MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 347 



as if he meant to stand on his head. M Ah, you ivill, will ye ? " ex- 

 claimed Mr. Sponge, letting the spurs in again as the animal replaced 

 his legs on the ground. Up they went again, if possible higher than 

 before. 



The brute was clearly full of mischief, and even if the hounds 

 did not throw off, which there was little prospect of their doing from 

 the appearance of the weather, Mr. Sponge felt that it would be well 

 to get some of the nonsense taken out of him ; and, moreover, going' 

 to Nonsuch House, would give him a chance of establishing a billet 

 there — a chance that he had been deprived of by Sir Harry's abrupt 

 departure from Farmer Peastraw's. So saying, our friend gathered 

 his horse together, and settling himself in his saddle, made his sound 

 hoofs ring upon the hard road. 



"He may hunt," thought Mr. Sponge, as he rattled along; "such 

 a rum beggar as Sir Harry may think it fun to go out in a frost. 

 It's hard, too," said he, as he saw the poor turnip-rollers enveloped 

 in their thick shawls, and watched them thumping their arms against 

 their sides to drive the cold from their finger ends. 



Multum-in-Parvo was a good sound-constitutioned horse, hard 

 and firm as a cricket-ball, a horse that would not turn a hair for a 

 trifle even on a hunting morning, let alone on such a thorough chiller 

 as this one was ; and Mr. Sponge, after going along at a good round 

 pace, and getting over the ground much quicker than he did when 

 the road was all new to him, and he had to ask his way, at length 

 drew in to see what o'clock it was. It was only half-past nine, and 

 already in the far distance he saw the encircling woods of Nonsuch 

 House. 



" Shall be early," said Mr. Sponge, returning his watch to his 

 waistcoat-pocket, and diving into his cutty coat-pocket for the cigar- 

 case. Having struck a light, he now laid the rein on the horse's 

 neck and proceeded leisurely along, the animal stepping gaily and 

 throwing its head about as if he was the quietest, most trustworthy 

 nag in the world. If he got there at half-past ten, Mr. Sponge cal- 

 culated he would have plenty of time to see after his horse, get his 

 own breakfast, and see how the land lay for a billet. 



It would be impossible to hunt before twelve ; so he went smoking 

 and sauntering along, now wondering whether he would be able to 

 establish a billet, now thinking how he would like to sell Sir Harry 

 a horse, then considering whether he would be likely to pay for him, 

 and enlivening the general reflections by ringing his spurs against his 

 stirrup-irons. 



Having passed the lodges at the end of the avenue, he cocked his 

 hat, twiddled his hair, felt his tie, and arranged for a becoming ap- 

 pearance. The sudden turn of the road brought him full upon the 

 house. How changed the scene ! Instead of scarlet-coated youths 

 thronging the gravelled ring, flourishing their scented kerchiefs and 



