ME. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 33£ 



Our friend Mr. Sponge was now engaged with a game of " pull 

 devil, pull baker," with the hounds for the fox, the difficulty of 

 his situation being heightened by having to contend with the impet- 

 uous temper of a high-couraged, dangerous horse. To be sure, the 

 gallant Hercules was a good deal subdued by the distance and 

 severity of the pace, but there are few horses that get to the end 

 of a run that have not sufficient kick left in them to do mischief 

 to hounds, especially when raised or frightened by the smell of 

 blood ; nevertheless, there was no help for it. Mr. Sponge knew,, 

 that unless he carried off some trophy, it would never be believed 

 he had killed the fox. Considering all this, and also that there 

 was no one to tell what damage he did, he just rode slap into the 

 middle of the pack, as Marksman, Furious, Thunderer, and 

 Bountiful, were in the act of despatching the fox. Singwell and 

 Saladin (puppies) having been sent away howling, the one bit 

 through the jowl, the other through the foot. 



" Ah! leave him — leave him — leave him!'''' screeched Mr. Sponge,, 

 trampling over Warrior and Tempest, the brown horse lashing out 

 furiously at Melody and Lapwing. "Ah, leave him ! leave him! " 

 repeated he, throwing himself off his horse by the fox, and clearing 

 a circle with his whip, aided by the hoofs of the animal. There 

 lay the fox before him killed, but as yet little broken by the pack. 

 He was a noble fellow ; bright and brown, in the full vigour of 

 life and condition, with a gameness, even in death, that no other 

 animal shows. Mr. Sponge put his foot on the body, and 

 quickly whipped off his brush. Before he had time to pocket 

 it, the repulsed pack broke in upon him and carried off the 

 carcass. 



" Ah ! dash ye, you may have that" said he, cutting at them 

 with his whip as they clustered upon it like a swarm of bees. 

 They had not had a wild fox for five weeks. 



" Who-hoop ! " cried Mr. Sponge, in the hopes of attracting 

 some of the field. " Who-hoop ! " repeated he, as loud as he 

 could halloo. " Where can they all be, I wonder ? " said he, 

 looking around ; and echo answered — ichere ? 



The hounds had now crunched their fox, or as much of him as 

 they wanted. Old Marksman ran about with his head, and 

 Warrior with a haunch. 



" Drop it, you old beggar ! " cried Mr. Sponge, cutting at 

 Marksman with his whip, and Mr. Sponge being too near to make 

 a trial of speed prudent, the old dog did as he was bid, and slunk 

 away. 



Our friend then appended this proud trophy to his saddle-flap 

 by a piece of whipcord, and, mounting the now tractable Hercules, 

 began to cast about in search of a landmark. Like most down 

 countries, this one was somewhat deceptive ; there were plenty of 



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