It was fortunate for Mr. Sponge that he went, for, when Jawleyford smelt the indignity that had been offered to his dining-room, he broke out in such a torrent of indignation as would have been extremely unpleasant if there had not been some one to lay the blame on. Indeed, he was not particularly gracious to Mr. Spongeas it was; but that arose as much from certain dark hints that had worked their way from the servants' hall into 'my lady's chamber' as to our friend's pecuniary resources and prospects. Jawleyford began to suspect that Sponge might not be quite the great 'catch' he was represented.
Beyond, however, putting a few searching questions—which Mr. Sponge skilfully parried—advising his daughters to be cautious, lessening the number of lights, and lowering the scale of his entertainments generally, Mr. Jawleyford did not take any decided step in the matter. Mr. Spraggon comforted Lord Scamperdale with the assurance that Amelia had no idea of Sponge, who he made no doubt would very soon be out of the country—and his lordship went to church and prayed most devoutly for him to go.
'Lord Scamperdale's foxhounds meet on Monday at Larkhall Hill,' &c. &c.—County Paper.
'Lord Scamperdale's foxhounds meet on Monday at Larkhall Hill,' &c. &c.—County Paper.
The Flat Hat Hunt had relapsed into its wonted quiet, and 'Larkhall Hill' saw none but the regular attendants, men without the slightest particle of curve in their hats—hats, indeed, that looked as if the owners sat upon them when they hadn't them on their heads. There was Fyle, and Fossick, and Blossomnose, andSparks, and Joyce, and Capon, and Dribble, and a few others, but neither Washball nor Puffington, nor any of the holiday birds.
HIS LORDSHIP HAS IT ALL TO HIMSELFHIS LORDSHIP HAS IT ALL TO HIMSELF
Precisely at ten, my lord, and his hounds, and his huntsman, and his whips, and his Jack, trotted round Farmer Springwheat's spacious back premises, and appeared in due form before the green rails in front. 'Pride attends us all,' as the poet says; and if his lordship had ridden into the yard, and halloaed out for a glass of home-brewed, Springwheat would have trapped every fox on his farm, and the blooming Mrs. Springwheat would have had an interminable poultry-bill against the hunt; whereas, simply by 'making things pleasant'—that is to say, coming to breakfast—Springwheat saw his corn trampled on, nay, led the way over it himself, and Mrs. Springwheat saw her Dorkings disappear without a murmur—unless, indeed, an inquiry when his lordship would be coming could be considered in that light.
Larkhall Hill stood in the centre of a circle, on a gentle eminence, commanding a view over a farm whose fertile fields and well-trimmed fences sufficiently indicated its boundaries, and looked indeed as if all the good of the country had come up to it. It was green and luxuriant even in winter, while the strong cane-coloured stubbles showed what a crop there had been. Turnips as big as cheeses swelled above the ground. In a little narrow dell, whose existence was more plainly indicated from the house by several healthy spindling larches shooting up from among the green gorse, was the cover—an almost certain find, with the almost equal certainty of a run from it. It occupied both sides of the sandy, rabbit-frequented dell, through which ran a sparkling stream, and it possessed the great advantage to foot-people of letting them see the fox found. Larkhall Hill was, therefore, a favourite both with horse and foot. So much good—at all events, so much well-farmed land would seem to justify a better or more imposing-looking house, the present one consisting, exclusive of the projecting garret ones in the Dutch tile roof, of the usual four windows and a door, that so well tell theirown tale; passage in the middle, staircase in front, parlour on the right, best ditto on the left, with rooms to correspond above. To be sure, there was a great depth of house to the back; but this in no way contributed to the importance of the front, from which point alone the Springwheats chose to have it contemplated. If the back arrangements could have been divided, and added to the sides, they would have made two very good wings to the old red brick rose-entwined mansion. Having mentioned that its colour was red, it is almost superfluous to add that the door and rails were green.
This was a busy morning at Larkhall Hill. It was the first day of the season of my lord's hounds meeting there, and the handsome Mrs. Springwheat had had as much trouble in overhauling the china and linen, and in dressing the children, preparatory to breakfast, as Springwheat had had in collecting knives and forks, and wine-glasses and tumblers for his department of the entertainment, to say nothing of looking after his new tops and cords. 'The Hill,' as the country people call it, was 'full fig'; and a bright, balmy winter's day softened the atmosphere, and felt as though a summer's day had been shaken out of its place into winter. It is not often that the English climate is accommodating enough to lend its aid to set off a place to advantage.
