MR. sponge's sporting tour. 303 



up the lanes and by-roads, thinking nobody would see them. Save 

 the whites or the greys, our friends in the " chay " were not suf- 

 ficiently near to descry the colours of the horses ; but Mr. Sponge 

 could not help thinking that he recognised the outline of the wicked 

 chestnut, Multum in Parvo. 



" By the powers, but if it's him," muttered he to himself, clench- 

 ing his fist and grinding his teeth as he spoke ; " but I'll — I'll — I'll 

 make sich an example of you," meaning of Leather. 



Mr. Sponge could not exactly say what he would do, for it was 

 by no means a settled point whether Leather or he were master. 

 But to the hounds. If it had not been for Mr. Sponge's shabbiness 

 at the turnpike gate, we really believe he might now have caught 

 them up, for the road to them was down hill all the way, and the 

 impetus of the vehicle would have sent the old screw along. That 

 delay, however, was fatal. Before they had gone a quarter of the 

 distance the hounds suddenly struck the scent at a hedge-row, and, 

 with heads up and sterns down, went straight away at a pace that 

 annihilated all hope. They were out of sight in a minute. It was 

 clearly a case of kill. 



" "Well, there's a go ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, folding his arms, 

 and throwing himself back in the phaeton in disgust. " I think I 

 never saw such a mess as we've made this morning." 



And he looked at the stick in the apron, and the long holly be- 

 tween Jog's legs, and longed to lay them about his great back. 



"Well (puff), I s'pose (wheeze) we may as well (puff) home 

 now ? " observed Jog, looking about him quite unconcernedly. 



" I think so," snapped Sponge ; adding, " we've done it for once, 

 at all events." 



The observation, however, was lost upon Jog, whose mind was 

 occupied with thinking how to get the phaeton around without upset- 

 ting. ' The road was narrow at best, and the newly-laid stone-heaps 

 had encroached upon its bounds. He first tried to back between two 

 stone-heaps, but only succeeded in running a wheel into one ; he 

 then tried the forward tack, with no better success, till Mr. Sponge, 

 seeing matters were getting worse, just jumped out, and taking the 

 old horse by the head, executed the manoeuvre that Mr. Jogglebury 

 Crowdey first attempted. They then commenced retracing their 

 steps, rather a long trail, even for people in an amiable mood, but a 

 terribly long one for disagreeing ones. 



Jog, to be sure, was pretty comfortable. He had got all he 

 wanted — all he went out a-hunting for ; and as he hissed and jerked 

 the old horse along, he kept casting an eye at the contents of the apron, 

 thinking what cro^s ned or great man's head, the now rough, club- 

 headed knobs should be fashioned to represent ; and indulged in spec- 

 ulations as to their prospective worth and possible destination. He 

 had not the slightest doubt that a thousand sticks to each of his children 



