MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 125 



rein, as if he was on the soundest, freshest-legged horse in the 

 world ; " oh no ! my horses are used to it." 



"Well, but if you mean to hunt him," observed Sponge, " he'll 

 be blown before he gets to cover." 



"Get him in wind, my dear follow," replied Jawleyford, "get 

 him in wind," touching the horse with the spur as he spoke. 



" Faith, but if he was as well on his legs as he is in his wind, 

 he'd not be amiss," rejoined Sponge. 



So they cantered and trotted, and trotted and cantered away, 

 Sponge thinking he could afford pace as well as Jawleyford. 

 Indeed, a horse has only to become a hack, to be able to do double 

 the work he was ever supposed to be capable of. 



But to the meet. 



Scrambleford Green was a small straggling village on the top of 

 a somewhat high hill, that divided the vale in which Jawleyford 

 Court was situated, from the more fertile one of Farthinghoe, in 

 which Lord Scamperdale lived. 



It was one of those out-of-the-way places at which the meet of 

 the hounds, and a love feast or fair, consisting of two fiddlers (one 

 for each public-house), a few unlicensed packmen, three or four 

 gingerbread stalls, a drove of cows and some sheep, form the great 

 events of the year, among a people who are thoroughly happy and 

 contented with that amount of gaiety. Think of that, you " used 

 up " young gentlemen of twenty, who have exhausted the pleasures 

 of the world ! The hounds did not come to Scrambleford Green 

 often, for it was not a favourite meet ; and when they did come, 

 Frosty and the men generally had them pretty much to themselves. 

 This day, however, was the exception ; and Old Tom Yarnley, 

 whom age had bent nearly double, and who hobbled along on two 

 sticks, declared, that never in the course of his recollection, ;i 

 period extending over the best part of a century, had he seen such a 

 " sight of red coats " as mustered that morning at Scrambleford 

 Green. It seemed as if there had been a sudden rising of sports- 

 men. What brought them all out ? What brought Mr. Puffington, 

 the master of the Hanby hounds, out ? What brought Blossom- 

 nose again ? What Mr. Wake, Mr. Fossick, Mr. Fyle, who had 

 all been out the day before ? 



Reader, the news had spread throughout the country that there 

 was a great writer down ; and they wanted to see what he would 

 say of them — they had come to sit for their portraits, in fact. 

 There was a great gathering, at least for the Flat Hat Hunt, who 

 seldom mustered above a dozen. Tom Washball came, in a fine 

 new coat and new fiat-fliped hat with a broad binding ; also Mr. 

 Sparks, of Spark Hall ; Major Mark ; Mr. Archer, of Cheam 

 Lodge ; Mr. Reeves, of Coxwell Green ; Mr. Bliss, of Boltonshaw ; 

 Mr. Joyce, of Ebstone ; Dr. Capon, of Calcot ; Mr. Dribble, of 



