50 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



might have saved his breath, for the hounds were beating him as 

 it was. Mr. Sponge bores through the same place, little aided, 

 however, by anything old Tom has done to clear the way for him, 

 and the rest follow in his wake. 



The field is now reduced to six, and two of the number, Mr. 

 Spareneck and Caingey Thornton, become marked in their atten- 

 tion to our hero. Thornton is riding Mr. Waffles' crack steeple- 

 chaser " Dare-Devil," and Mr. Spareneck is on a first-rate hunter 

 belonging to the same gentleman, but they have not been able to 

 get our friend Sponge into grief. On the contrary, his horse, 

 though lathered, goes as strong as ever, and Mr. Sponge, seeing 

 their design, is as careful of him as possible, so as not to lose 

 ground. His fine, strong, steady seat, and quiet handling, con- 

 trasts well with Thornton's rolling bucketing style, who has already 

 begun to ply a heavy cutting whip, in aid of his spurs at his fences, 

 accompanied with a half frantic "g — u — r — r — r along ! " and 

 inquires of the horse if he thinks he stole him ? 



The three soon get in front ; fast as they go, the hounds go 

 faster, and fence after fence is thrown behind them, just as a girl 

 throws her skipping-rope. 



Tom and the whips follow, grinning with their tongues in their 

 cheeks, Tom still screeching " F — o — o — o — rard ! — F — o — o — o — 

 rard ! " at intervals. 



A big stone wall, built with mortar, and coped with heavy blocks 

 of stone, is taken by the three abreast, for which they!are rewarded 

 by a gallop up Stretchfurrow pasture, from the summit of which 

 they see the hounds streaming away to a fine grass country below, 

 with pollard willows dotted here and there in the bottom. 



" Water I " says our friend Sponge to himself, wondering whether 

 Hercules would face it. A desperate black bullfinch, so thick 

 that they could hardly see through it, is shirked by consent, for a 

 gate which a countryman opens, and another fence or two being 

 passed, the splashing of some hounds in the water, and the shaking 

 of others on the opposite bank, show that, as usual, the willows 

 are pretty true prophets. 



Caingey, grinning his coarse red face nearly double, and getting 

 his horse well by the head, rams in the spurs, and flourishes his 

 cutting whip high in air, with a "g — u — u — ur along ! do you 

 think I " — the " stole you " being lost under water just as Sponge 

 clears the brook a little lower down. Spareneck then pulls up. 



When Nimrod had Dick Christian under water in the Whissen- 

 dine in his Leicestershire run, and some one more humane than 

 the rest of the field observed, as they rode on, 



"But he'll be drowned." 

 " Shouldn't wonder," exclaimed another. 



" But the ?;««>," Ximrod added, " ivas too good to inquire" 



