MR. SrONGE's SPORTING TOUR. 335 



own servant. What veneration, what respect, could a servant feel 

 for a master whom he heard called " Old Bellows-to-mend ? " It 

 damaged the respect inspired by the chairmanship of the Stir-it-stiff 

 Union, to say nothing of the trusteeship of the Sloppyhocks, Tol- 

 puddle, and other turnpike-roads. It annihilated everything. So he 

 fumed, and fretted, and snorted and snored. Worst of all he had no 

 one to whom he could unburden his grievances. He could not make 

 the partner of his bosom a partner in his woes, because — and he 

 bounced about so that he almost shot the clothes off the bed, at the 

 thoughts of the " why." 



Thus he lay tumbling and tossing, and fuming and wheezing and 

 puffing, now vowing vengeance against Leather, who he recollected 

 had called him the " Woolpack," and determining to have him turned 

 off in the morning for his impudence — now devising schemes for 

 getting rid of Mr. Sponge and him together. Oh, could he but see 

 them off ! could he but see the portmanteau and carpet-bag again 

 standing in the passage, he would gladly lend his phaeton to carry 

 them anywhere. He would drive it himself for the pleasure of know- 

 ing and feeling he was clear of them. He wouldn't haggle about the 

 pikes ; nay, he would even give Sponge a gibbey, any he liked — the 

 pick of the whole — Wellington, Napoleon Bonaparte, a crowned head 

 even, though it would damage the set. So he lay, rolling and restless, 

 hearing every clock strike ; now trying to divert his thoughts, by 

 making a rough calculation what all his gibbies put together were 

 worth ; now considering whether he had forgotten to go for any he 

 had marked in the course of his peregrinations ; now wishing he had 

 laid one about old Leather, when he fell on his knees after calling him 

 the " Woolpack ; " then wondering whether Leather would have had 

 him before the County Court for damages, or taken him before Justice 

 Slowcoach for the assault. As morning advanced, his thoughts again 

 turned upon the best mode of getting rid of his most unwelcome 

 guests, and he arose and dressed, with the full determination of try- 

 ing what he could do. 



Having tried the effects of an up-stairs shout the morning before, 

 he decided to see what a down one would do; accordingly, he mounted 

 the stairs and climbed the sort of companion-ladder that led to the 

 servants' attics, where he kept a stock of gibbies in the rafters. 

 Having reached this, he cleared his throat, laid his head over the 

 banisters, and putting an open hand on each side of his mouth to 

 direct the sound, exclaimed with a loud and audible voice, 



" Bartholo — m — e — w ! " 



"Bar — tho — lo — m — e — e — w'/ n repeated he, after a pause, 

 with a full separation of the syllables and a prolonged intonation of 

 the m — e — w. 



No Bartholomew answered. 



" Murry Ann ! " then hallooed Jog, in a sharper, quicker key. 

 " Murry Ann ! " repeated he, still louder, after a pause. 



