MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 283 



He then bundled into his carriage and drove on. 



Two more stoppages marked their arrival at the other sticks, 

 •which being duly captured and fastened within the straps of the 

 carriage apron, Mr. Crowdey drove on somewhat more at ease in his 

 mind, at all events somewhat comforted at the thoughts of having in- 

 creased his wealth. He did not become talkative — indeed that was 

 not his forte, but he puffed into his shirt-frill, and made a few obser- 

 vations, which, if they did not possess much originality, at all events 

 showed that he was not asleep. 



" Those are draining-tiles," said he, after a hearty stare at a cart- 

 load. Then about five minutes after he blew again, and said, " I 

 don't think (puff) that (wheeze) draining without (gasp) manuring 

 will constitute high farming (puff)." 



So he jolted and wheezed, and jerked and jagged the old quadru- 

 ped's mouth, occasionally hissing between his teeth, and stamping 

 against the bottom of the carriage, when other persuasive efforts 

 failed to induce it to keep up the semblance of a trot. At last the 

 ill-supported hobble died out into a walk, and Mr. Crowdey, com- 

 placently dropping his fat hand on his fat knees, seemed to resign 

 himself to his fate. 



So they crawled along the up-and-downy piece of road below Pop- 

 larton plantations, Mr. Jogglebury keeping a sharp eye upon the un- 

 derwood for sticks. After passing these, they commenced the gradual 

 ascent of Roundington Hill, when a sudden sweep of the road brought 

 them in view of the panorama of the rich Vale of ButterfLower. 



" There's a snug-looking box," observed Sponge, as he at length 

 espied a confused jumble of gable-ends and chimney pots, rising from 

 amidst a clump of Scotch firs and other trees, looking less like a 

 farm-house than anything he had seen. 



" That's my house (puff) ; that's Puddingpote Bower (wheeze)," 

 replied' Crowdey, slowly and pompously, adding an " e " to the syllable, 

 to make it sound better, the haddocks, hashed mutton, and all the 

 horrors of impromptu hospitality rushing upon his mind. 



Things began to look worse the nearer he got home. He didn't 

 care to aggravate the old animal into a trot. He again wondered 

 whether Mrs. J. would be pleased at the success of his mission, or 

 angry at the unexpected coining 



" Where are the stables ? " asked Sponge, as he scanned the in- 

 and-out irregularities of the building. 



" Stables (wheeze), stables (puff)," repeated Crowdey, thinking of 

 his troubles — of its being washing-day, and Mary Ann, or Murry 

 Ann, as he called her, the under-butler, being engaged; of Bar- 

 tholomew Badger having the horse and fe-a-ton to clean, &c. — 

 " stables," repeated he for the third time ; " stables are at the back, 

 behind, in fact; you'll see a (puff) vane— a (wheeze) fox on the top." 



