48 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



ladies in the flys, and such hearty-sounding kicks against splash 

 boards and fly bottoms, from sundry of the vicious ones in harness, 

 as never was witnessed. One gentleman, in a bran new scarlet, 

 mounted on a flourishing pie-bald, late the property of Mr. Batty, 

 stood pawing and fighting the air, as if in the saw-dust circle, his 

 unfortunate rider clinging round his neck, expecting to have the 

 beast back over upon him. Another little wiry chestnut, with 

 abundance of rings, racing martingale, and tackle generally, just 

 turned tail on the crowd and ran off home as hard as ever he could 

 lay legs to the ground ; while a good steady bay cob, with a barrel 

 like a butt, and a tail like a hearth-brush, having selected the 

 muddiest, dirtiest place he could find, deliberately proceeded to lie 

 down, to the horror of his rider, Captain Greatgun, of the royal 

 navy, who, feeling himself suddenly touch mother earth, thought 

 he was going to be swallowed up alive, and was only awoke from 

 the delusion by the shouts of the foot people, telling him to get 

 clear of his horse before he began to roll. 



Hercules would fain have joined the truant set, and, at the first 

 commotion, up went his great back, and down went his ears, with 

 a single lash out behind that meant mischief, but Mr. Sponge was 

 on the alert, and just gave him such a dig with his spurs as 

 restored order, without exposing anything that anybody could 

 take notice of. 



The sudden storm was quickly lulled. The spilt ones scrambled 

 up ; the loose riders got tighter hold of their horses ; the scream- 

 ing fair ones sunk languidly in their carriages ; and the late 

 troubled ocean of equestrians fell into irregular line en route for 

 the cover. 



Bump, bump, bump ; trot, trot, trot ; jolt, jolt, jolt ; shake, 

 shake, shake ; and carriages and cavalry got to Ribston Wood 

 somehow or other. It is a long cover on a hill-side, from which 

 parties, placing themselves in the green valley below, can see hounds 

 "draw," that is to say, run through with their noses to the ground, 

 if there are any men foolish enough to believe that ladies care for 

 seeing such things. However, there they were. 



" Eu leu, in ! " cries old Tom, with a wave of his arm, finding 

 he can no longer restrain the ardour of the pack as they approach, 

 and thinking to save his credit, by appearing to direct. " Eu leu, 

 in!" repeats he, with a heartier cheer, as the pack charge the 

 rotten fence with a crash that echoes through the wood. The 

 whips scuttle off to their respective points, gentlemen feel their 

 horses' girths, hats are thrust firmly on the head, and the sherry 

 and brandy flasks begin to be drained. 



" Tally ho ! " cries a countryman at the top of the wood, hoist- 

 ing his hat on a stick. At the magic sound, fear comes over some, 

 joy over others, intense anxiety over all. What commotion ! 



