134 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



they are, still pressing on, though with considerably less music 

 than before. 



After rounding Newington Hill, they got into a wilder and 

 worse sort of country, among moorish, ill-cultivated land, with 

 cold unwholesome-looking fallows. The day, too, seemed changing 

 for the worse ; a heavy black cloud hanging overhead. The 

 hounds were at length brought to their noses. 



His lordship, who had been riding all eyes, ears, and fears, fore- 

 saw the probability of this ; and pulling-to his horse, held up his 

 hand, the usual signal for Jack to " sing out " and stop the field. 

 Sponge saw the signal, but, unfortunately, Hercules didn't ; and 

 tearing along with his head to the ground, resolutely bore our 

 friend not only past his lordship, but right on to where the now 

 stooping pack were barely feathering on the line. 



Then Jack and his lordship sung out together. 



"Hold hard!" screeched his lordship, in a dreadful state of 

 excitement. 



" Hold hard ! " thundered Jack. 



Sponge was holding hard — hard enough to split the horse's 

 jaws, but the beast would go on, notwithstanding. 



" By the powers, he's among 'em again ! " shouted his lordship, 

 as the resolute beast, with his upturned head almost pulled round 

 to Sponge's knee, went star-gazing on like the blind man in 

 Regent Street. " Sing out, Jack ! sing out ! for heaven's sake 

 sing out," shrieked his lordship, shutting his eyes, as he added, 

 " or he'll kill every man Jack of them." 



" Now, Sur ! " roared Jack, " can't you steer that ere aggra- 

 vatin' quadruped of yours ? " 



" Oh, you pestilential son of a pontry-maid ! " screeched his 

 lordship, as Brilliant ran yelping away from under Sponge's horse's 

 feet. " Sing out Jack ! sing out ! " gasped his lordship again. 



" Oh, you scandalous, hypocritical, rusty-booted, numb-handed 

 son of a puffing corn-cutter, why don't you turn your attention to 

 feeding hens, cultivating cabbages, or making pantaloons for 

 small folks, instead of killing hounds in this wholesale way ? " 

 roared Jack ; an enquiry that set him foaming again. 



" Oh, you unsighty, sanctified, idolatrous, Bagnigge - Wells 

 coppersmith, you think because I'm a lord, and can't swear 

 or use coarse language, that you may do what you like ; rot 

 you, sir, I'll present you with a testimonial ! I'll settle a 

 hundred a-year upon you if you'll quit the country. By 

 the powers, they're away again ! " added his lordship, who, with 

 one eye on Sponge and the other on the pack, had been watching 

 Frosty lifting them over the bad scenting-ground, till, holding 

 them on to a hedgerow beyond, they struck the scent on good 

 sound pasture, and went away at score, every hound throwing his 



