING TOUB. 



So saying, out he bandied, 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 

 mystery. 



'* 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 ! " 



Cut Jog was deaf — chop, chop, chop was all the answer Mr. 

 Sponge got. 



" 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," 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" 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. 



At 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 (wheeze) 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 through 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 



