54 MR. sponge's sporting tour. 



ceeded at that pleasant post-boy trot, that has roused the wrath of so 

 many riders against horses that they could not get to keep in time. 



Now look at old Tom, cocked jauntily on the spicy bay, and see 

 what a different Tom he is to what he was last night. Instead of a 

 battered, limping, shabby-looking, little old man, he is all alive, and 

 rises to the action of his horse, as though they were all one. A 

 fringe of grey hair protrudes beneath his smart velvet cap, which sets 

 off a weather-beaten, but keen and expressive face, lit up with little 

 piercing black eyes. See how chirpy and cheery he is ; how his right 

 arm keeps rising and falling with his whip, beating responsive to the 

 horse's action with the butt-end against his thigh. His new scarlet 

 coat imparts a healthy hue to his face, and good boots and breeches 

 hide the imperfections of his bad legs. His hounds seem to partake 

 of the old man's gaiety, and gather round his horse, or frolic forward 

 on the grassy sidings of the road, till, getting almost out of ear-shot, 

 a single " yooi doit/ — Arrogant!"'' — or "here again, Br usher ! " 

 brings them cheerfully back to whine and look in the old man's face 

 for applause. Nor is he chary of his praise. " G — oood betch ! — ■ 

 Arrogant/ — G — oood betch!" says he, leaning over his horse's 

 shoulder towards her, and jerking his hand to induce her to proceed 

 forward again. So the old man trots gaily on, now making of his 

 horse, now coaxing a hound, now talking to a " whip," now touching 

 or taking off his cap as he passes a sportsman, according to the esti- 

 mation in which he holds him. 



As the hounds reach Whirleypool Windmill, there is a grand rush 

 of pedestrians to meet them. First comes a velveteen-jacketed, 

 leather-legginged keeper, with whom Tom (albeit suspicious of his 

 honesty) thinks it prudent to shake hands; the miller and he, too, 

 greet ; and forthwith a black bottle with a single glass make their 

 appearance, and pass current with the company. Then the earth- 

 stopper draws nigh, and, resting a hand on Tom's horse's shoulder, 

 whispers confidentially in his ear. The pedestrian sportsman of the 

 country, too, has something to say ; also a horse-breaker ; while 

 groups of awe-stricken children stand staring at the mighty Tom, 

 thinking him the greatest man in the world. 



Railways and fox-hunting make most people punctual, and in less 

 than five minutes from the halting of the hounds by the Windmill, 

 the various roads leading up to it emit dark-coated grooms, who, dis- 

 mounting, proceed to brusli off the mud sparks, and rectify any 

 little derangement the horses or their accoutrements may have con- 

 tracted on the journey. Presently Mr. Sponge, and such other gen- 

 tlemen as have ridden their own horses on, cast up, while from the 

 eminence the road to Laverick Wells is distinctly traceable with 

 scarlet coats and flys, with furs and flaunting feathers. Presently the 

 foremost riders begin to canter up the hill, when 



