422 MB. SPONGE'S SPOBTING TOUB. 



at the sheep. Some few of the line hunters were persevering with 

 the scent over the greasy ground. It was a critical moment. 

 They cast to the right, then to the left, and again took a wider 

 sweep in advance, returning however towards the sheep, as if they 

 thought them the best spec after all. 



" Put 'em to me," said Mr. Sponge, giving Miss Glitters his 

 whip ; "put 'em to me ! " said he, hallooing, " For-geot, hounds ! 

 — 1/or-geot ! " — which, being interpreted, means, " here again, 

 hounds ! — here again ! " 



" Oh, the concited beggar ! " exclaimed Mr. TVatchorn to him- 

 self, as, disappointed of his finish, he sat feeling his nose, mopping 

 his face, and watching the proceedings. " Oh, the concited 

 beggar ! " repeated he ; adding, "old 'hogany bouts is absolutely 

 a goin' to kest them." 



Cast them, however, he did, proceeding very cautiously in the 

 direction the hounds seemed to lean. They were on a piece of cold 

 scenting ground, across which they could hardly own the scent. 



"Don't hurry 'em!" cried Mr. Sponge to Miss Glitters, who 

 was acting whipper-in with rather unnecessary vigour. 



As they got under the lee of the hedge, the scent improved a 

 little, and, from an occasional feathering stern, a hound or two in- 

 dulged in a whimper, until at length they fairly broke out in a cry. 



" I'll lose a shoe," said TVatchorn to himself, looking first at the 

 formidable leap before him, and then to see if there was any one 

 coming up behind. " I'll lose a shoe," said he. " No notion of 

 lippin' of a navigable river — a downright arm of the sea," added 

 he, getting off. 



" Foricarcl ! forward ! '" screeched Mr. Sponge, capping the 

 hounds on, when away they went, heads up and sterns down as 

 before. 



" Ay, for-rard ! for-rard ! " mimicked Mr. Watchorn ; adding, 

 " you're for-rard enough, at all events." 



After running about three-quarters of a mile at best pace, Mr. 

 Sponge viewed the fox crossing a large grass field with all the 

 steam up he could raise, a few hundred yards ahead of the pack, 

 who Avcrc streaming along most beautifully, not viewing, but 

 gradually gaining upon him. At last they broke from scent to 

 view, and presently rolled him over and over among them. 



" AVho-iioop ! " screamed Mr. Sponge, throwing himself off his 

 horse and rushing in amongst them. "TVho-hoop ! " repented he, 

 still louder, holding the fox up in grim death above the baying 

 pack. 



" WJw-hoop ! '" exclaimed Miss Glitters, reining up in delight 

 alongside the chestnut. " Who-hoop ! '" repeated she, diving into the 

 saddle-pocket for her lace-fringed handkerchief. 



" Throw me my whip ! " cried Mr. Sponge, repelling the attacks 