Be that, however, as it may, things looked smiling both without and within. Mrs. Springwheat, by dint of early rising and superintendence, had got things into such a state of forwardness as to be able to adorn herself with a little jaunty cap—curious in microscopic punctures and cherry-coloured ribbon interlardments—placed so far back on her finely-shaped head as to proclaim beyond all possibility of cavil that it was there for ornament, and not for the purpose of concealing the liberties of time with her well-kept, clearly parted, raven-black hair. Liberties of time, forsooth! Mrs. Springwheat was in the heighday of womanhood; and though she had presented Springwheat with twins three times in succession, besides an eldest son, she was as young, fresh-looking, and finely figured as she was the day she was married. She was now dressed in a very fine Frenchgrey merino, with a very small crochet-work collar, and, of course, capacious muslin sleeves. The high flounces to her dress set off her smart waist to great advantage.
Mrs. Springwheat had got everything ready, and herself too, by the time Lord Scamperdale's second horseman rode into the yard and demanded a stall for his horse. Knowing how soon the balloon follows the pilot, she immediately ranged the Stunner-tartan-clad children in the breakfast-room; and as the first whip's rate sounded as he rode round the corner, she sank into an easy-chair by the fire, with a lace-fringed kerchief in the one hand and theMark Lane Expressin the other.
'Halloa! Springey!' followed by the heavy crack of a whip, announced the arrival of his lordship before the green palings; and a loud view halloa burst from Jack, as the object of inquiry was seen dancing about the open-windowed room above, with his face all flushed with the exertion of pulling on a very tight boot.
'Come in, my lord! pray, come in! The missis is below!' exclaimed Springwheat, from the window; and just at the moment the pad-groom emerged from the house, and ran to his lordship's horse's head.
His lordship and Jack then dismounted, and gave their hacks in charge of the servant; while Wake, and Fyle, and Archer, who were also of the party, scanned the countenances of the surrounding idlers, to see in whose hands they had best confide their nags.
In Lord Scamperdale stamped, followed by his train-band bold, and Maria, the maid, being duly stationed in the passage, threw open the parlour door on the left, and discovered Mrs. Springwheat sitting in attitude.
'Well, my lady, and how are you?' exclaimed his lordship, advancing gaily, and seizing both her pretty hands as she rose to receive him. 'I declare, you look younger and prettier every time I see you.'
'Oh! my lord,' simpered Mrs. Springwheat, 'you gentlemen are always so complimentary.'
'Not a bit of it!' exclaimed his lordship, eyeing her intently through his silver spectacles, for he had been obliged to let Jack have the other pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed ones.'Not a bit of it,' repeated his lordship. 'I always tell Jack you are the handsomest woman in Christendom; don't I, Jack?' inquired his lordship, appealing to his factotum.
'Yes, my lord,' replied Jack, who always swore to whatever his lordship said.
'By Jove!' continued his lordship, with a stamp of his foot, 'if I could find such a woman I'd marry her to-morrow. Not such women as you to pick up every day. And what a lot of pretty pups!' exclaimed his lordship, starting back, pretending to be struck with the row of staring, black-haired, black-eyed, half-frightened children. 'Now, that's what I call a good entry,' continued his lordship, scrutinizing them attentively, and pointing them out to Jack; 'all dogs—all boys I mean!' added he.
'No, my lord,' replied Mrs. Springwheat, laughing, 'these are girls,' laying her hand on the heads of two of them, who were now full giggle at the idea of being taken for boys.
'Well, they're devilish handsome, anyhow,' replied his lordship, thinking he might as well be done with the inspection.
Springwheat himself now made his appearance, as fine a sample of a man as his wife was of a woman. His face was flushed with the exertion of pulling on his tight boots, and his lordship felt the creases the hooks had left as he shook him by the hand.
'Well, Springey,' said he, 'I was just asking your wife after the new babby.'
'Oh, thank you, my lord,' replied Springey, with a shake of his curly head; 'thank you, my lord; no new babbies, my lord, with wheat below forty, my lord.'
'Well, but you've got a pair of new boots, at all events,' observed his lordship, eyeing Springwheat's refractory calves bagging over the tops of them.
''Deed have I!' replied Springwheat; 'and a pair of uncommon awkward tight customers they are,' added he, trying to move his feet about in them.
'Ah! you should always have a chap to wear your boots a few times before you put them on yourself,'observed his lordship. 'I never have a pair of tight uns,' added he; 'Jack here always does the needful by mine.'
'That's all very well for lords,' replied Mr. Springwheat; 'but us farmers wear out our boots fast enough ourselves, without anybody to help us.'
