MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. Ill 



and almost bottomless lane, whose sunken places and deep ruts were 

 filled with clayey water which played the very deuce with the cords 

 and brown boots, the light note of a hound fell on his ear, and almost 

 at the same instant, a something that he would have taken for a dog, 

 had it not been for the note of the hound, turned, as it were, from 

 him, and went in a contrary direction. 



Sponge reined in the piebald, and stood transfixed. It was, in- 

 deed, the fox ! — a magnificent full-brushed fellow, with a slight ten- 

 dency to grey along the back, and going with the light spiry ease of 

 an animal full of strength and running. 



" I wish I mayn't ketch it," said Sponge to himself, shuddering at 

 the idea of having headed him. 



It was, however, no time for thinking. The cry of hounds became 

 more distinct — nearer and nearer they came, fuller and more melo- 

 dious ; but, alas ! it was no music to Sponge. Presently the cheering 

 of hunters was heard — " For — rard! For — rard! " and anon the rate 

 of a whip further back. Another second, and hounds, horses, and men 

 were in view, streaming away over the large pasture on the left. 



There was a high, straggling fence between Sponge and the field, 

 thick enough to prevent their identifying him, but not sufficiently 

 high to screen him altogether. Sponge pulled round the piebald, and 

 gathered himself together like a man going to be shot. The hounds 

 came tearing full cry to where he was ; there was a breast-high scent, 

 and every one seemed to have it. They charged the fence at a wat- 

 tled pace a few yards below where he sat, and flying across the deep 

 dirty lane, dashed full cry into the pasture beyond. 



" Hie bach ! " cried Sponge. " Hie back! " trying to turn them ; 

 but instead of the piebald carrying him in front of the pack, as Sponge 

 wanted, he took to rearing, and plunging, and pawing the air. The 

 hounds meanwhile dashed jealously on without a scent, till first one 

 and then another feeling ashamed, gave in ; and at last a general lull 

 succeeded the recent joyous cry. Awful period ! terrible to any one, 

 but dreadful to a stranger ! Though Sponge was in the road, he well 

 knew that no one has any business anywhere but with hounds, when 

 a fox is astir. 



" Hold hard ! " was now the cry, and the perspiring riders and 

 lathered steeds came to a stand-still. 



" Twang — twang — twang — ," went a shrill horn ; and a couple 

 of whips, singling themselves out from the field, flew over a fence to 

 where the hounds were casting. 



" Twang — twang — twang — ," went the horn again. 



Meanwhile Sponge sat enjoying the following observations, which 

 a westerly wind wafted into his ear. 



« Oh, d n me ! that man in the lane's headed the fox," puffed 



one. 



" Who is it ? " gasped another. 



