358 MB. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



" Will he," said Mr. Sponge to himself, as, with throbbing hcad y 

 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 

 reiterated 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 concern. 



" 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 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." 



