128 mr. sponge's sporting tour. 



The hounds did nob come to Scranibleford Green often, for it was 

 not a favourite meet ; and when they did come, Frosty and the men 

 generally had them pretty much to themselves. This day. however, 

 was the exception ; and Old Tom Yarnley, whom age had bent nearly 

 double, and who hobbled along on two sticks, declared that never in 

 the course of his recollection, a period extending over the best part 

 of a century, had he seen such a " sight of red coats " as mustered 

 that morning at Scranibleford Green. It seemed as if there had been 

 a sudden rising of sportsmen. What brought them all out ? What 

 brought Mr. Puffington, the master of the Hanby hounds, out ? 

 What brought Blossomnose again ? What Mr. Wake, Mr. Fossick, 

 Mr. Fyle, who had all been out the day before ? 



Reader, the news had spread throughout the country that there 

 was a great writer down ; and they wanted to see what he would say 

 of them — they had come to sit for their portraits, in fact. There 

 was a great gathering, at least for the Flat Hat Hunt, who seldom 

 mustered above a dozen. Tom Washball came, in a fine new coat 

 and new flat-flipped hat with a broad binding ; also Mr. Sparks, of 

 Spark Hall; Major Mark; Mr. Archer, of Cheam Lodge; Mr. 

 Reeves, of Coxwell Green ; Mr. Bliss, of Boltonshaw ; Mr. Joyce, 

 of Ebstone; Dr. Capon, of Galcot ; Mr. Dribble, of Hook; Mr. 

 Slade, of Three-Burrow Hill; and several others. Great was the 

 astonishment of each as the other cast up. 



" Why, here's Joe Reeves ! " exclaimed Blossomnose. " Who'd 

 have thought of seeing you ? " 



" And who'd have thought of seeing you ? " rejoined Reeves, 

 shaking hands with the jolly old nose. 



" Here's Tom Washball in time, for once, I declare ! " exclaimed 

 Mr. Fyle, as Mr. Washball cantered up in apple-pie order. 



" Vv r onders will never cease ! " observed Fossick, looking Washy 

 over. 



So the field sat in a ring about the hounds, in the centre of which, 

 as usual, were Jack and Lord Scamperdale, looking, with their great 

 tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles, and short grey whiskers trimmed in 

 a eurve up to their noses, like a couple of horned owls in hats. 



" Here's the man on the cow ! " exclaimed Jack, as he espied 

 Sponge and Jawleyford rising the hill together, easing their horses 

 by standing in their stirrups and holding on by their manes, 



" You don't say so ! " exclaimed Lord Scamperdale, turning his 

 horse in the direction Jack was looking, and staring for hard life too. 

 " So there is, I declare ! " observed he. " And who the deuce is this 

 with him ? " 



" That ass Jawleyford, as I live ! " exclaimed Jack, as the blue- 

 coated servant now hove in sight. 



" So it is!" said Lord Scamperdale; a the confounded humbug I" 

 6* 



