MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 191 



" Oh, don't tell me" retorts Frosty, with a shake of disgust ; 

 " don't tell me. I knows better — I knows better. They'd only 

 killed a brace siuce they began hunting up to yesterday. The rest 

 were all cubs, poor things — all cubs, poor things ! Mr. Puffington's 

 hounds are not the sort of animals to kill foxes : nasty, skirtin', flashy, 

 jealous divils ; alway starin' about for holloas and assistance. I'll be 

 d — d if I'd give eighteen pence for the 'ole lot on 'em." 



A loud guffaw from the Flat Hat men greeted this wholesale 

 condemnation. The Puffing-ton men looked unutterable things, and 

 there is no saying what disagreeable comparisons might have been 

 instituted (for the Puffingtonians mustered strong) had not his lord- 

 ship and Jack cast up at the moment. Hats off and politeness was 

 then the order of the day. 



" Mornin'," said his lordship, with a snatch of his hat in return, 

 as he pulled up and stared into the cloud-enveloped crowd ; " Morn- 

 in', Fyle ; mornin', Fossick," he continued, as he distinguished those 

 worthies, as much by their hats as anything else. " Where are the 

 horses ? " he said to Frostyface. 



" Just beyond there, my lord," replied the huntsman, pointing 

 with his whip to where a cockaded servant was " to-and-froing " a 

 couple of hunters — a brown and a chestnut. 



" Let's be doing," said his lordship, trotting up to them and 

 throwing himself off his hack like a sack. Having divested himself 

 of his muddy overalls, he mounted the brown, a splendid sixteen 

 hands horse in tip-top condition, and again made for the field in all 

 the pride of masterly equestrianism. A momentary gleam of sun- 

 shine shot o'er the scene; a jerk of the head acted as a signal to 

 throw off, and away they all moved from the meet. 



Thorneybush Gorse was a large eight-acre cover, formed partly 

 of gorse and partly of stunted blackthorn, with here and there a 

 sprinkling of Scotch firs. His lordship paid two pound a-year for it, 

 having vainly tried to get it for thirty shillings, which was about the 

 actual value of the land, but the proprietor claimed a little compen- 

 sation for the trampling of horses about it ; moreover, the Puffington 

 men would have taken it at two pounds. It was a sure find, and the 

 hounds dashed into it with a scent. 



The field ranged themselves at the accustomed corner, both hunts 

 full of their previous day's run. Frostyface's " Yoicks, wind 

 him ! " " Yoicks, push him up ! " was drowned in a medley of 

 voices. 



A loud clear shrill " Tally-ho, away ! " from the far side of the 

 cover caused all tongues to stop, and all hands to drop on the reins. 

 Great was the excitement ! Each hunt was determined to take the 

 shine out of the other. 



"Twang, twang, twang!" "Tweet, tweet, tweet!' 1 '' went his 

 lordship's and Frostyface's horns, as they came bounding over the 



