MR. SPONGE'S 8PORT1NG TOUR. 317 



" Sir Harry's ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, again putting the horn 

 to his lips, and blowing another shrill blast. 



" Sir Harry' } s ! " screeched his lordship in disgust, for he hated 

 the very sound of his name — " Sir Harry's ! Oh, you rusty-booted 

 ruffian ! Tell me that to my very face ! " 



" Sir Harry's ! " repeated Jack, again standing erect in his stir- 

 rups. " What ! impeach his lordship's integrity — oh, by Jove, there's 

 an end of everything ! Death before dishonour ! Slugs in a saw- 

 pit ! Pistols and coffee for two ! Cock-pheasant at Weybridge, six 

 o'clock i' the mornin' ! " And Jack, sinking exhausted on his saddle, 

 again wiped the foam from his mouth. 



His lordship then weut at Sponge again. 



" Oh, you sanctified, putrified, pestilential, perpendicular, ginger- 

 bread-booted, counter-skippin' snob, you think because I'm a lord, 

 and can't swear or use coarse language, that you may do what you 

 like ; but I'll let you see the contrary," said he, brandishing his 

 brother to Jack's whip. " Mark you, sir, I'll fight you, sir, any non- 

 huntin' day you like, sir, 'cept Sunda} 7 ." 



Just then the clatter and blowing of horses was heard, and Frosty- 

 face emerged from the wood followed by the hounds, who, swinging 

 themselves " forrard " over the turnips, hit off the scent and went 

 away full cry, followed by his lordship and Jack, leaving Mr. Sponge 

 transfixed with astonishment. 



" Changed foxes," at length said Sponge, with a shake of his 

 head ; and just then the cry of hounds on the opposite bank con- 

 firmed his conjecture, and he got to Sir Harry's in time to take up 

 his lordship's fox. 



His lordship's hounds ran into Sir Harry's fox about two miles 

 farther on, but the hounds would not break him up ; and, on examin- 

 ing him, he was found to have been aniseeded ; and, worst of all, by 

 the'mark on his ear to be one that they had turned down themselves 

 the season before, being one of the litter that Sly had stolen from 

 Sir Harry's cover at Seedygorse — a beautiful instance of retributive 

 justice. 



