MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 55 



Thompson, of Houndesley ; Jackey Thompson, of the Mill ; and 

 all the Bobs, Bills, Sams, Harries, and Peters, composing the 

 respective litters ; — forgetting where he got it from, he nearly told 

 it back to Lotion himself. We sometimes see old people affected 

 this way — far more enthusiastic on a subject than young ones. 

 Few dread the aspect of affairs so much as those who have little 

 chance of seeing how they go. 



But to the run. The cousins reproduced the story according to 

 their respective powers of exaggeration. One tacked on two miles, 

 another ten, and so it went on and on, till it reached the ears of the 

 great Mr. Seedeyman, the mighty we of the country, as he sat in 

 his den penning his "stunners" for his market-day Mercury. It 

 had then distanced the great sea-serpent itself in length, having 

 extended over thirty-three miles of country, which Mr. Seedeyman 

 reported to have been run in one hour and forty minutes. 



Pretty good going, we should say. 



CHAPTER XI. 



THE FEELER. 



Bag fox-hunts, be they ever so good, are but unsatisfactory 

 things ; drag runs are, beyond all measure, unsatisfactory. After 

 the best-managed bag fox-hunt, there is always a sort of suppressed 

 joy, a deadly liveliness in the field. Those in the secret are afraid 

 of praising it too much, lest the secret should ooze out, and strangers 

 suppose that all their great runs are with bag foxes, while the mere 

 retaking of an animal that one has had in hand before is not cal- 

 culated to arouse any very pleasurable emotions. Nobody ever 

 goes frantic at seeing an old donkey of a deer handed back into 

 his carriage after a canter. 



Our friends on this occasion soon exhausted what they had to 

 say on the subject. 



" That's a nice horse of yours," observed Mr. Waffles to Mr. 

 Sponge, as the latter, on the strength of the musty brush, now rode 

 alongside the master of the hounds. 



"I think he is," replied Sponge, rubbing some of the now dried 

 sweat from his shoulder and neck ; " I think he is ; I like him a 

 good deal better to-day than I did the first time I rode him." 



"What, he's a new one, is he ?" asked Mr. Waffles, taking a 

 scented cigar from his mouth, and giving a steady sidelong stare 

 at the horse. 



" Bought him in Leicestershire," replied Sponge. " He belonged 



F 



