318 



MR. SPONGE S SPORTING TOUR. 



CHAPTER LI. 



FARMER PEASTRAW'S D1NE-MATINEE. 



There are pleasanter situations than being left alone with twenty 

 couple of even the best-mannered fox-hounds ; far pleasanter situa- 

 tions than being left alone with such a tearing, frantic lot as com- 

 posed Sir Harry Scattercash's pack. Sportsmen are so used (with 

 some hounds at least) to see foxes " in han '," that they never think 

 there is any difficulty in getting them there ; and it is only a single- 

 handed combat with the pack that shows them that the hound does 

 not bring the fox up in his mouth like a retriever. A tyro's first 

 tete-d-tete with a half-killed fox, with the baying pack circling round, 

 must leave as pleasing a souvenir on the memory as Mr. Gordon 

 Cumming would derive from his first interview with a lion. 



Our friend Mr. Sponge was now engaged with a game of " pull 

 devil, pull baker," with the hounds for the fox, the difficulty of his 

 situation being heightened by having to contend with the impetuous 

 temper of a high-couraged, dangerous horse. To be sure, the gal- 

 lant Hercules was a good deal subdued by the distance and severity 

 of the pace, but there are few horses that get to the end of a run 

 that have not sufficient kick left in them to do mischief to hounds, 

 especially when raised or frightened by the smell of blood ; never- 

 theless, there was no help . for it. Mr. Sponge knew that unless he 

 carried off some trophy, it would never be believed he had killed the 

 fox. Considering all this, and also that there was no one to tell what 

 damage he did, he just rode slap into the middle of the pack, as 

 Marksman, Furious, Thunderer, and Bountiful were in the act of 

 despatching the fox. Singwell and Saladin (puppies) having been 

 sent away howling, the one bit through the jowl, the other through 

 the foot. 



" Ah ! leave him — leave him — leave him!' 1 '' screeched Mr. 

 Sponge, trampling over "Warrior and Tempest, the brown horse lash- 

 ing out furiously at Melody and Lapwing. " Ah ! leave him! leave 

 him ! " repeated he, throwing himself off his horse by the fox, and 

 clearing a circle with his whip, aided by the hoofs of the animal. 

 There lay the fox before him killed, but as yet little broken by the 

 pack. He was a noble fellow ; bright and brown, in the full vigor of 

 life and condition, with a gameness, even in death, that no other ani- 

 mal shows. Mr. Sponge put his foot on the body, and quickly 

 whipped off his brush. Before he had time to pocket it, the repulsed 

 pack broke in upon him and carried off the carcass. 