'Well, but I s'pose we may as well fall to,' observed his lordship, casting his eye upon the well-garnished table. 'All these good things are meant to eat, I s'pose,' added he: 'cakes, and sweets, and jellies without end: and as to your sideboard,' said he, turning round and looking at it, 'it's a match for any Lord Mayor's. A round of beef, a ham, a tongue, and is that a goose or a turkey?'
'A turkey, my lord,' replied Springwheat; 'home-fed, my lord.'
'Ah, home-fed, indeed!' ejaculated his lordship, with a shake of the head: 'home-fed: wish I could feed at home. The man who said that
E'en from the peasant to the lord,The turkey smokes on every board,
E'en from the peasant to the lord,The turkey smokes on every board,
told a big un, for I'm sure none ever smokes on mine.'
'Take a little here to-day, then,' observed Mr. Springwheat, cutting deep into the white breast.
'I will,' replied his lordship, 'I will: and a slice of tongue, too,' added he.
'There are some hot sausingers comin',' observed Mr. Springwheat.
'Youdon'tsay so,' replied his lordship, apparently thunderstruck at the announcement. 'Well, I must have all three. By Jove, Jack!' said he, appealing to his friend, 'but you've lit on your legs coming here. Here's a breakfast fit to set before the Queen—muffins, and crumpets, and cakes. Let me advise you to make the best use of your time, for you have but twenty minutes,' continued his lordship, looking at his watch, 'and muffins and crumpets don't come in your way every day.'
''Deed they don't,' replied Jack, with a grin.
'Will your lordship take tea or coffee?' asked Mrs. Springwheat, who had now taken her seat at the top ofthe table, behind a richly chased equipage for the distribution of those beverages.
''Pon my word,' replied his lordship, apparently bewildered—''pon my word, I don't know what to say. Tea or coffee? To tell you the truth, I was going to take something out of my black friend yonder,' nodding to where a French bottle like a tall bully was lifting its head above an encircling stand of liqueur-glasses.
'Suppose you have a little of what we call laced tea, my lord—tea with a dash of brandy in it?' suggested Mr. Springwheat.
'Laced tea,' repeated his lordship; 'laced tea: so I will,' said he. 'Deuced good idea—deuced good idea,' continued he, bringing the bottle and seating himself on Mrs. Springwheat's right, while his host helped him to a most plentiful plate of turkey and tongue. The table was now about full, as was the room; the guests just rolling in as they would to a public-house, and helping themselves to whatever they liked. Great was the noise of eating.
As his lordship was in the full enjoyment of his plateful of meat, he happened to look up, and, the space between him and the window being clear, he saw something that caused him to drop his knife and fork and fall back in his chair as if he was shot.
'My lord's ill!' exclaimed Mr. Springwheat, who, being the only man with his nose up, was the first to perceive it.
'Clap him on the back!' shrieked Mrs. Springwheat, who considered that an infallible recipe for the ailments of children.
'Oh, Mr. Spraggon!' exclaimed both, as they rushed to his assistance, 'what is the matter with my lord?'
'Oh, that Mister something!' gasped his lordship, bending forward in his chair, and venturing another glance through the window.
Sure enough, there was Sponge, in the act of dismounting from the piebald, and resigning it with becoming dignity to his trusty groom, Mr. Leather, who stood most respectfully—Parvo in hand—waiting to receive it.
Mr. Sponge, being of opinion that a red coat is apassport everywhere, having stamped the mud sparks off his boots at the door, swaggered in with the greatest coolness, exclaiming as he bobbed his head to the lady, and looked round at the company:
'What, grubbing away! grubbing away, eh?'
'Won't you take a little refreshment?' asked Mr. Springwheat, in the hearty way these hospitable fellows welcome everybody.
'Yes, I will,' replied Sponge, turning to the sideboard as though it were an inn. 'That's a monstrous fine ham,' observed he; 'why doesn't somebody cut it?'
'Let me help you to some, sir,' replied Mr. Springwheat, seizing the buck-handled knife and fork, and diving deep into the rich red meat with the knife.
Mr. Sponge having got two bountiful slices, with a knotch of home-made brown bread, and some mustard on his plate, now made for the table, and elbowed himself into a place between Mr. Fossick and Sparks, immediately opposite Mr. Spraggon.
'Good morning,' said he to that worthy, as he saw the whites of his eyes showing through his spectacles.
'Mornin',' muttered Jack, as if his mouth was either too full to articulate, or he didn't want to have anything to say to Mr. Sponge.
