384 MR. SPONGE'S SPOUTING TOUR. 



of independence was gone ; for well she knew that Jog would never 

 let Sponge come back to the Bower. 



We need scarcely say that Jog was up betimes in the morning, 

 most anxious to forward Mr. Sponge's departure. He offered to 

 allow Bartholomew to convey him and his " traps " in the phaeton 

 — an offer that Mr. Sponge availed himself of as far as his " traps " 

 were concerned, though he preferred cantering over on his piebald 

 to trailing along in Jog's jingling chay. So matters were arranged, 

 and Mr. Sponge forthwith proceeded to put his brown boots, his 

 substantial cords, his superfine tights, his cuttey scarlet, his dress 

 blue saxony, his clean linen, his heavy spurs, and though last, not 

 least in importance, his now backless " Mogg," into his solid 

 leather portmanteau, sweeping the surplus of his wardrobe into a 

 capacious carpet-bag. While the guest was thus busy up-stairs, 

 the host wandered about restlessly, now stirring up this person, 

 now hurrying that, in the full enjoyment of the much-coveted 

 departure. His pleasure was, perhaps, rather damped by a running 

 commentary he overheard through the lattice-window of the stable, 

 from Leather, as he stripped his horses and tried to roll up their 

 clothing in a moderate compass. 



" (3rd rot your great carcass ! " exclaimed he, giving the roll a 

 hearty kick in its bulging-out stomach, on finding that he had not 

 got it as small as he wanted. " Ord rot your great carcass," 

 repeated he, scratching his head and eyeing it as it lay ; " this is 

 all the consequence of your nasty brewers' hapron weshins, — 

 blowin' of one out, like a bladder ! " and, thereupon, he placed his 

 hand on his stomach to feel how his own was. " Never see'd sich 

 a house, or sich an aivful mean man ! " continued he, stooping and 

 pommelling the package with his fists. It was of no use, he could 

 not get it as small as he wished — " Must have my jacket out on 

 you, I do believe," added he, seeing where the impediment was ; 

 " sticks in your gizzard just like a lump of old Puff-and-blow's 

 puddin' ;" and then he thrust his hand into the folds of the 

 clothing, and pulled out the greasy garment. " Now," said he, 

 stooping again, " I think we may manish ye ; " and he took the 

 roll in his arms and hoisted it on to Hercules, whom he meant to 

 make the led horse, observing aloud, as he adjusted it on the saddle, 

 and whacked it well with his hands to make it lie right, " I wish 

 it was old Jog — wouldn't I sarve him out! " He then turned his 

 horses round in their stalls, tucked his greasy jacket under the flap 

 of the saddle-bags, took his ash-stick from the crook, and led them 

 out of the capacious door. Jog looked at him with mingled feel- 

 ings of disgust and delight. Leather just gave his old hat flipe a 

 rap with his forefinger as he passed with the horses — a salute that 

 Jog did not condescend to return. 



Having eyed the receding horses with great satisfaction, Jog 



