MB. SPONGE'S SFOBTING TOUR. 347 



" ' They commonly call me the Earl of Scamperdale,' roared he, 

 ' and those are my hounds.' 



" ' They're not your hounds,' replied I. 

 " ' Whose are they, then ? ' asked he. 



" ' Sir Harry Scattercash's, a devilish deal better fellow,' 

 replied I. 



" ' Oh, by Jove ! ' roared he, ' there's an end of everything. 

 Jack,' shouted he to old Spraggon, ' this gentleman says these are 

 not my hounds ! ' 



" ' I'll tell you what it is, my lord,' said I, gathering my whip 

 and riding close up as if I was goin' to pitch into him, ' I'll tell 

 you what it is ; you think, because you're a lord, you may abuse 

 people as you like, but by Jingo you've mistaken your man. 

 I'll not put up with any of your nonsense. The Sponges are 

 as old a family as the Scamperdales, and I'll fight you any non- 

 hunting day you like with pistols, broadswords, fists, or blunder- 

 busses.' " 



" Well done you ! Bravo ! that's your sort ! " with loud thump- 

 ing of tables and clapping of hands, resounded from all parts. 



" By Jove, fill him up a stiff' un ! he deserves a good drink after 

 that ! " exclaimed Sir Harry, pouring Mr. Sponge out a beaker, 

 equal parts brandy and water. 



Mr. Sponge immediately became a hero, and was freely admitted 

 into their circle. He was clearly a choice spirit — a trump of the 

 first water — and they only wanted his name to be uncommonly 

 thick with him. As it was, they plied him with victuals and 

 drink, all seeming anxious to bring him up to the same happy 

 state of inebriety as themselves. They talked and they chattered, 

 and they abused old Scamperdale and Jack Spraggon, and lauded 

 Mr. Sponge up to the skies. 



Thus day closed in, with Farmer Peastraw's bright fire shedding 

 its cheering glow over the now encircling group. One would have 

 thought, that with their hearts mellow, and their bodies comfort- 

 able, their minds would have turned to that sport in whose honour 

 they sported the scarlet ; but no, hunting was never mentioned. 

 They were quite as genteel as Nimrod's swell friends at Melton, 

 who cut it altogether. They rambled from subject to subject, 

 chiefly on in-door and London topics ; billiards, betting-offices, 

 €oal Holes, Cremorne, Cider Cellars, Judge and Jury Courts, 

 there being an evident confusion in their minds between the 

 characters of sportsmen and sporting men, or gents as they are 

 called. Mr. Sponge tried hard to get them on the right tack, were 

 it only for the sake of singing the praises of the horse for which 

 he had so often refused three hundred guineas, but he never 

 succeeded in retaining a hearing. Talkers were far more plentiful 

 than listeners. 



