mr. sponge's sporting tour. 397 



the clayey water into his rider's face, " Hold up ! " repeated he ; adding, 

 " I'm dashed if one mightn't as well be crashin' over the Christial Pal- 

 ace as ridin' over a country froze in this way ! 'Ord rot it, how cold 

 it is ! " continued he, blowing on his finger ends ; " I declare my 'ands 

 are quite numb. "Well done, old brown bouts ! " exclaimed he, as a 

 crash on the right attracted his attention ; " well done, old brown bouts ! 

 — broke every bar i' the gate ! " adding, " but I'll let Mr. Buckram 

 know the way his beautiful 'osses are 'bused. Well," continued he, 

 after a long skate down the grassy side of Ditchburn Lane, " there's 

 no fun in this — none whatever. Who the deuce would be a hunts- 

 man that could be anything else ? Dash it ! I'd rayther be a hosier 

 — I'd rayther be a 'atter — I'd rayther be an undertaker — I'd rayther 

 be a Pusseyite parson — I'd rayther be a pig-jobber — I'd rayther 

 be a besom-maker — I'd rayther be a dog's-meat man — I'd rayther 

 be a cat's-meat man — T'd rayther go about a sellin' of chickweed 

 and sparrow-grass ! " added he, as his horse nearly slipped up on his 

 haunches. 



" Thank 'eavens, there's a relief at last ! " exclaimed he, as on 

 rising Gimmerhog Hill he saw Farmer Saintfoin's southdowns wheel- 

 ing and clustering, indicative of the fox having passed; thank 'eavens, 

 there's relief at last ! " repeated he, reining up his horse to see the 

 hounds charge them. 



Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters were now in the bottom below, 

 fighting their way across a broad mill-course with a very stiff fence 

 on the taking-off side. 



" Hold up / " roared Mr. Sponge, as having bored a hole through 

 the fence, he found himself on the margin of the water-race. The 

 horse did hold up, and landed him — not without a scramble — on the 

 far side. " Run him at it, Lucy ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, turning 

 hjs horse half round to his fair companion. " Run him at it, Lucy ! " 

 repeated he; and Lucy, fortunately hitting the gap, skimmed o'er 

 the water like a swallow on a summer's eve. 



" Well done ! you're a trump ! exclaimed Mr. Sponge, standing 

 in his stirrups, and holding on by the mane as his horse rose the 

 opposing hill. 



He just got up in time to save the muttons; another second and 

 the hounds would have been into them. Holding up his head to 

 beckon Lucy to stop, he sat eyeing them intently. Many of them 

 had their heads up, and not a few were casting sheep's eyes at the 

 sheep. Some few of the line hunters were persevering with the scent 

 over the greasy ground. It Was a critical moment. They cast to 

 the right, then to the left, and again took a wider sweep in ad 

 returning however towards the sheep, as if they thought them the 

 best spec after all. 



" Put 'em to me," said Mr. Sponge, giving Miss GUittew his whip; 

 " put 'em to me ! " said he, hallooing, " Tor-geot, hounds ! — yor- 



