340 mr. sponge's sporting tour. 



served Mrs. Jog ; adding, " I'm sure shooting is a much, more rational 

 amusement than tearing your clothes going after the hounds," eyeing 

 the much-dilapidated moleskins as she spoke. 



Mrs. Jog found shooting more useful than hunting. 



" Oh, if a (puff) hare comes in my (gasp) way, I'll turn her over," 

 replied Jog, carelessly, as if turning them over was quite a matter 

 of course with him; adding, "but I'm not (wheezing) out for the 

 express purpose of shooting one." 



" Ah, well," observed Sponge, " I'll go with you, all the same." 



" But I've only got one gun," gasped Jog, thinking it would be 

 worse to have Sponge laughing at his shooting than even leaving him 

 at home. 



" Then, we'll shoot turn and turn about," replied the pertinacious 

 guest. 



Jog did his best to dissuade him, observing that the birds were 

 (puff) scarce and (wheeze) wild, and the (gasp) hares much troubled 

 with poachers ; but Mr. Sponge wanted a walk, and moreover had a 

 fancy for seeing Jog handle his guD. 



Having cut himself some extremely substantial sandwiches, and 

 filled his " monkey " full of sherry, our friend Jog slipped out the 

 back way to loosen old Ponto, who acted the triple part of pointer, 

 house-dog, and horse to Gustavus James. He was a great fat, black- 

 and-white brute, with a head like a hat-box, a tail like a clothes-peg, 

 and a back as broad as a well-fed sheep's. The old brute was so 

 frantic at the sight of his master in his green coat, and wide-awake 

 to match, that he jumped and bounced, and barked, and rattled his 

 chain, and set up such yells, that his noise sounded all over the 

 house, and soon brought Mr. Sponge to the scene of action, where 

 stood our friend, loading his gun and looking as consequential as 

 possible. 



" I shall only just take a (puff) stroll over moy (wheeze) ter-ri- 

 to-ry," observed Jog, as Mr. Sponge emerged at the back door. 



Jog's pace was about two miles and a half an hour, stoppages 

 included, and he thought it advisable to prepare Mr. Sponge for the 

 trial. He then shouldered his gun and waddled away, first over the 

 stile into Farmer Stiffland's stubble, round which Ponto ranged in 

 the most riotous, independent way, regardless of Jog's whistles and 

 rates, and the crack of his little knotty whip. Jog then crossed the 

 old pasture into Mr. Lowland's turnips, into which Ponto dashed in 

 the same energetic way, but these impediments to travelliDg soon 

 told on his great buttermilk carcass, and brought him to a more sub- 

 dued pace ; still, the dog had a good deal more energy than his 

 master. Round he went, sniffing and hunting, then dashing right 

 through the middle of the field, as if he was out on his own account 

 alone, and had nothing whatever to do with a master. 



" Why, your dog'll spring all the birds out of shot," observed 