'Here's a fine hunting morning, my lord,' observed Sponge, addressing himself to his lordship, who sat on Jack's left.
'Here's a very fine hunting morning, my lord,' repeated Sponge, not getting an answer to his first assertion.
'Is it?' blurted his lordship, pretending to be desperately busy with the contents of his plate, though in reality his appetite was gone.
A dead pause now ensued, interrupted only by the clattering of knives and forks, and the occasional exclamations of parties in want of some particular article of food. A chill had come over the scene—a chill whose cause was apparent to every one, except the worthy host and hostess, who had not heard of Mr. Sponge's descent upon the country. They attributed it to his lordship's indisposition, and Mr. Springwheat endeavoured to cheer him up with the prospect of sport.
'There's a brace, if not a leash, of foxes in cover, my lord,' observed he, seeing his lordship was only playing with the contents of his plate.
'Is there?' exclaimed his lordship, brightening up: 'let's be at 'em!' added he, jumping up and diving under the side-table for his flat hat and heavy iron hammer-headed whip. 'Good morning, my dear Mrs. Springwheat,' exclaimed he, putting on his hat and seizing both her soft fat-fingered hands and squeezing them ardently. 'Good morning, my dear Mrs. Springwheat,' repeated he, adding, 'By Jove! if ever there was an angel in petticoats, you're her; I'd give a hundred pounds for such a wife as you! I'd give a thousand pounds for such a wife as you! By the powers! I'd give five thousand pounds for such a wife as you!' With which asseverations his lordship stamped away in his great clumsy boots, amidst the ill-suppressed laughter of the party.
'No hurry, gentlemen—no hurry,' observed Mr. Springwheat, as some of the keen ones were preparing to follow, and began sorting their hats, and making the mistakes incident to their being all the same shape. 'No hurry, sir—no hurry, sir,' repeated Springwheat, addressing Mr. Sponge specifically; 'his lordship will have a talk to his hounds yet, and his horse is still in the stable.'
With this assurance Mr. Sponge resumed his seat at the table, where several of the hungry ones were plying their knives and forks as if they were indeed breaking their fasts.
'Well, old boy, and how are you?' asked Sponge, as the whites of Jack's eyes again settled upon him, on the latter's looking up from his plateful of sausages.
'Nicely. How are you?' asked Jack.
'Nicely too,' replied Sponge, in the laconic way men speak who have been engaged in some common enterprise—getting drunk, pelting people with rotten eggs, or anything of that sort.
'Jaw and the ladies well?' asked Jack, in the same strain.
'Oh, nicely,' said Sponge.
'Take a glass of cherry-brandy,' exclaimed the hospitable Mr. Springwheat: 'nothing like a drop of something for steadying the nerves.'
'Presently,' replied Sponge, 'presently; meanwhile I'll trouble the missis for a cup of coffee. Coffee without sugar,' said Sponge, addressing the lady.
'With pleasure,' replied Mrs. Springwheat, glad to get a little custom for her goods. Most of the gentlemen had been at the bottles and sideboard.
Springwheat, seeing Mr. Sponge, the only person who, as a stranger, there was any occasion for him to attend to, in the care of his wife, now slipped out of the room, and mounting his five-year-old horse, whose tail stuck out like the long horn of a coach, as his ploughman groom said, rode off to join the hunt.
'By the powers, but those are capital sarsingers!' observed Jack, smacking his lips and eating away for hard life. 'Just look if my lord's on his horse yet,' added he to one of the children, who had begun to hover round the table and dive their fingers into the sweets.
'No,' replied the child; 'he's still on foot, playing with the dogs.'
'Here goes, then,' said Jack, 'for another plate,' suiting the action to the word, and running with his plate to the sausage-dish.
'Have a hot one,' exclaimed Mrs. Springwheat, adding, 'it will be done in a minute.'
'No, thank ye,' replied Jack, with a shake of the head, adding, 'I might be done in a minute too.'
'He'll wait for you, I suppose?' observed Sponge, addressing Jack.
'Not so clear about that,' replied Jack, gobbling away; 'time and my lord wait for no man. But it's hardly the half-hour yet,' added he, looking at his watch.
He then fell to with the voracity of a hound after hunting. Sponge, too, made the most of his time, as did two or three others who still remained.
'Now for the jumping-powder!' at length exclaimed Sponge, looking round for the bottle. 'What shall it be, cherry or neat?' continued he, pointing to the two.'Cherry for me,' replied Jack, squinting and eating away without looking up.
'I sayneat,' rejoined Sponge, helping himself out of the French bottle.
