268 



Accordingly, he borrowed a hat and started off home, and seeking 

 his guardian, Major Screw, confided to him the position of affairs. 

 The major, who was a man of the world, forthwith commenced a ne- 

 gotiation with Mr. Sponge, who, after a good deal of haggling, and 

 not until the horse had shot the major over his head, too, at length, 

 as a great favour, consented to take fifty pounds to rescind- the bar- 

 gain, accompanying his kindness by telling the major to advise his 

 ward never to dabble in horseflesh after dinner ; a piece of advice 

 that we also very respectfully tender to our juvenile readers. 



And Sponge shortly after sent Spraggon a five pound note as his 

 share of the transaction. 





CHAPTERXLIII. 



ANOTHER SICK HOST. 



WnEN Mr. Puffington read Messrs. Sponge and Spraggon's account 

 of the run with his hounds, in the Swillingford paper, he was perfectly 

 horrified ; words cannot describe the disgust that he felt. It came 

 upon him quite by surprise, for he expected to be immortalised in some 

 paper or work of general circulation, in which the Lords Loosefish, 

 Sir Toms, and Sir Harrys of former days might recognise the spirited 

 doings of their early friend. He wanted the superiority of his estab- 

 lishment, the excellence of his horses, the stoutness of his hounds, and 

 the polish of his field, proclaimed, with perhaps a quiet cut at the Flat- 

 Hat gentry ; instead of which he had a mixed medley sort of a mess, 

 whose humdrum monotony was only relieved by the absurdities and 

 errors with which it was crammed. At first, Mr. Puffing-ton could not 

 make out what it meant, whether it was a hoax to turn run-writing 

 into ridicule, or it had suffered mutilation at the hands of the printer. 

 Calling a good scent an exquisite perfume looked suspicious of a hoax, 

 but then seasonal fox for seasoned fox, scorning to cry for scoring to 

 cry, bay fox for bag fox, grunting for hunting, thrashing for trashing, 

 rests for casts, and other absurdities, looked more like accident than 

 design. 



These are the sort of errors that non-sporting compositors might 

 easily make, one term being as much like English to them as the 

 other, though amazingly different to the eye or ear of a sportsman. 

 Mr. Puffington was thoroughly disgusted. He was sick of hounds 

 and horses, and Bragg, and hay and corn, and kennels and meal, and 

 saddles and bridles ; and now this absurdity seemed to cap the whole 

 thing. He was ill-prepared for such a shock. The exertion of suc- 

 cessive dinner-giving — above all, of bachelor dinner-giving — and that 



