400 ME. SPONGE'S SPOETING TOUE. 



a hunt. They are not very particular as to style, so long as there 

 are a certain number of hounds, and some men in scarlet, to blow 

 their horns, halloo, and crack their whips. 



The population, especially the risiug population about Nonsuch 

 House, all inclined that way. A New- Year's Day's hunt with Sir 

 Harry had long been looked forward to by the little Raws, and 

 the little Spooneys, and the big and little Cheeks, and we don't 

 know how many others. Nay, it had been talked of by the elder 

 boys at their respective schools — we beg pardon, academies — 

 Doctor Switchington's, Mr. Latherington's, Mrs. Skelpers, and a 

 liberal allowance of boasting indulged in, as to how they would 

 show each other the way over the hedges and ditches. The thing 

 had long been talked of. Old Johnny Raw had asked Sir Harry 

 to arrange the day so long ago, that Sir Harry had forgotten all 

 about it. Sir Harry was one of those good-natured souls who 

 can't say " No " to any one. If anybody had asked if they might 

 set fire to his house, he would have said, 



" Oh, (hiccup) certainly, my dear (hiccup) fellow, if it will give 

 you any (hiccup) pleasure." 



Now, for the hiccup day. 



It is generally a frost on New- Year's Day ; — however wet and 

 sloppy the weather may be up to the end of the year, it generally 

 turns over a new leaf on that day. New- Year's Day is generally 

 a bright, bitter, sunshiny day, with starry ice, and a most 

 decided anti-hunting feeling about it — light, airy, ringy, anything 

 but cheery for hunting. 



Thus it was in Sir Harry Scattercash's county. Having smoked 

 and drank the old year out, the captains and company retired to 

 their couches without thinking about hunting. Mr. Sponge, 

 indeed, was about tired of asking when the hounds would be going 

 out. It was otherwise, however, with the rising generation, who 

 were up betimes, and began pouring in upon Nonsuch House in 

 every species of garb, on every description of steed, by every line 

 and avenue of approach. 



" Halloo ! what's up now ? " exclaimed Lady Scattercash, as 

 she caught view of the first batch rounding the corner to the 

 front of the house. 



"Who have we here?" asked Miss Glitters, as a ponderous, 

 party-coloured clown, on a great, curly-coated cart-horse, brought 

 up the rear. 



" Early callers," observed Captain Seedcybuck, eating away 

 complacently. 



"Friends of Mr. Sponge's, most likely," suggested Captain 

 Quod. 



"Some of the little Sponge's come to see their pa, p'raps," lisped 

 Miss Howard, pretending to be shocked after she had said it. 



