mr. sponge's sporting tour. 189 



" Ah ! but it's a rare good country when you get to it," replied 

 his lordship, shortening his rein and spurring his steed. 



The lane being at length cleared, the road became more practica- 

 ble, passing over large pastures where a horseman could choose his 

 own ground, instead of being bound by the narrow limits of the law. 

 But though the road improved, the day did not ; a thick fog came 

 drifting up from the south-east in aid of the general obscurity of the 

 scene. 



" The day's gettin' wuss" observed Jack, snuffling and staring 

 about. 



" It'll blow over," replied his lordship, who was not easily disheart- 

 ened. " It'll blow over," repeated he, adding, " often rare scents 

 such days as these. But we must put on," continued he, looking at 

 his watch, " for it's half-past, and we are a mile or more off yet." 

 So saying, he clapped spurs to his hack and shot away at a canter, 

 followed by Jack at a long drawn u hammer and pincers" trot. 



A hunt is something like an Assize circuit, where certain great 

 guns show every where, and smaller men drop in here and there, snatch- 

 ing a day or a brief, as the case may be. Sergeant Bluff and Sergeant 

 Huff rustle and wrangle in every court, while Mr. Meeke and Mr. 

 Sneeke enjoy their frights on the forensic arenas of their respective 

 towns, on behalf of simple neighbours, who look upon them as thorough 

 Solomons. So with hunts. Certain men who seem to have been 

 sent into the world for the express purpose of hunting, arrive at every 

 meet, far and near, with a punctuality that is truly surprising, and 

 rarely associated with pleasure. 



If you listen to their conversation, it is generally a dissertation 

 on the previous day's sport, with inquiries as to the nearest way to 

 cover the next. Sometimes it is seasoned with censure of some other 

 pack they have been seeing. These men are mounted and appointed 

 in a manner that shows what a perfect profession hunting is with 

 them. Of course they come cantering to cover, lest any one should 

 suppose they ride their horses on. 



The " Cross Roads" was like two hunts or two circuits joining, 

 for it generally drew the picked men from each, to say nothing of 

 outriggers and chance customers. The regular attendants of either 

 hunt were sufficiently distinguishable as well by the flat hats and 

 baggy garments of the one, as by the dandified, Jemmy Jessamy air 

 of the other. If a lord had not been at the head of the Flat Hats, 

 the Pnffington women would have considered them insufferable snobs. 

 But to our day. 



As usual, where hounds have to travel a long distance, the field 

 were assembled before they arrived. Almost all the cantering gen- 

 tlemen had cast up. 



One cross-road meet being so much like another, it will not be 

 worth while describing the one at Dallington Burn. The reader will 



