376 MB. SPONGE'S SPOBTING TOUB. 



Blabs and the finely-flowered Tom-nay carpet, just as the fires of 

 gipsies dot and disfigure the fair face of a country. Costly china 

 and nick-nacks of all sorts were scattered about in profusion. 

 Altogether, it was a beautiful room. 



" No want of money here," said Mr. Sponge to himself, as he 

 eyed it, and thought what havoc Gustavus James would make 

 among the ornaments if he had a chance. 



He then looked about for pen, ink, and paper. These were 

 distributed so wide apart as to show the little request they were in. 

 Having at length succeeded in getting what he wanted gathered 

 together, Mr. Sponge sat down on the luxurious sofa, considering 

 how he should address his host, as he hoped. Mr. Sponge was not 

 a shy man, but, considering the circumstances under which he 

 made Sir Harry Scattercash's acquaintance, together with his 

 design upon his hospitality — above all, considering the crew by 

 whom Sir Harry was surrounded — it required some little tact to 

 pave the way without raising the present inmates of the house 

 against him. There are no people so anxious to protect others from 

 robbery as those who are robbing them themselves. Mr. Sponge 

 thought, and thought, and thought. At last he resolved to write 

 on the subject of the hounds. After sundry attempts on pink, 

 blue, and green-tinted paper, he at last succeeded in hitting off 

 the following, on yellow : — 



" Nonsuch House. 



" Dear Sir Harry, — i" rode over this morning, hearing you 

 were to hunt, and am sorry to find you indisposed. I wish you 

 would drop me a line to Mr. Crowdeifs, Puddingpote Bower, saying 

 when next you go out, as I should much like to hare another look at 

 your splendid pack, before I leave this country, which I fear will 

 have to be soon. 



" Tours in haste, 



"H. Spoxge. 



" P.S. — / hope you all got safe home the other night from Mr. 

 Peastraw''s.'''' 



Having put this into a richly-gilt and embossed envelope, our 

 friend directed it conspicuously to Sir Harry Scattercash, Bart., 

 and stuck it in the centre of the mantle-piece. He then retraced 

 his steps through the back regions, informing the sleeping beauty 

 he had before disturbed, and who was now busy scouring a pan, 

 that he had left a letter in the drawing-room for Sir Harry, and if 

 she would see that he got it, he (Mr. Sponge) would remember her 

 the next time he came, which he inwardly hoped would be soon. 

 He then made for the stable, and got his horse, to go home, 

 sauntering more leisurely along than one would expect of a man 

 who had not got his breakfast, especially one riding a hack hunter. 



