326 mil. sponge's sporting tour. 



" Capital ! " exclaimed Scedjbuck. 



" Go it, you cripples ! Newgate's on fire ! " shouted Captain 

 Quod. 



" Well, what said he ? " asked Sir Harry. 



" c They commonly call me the Earl of Scamperdale,' roared he, 

 and those are my hounds.' 



" ' They're not your hounds,' replied I. 



" J Whose are they, then ? ' asked he. 



" ' Sir Harry Scattercash's, a devilish deal better fellow,' replied I. 



" ' Oh, by Jove ! ' roared he, ' there's an end of everything. Jack,' 

 shouted he to old Spraggon, ' this gentleman says these are not my 

 hounds ! ' 



" ' I'll tell you what it is,my lord,' said I, gathering my whip and 

 riding close up as if I was goin' to pitch into him, ' I'll tell you what 

 it is ; you think, because you're a lord, you may abuse people as you 

 like, but by Jingo you've mistaken your man. I'll not put up with 

 any of your nonsense. The Sponges are as old a family as the 

 Scamper dales, and I'll fight you any non-hunting day you like with 

 pistols, broadswords, fists, or blunderbusses.' " 



" Well done you ! Bravo ! that's your sort ! '' with loud thumping 

 of tables and clapping of hands, resounded from all parts. 



" By Jove, fill him up a stiff 'tin ! he deserves a good drink after 

 that ! " exclaimed Sir Harry, pouring Mr. Sponge out a beaker, equal 

 parts brandy and water. 



Mr. Sponge immediately became a hero, and was freety admitted 

 into their circle. He was clearly a choice spirit — a trump of the 

 first water — and they only wanted his name to be uncommonly thick 

 with him. As it was, they plied him with victuals and drink, all 

 seeming anxious to bring him up to the same happy state of inebriety 

 as themselves. They talked and they chattered, and they abused 

 old Scamperdale and Jack Spraggon, and lauded Mr. Sponge up to 

 the skies. 



Thus day closed in, with farmer Peastraw's bright fire shedding 

 its cheering glow over the now encircling group. One would have 

 thought, that with their hearts mellow, and their bodies comfortable, 

 their minds would have turned to that sport in whose honour they 

 sported the scarlet; but no, hunting was never mentioned. They 

 were quite as genteel as Nimrod's swell friends at Melton, who cut it 

 altogether. They rambled from subject to subject, chiefly on in-door 

 and London topics; billiards, betting offices, Coal Holes, Cremorne, 

 Cider Cellars, Judge and Jury Courts, there being an evident confu- 

 sion in their minds between the characters of sportsmen and sporting 

 men, or gents as they are called. Mr. Sponge tried hard to get them 

 on the right tack, were it only for the sake of singing the praises of 

 the horse for which he had so often refused three hundred guineas, 