'You'll be hard to hold after that,' observed Jack, as he eyed Sponge tossing it off.
'I hope my horse won't,' replied Sponge, remembering he was going to ride the resolute chestnut.
'You'll show us the way, I dare say,' observed Jack.
'Shouldn't wonder,' replied Sponge, helping himself to a second glass.
'What! at it again!' exclaimed Jack, adding, 'Take care you don't ride over my lord.'
'I'll take care of the old file,' said Sponge; 'it wouldn't do to kill the goose that lays the golden what-do-ye-call-'ems, you know—he, he, he!'
'No,' chuckled Jack;' 'deed it wouldn't—must make the most of him.'
'What sort of a humour is he in to-day?' asked Sponge.
'Middlin',' replied Jack, 'middlin'; he'll abuse you most likely, but that you mustn't mind.'
'Not I,' replied Sponge, who was used to that sort of thing.
'You mustn't mind me either,' observed Jack, sweeping the last piece of sausage into his mouth with his knife, and jumping up from the table. 'When his lordship rows I row,' added he, diving under the side-table for his flat hat.
'Hark! there's the horn!' exclaimed Sponge, rushing to the window.
'So there is,' responded Jack, standing transfixed on one leg to the spot.
'By the powers, they're away!' exclaimed Sponge, as his lordship was seen hat in hand careering over the meadow, beyond the cover, with the tail hounds straining to overtake their flying comrades. Twang—twang—twang went Frostyface's horn; crack—crack—crack went the ponderous thongs of the whips; shouts, and yells, and yelps, and whoops, and halloas, proclaimed the usual wild excitement of this privileged period of the chase. All was joy save among the gourmands assembled at the door—they looked blank indeed.
'What a sell!' exclaimed Sponge, in disgust, who, with Jack, saw the hopelessness of the case.
'Yonder he goes!' exclaimed a lad, who had run up from the cover to see the hunt from the rising ground.
'Where?' exclaimed Sponge, straining his eyeballs.
'There!' said the lad, pointing due south. 'D'ye see Tommy Claychop's pasture? Now he's through the hedge and into Mrs. Starveland's turnip field, making right for Bramblebrake Wood on the hill.'
'So he is,' said Sponge, who now caught sight of the fox emerging from the turnips on to a grass field beyond.
Jack stood staring through his great spectacles, without deigning a word.
'What shall we do?' asked Sponge.
'Do?' replied Jack, with his chin still up; 'go home, I should think.'
'There's a man down!' exclaimed a groom, who formed one of the group, as a dark-coated rider and horse measured their length on a pasture.
'It's Mr. Sparks,' said another, adding, 'he's always rolling about.'
'Lor', look at the parson!' exclaimed a third, as Blossomnose was seen gathering his horse and setting up his shoulders preparatory to riding at a gate.
'Well done, old 'un!' roared a fourth, as the horse flew over it, apparently without an effort.
'Now for Tom!' cried several, as the second whip went galloping up on the line of the gate.
'Ah! he won't have it!' was the cry, as the horse suddenly stopped short, nearly shooting Tom over his head. 'Try him again—try him again—take a good run—that's him—there, he's over!' was the cry, as Tom flourished his arm in the air on landing.
'Look! there's old Tommy Baker, the rat-ketcher!' cried another, as a man went working his arms and legs on an old white pony across a fallow.
'Ah, Tommy! Tommy! you'd better shut up,' observed another: 'a pig could go as fast as that.'
And so they criticized the laggers.
'How did my lord get his horse?' asked Spraggon of the groom who had brought them on, who now joined the eye-straining group at the door.
'It was taken down to him at the cover,' replied the man. 'My lord went in on foot, and the horse went round the back way. The horse wasn't there half a minute before he was wanted; for no sooner were the hounds in at one end than out popped the fox at t'other. Sich a whopper!—biggest fox that ever was seen.'
'They are all the biggest foxes that ever were seen,' snapped Mr. Sponge. 'I'll be bound he was not a bit bigger than common.'
'I'll be bound not, either,' growled Mr. Spraggon, squinting frightfully at the man, adding, 'go, get me my hack, and don't be talking nonsense there.'
Our friends then remounted their hacks and parted company in very moderate humours, feeling fully satisfied that his lordship had done it on purpose.
oo-ray, Jack! Hoo-ray!' exclaimed Lord Scamperdale, bursting into his sanctum where Mr. Spraggon sat in his hunting coat and slippers, spelling away at a second-hand copy ofBell's Lifeby the light of a melancholy mould candle. 'Hooray, Jack! hooray!' repeated he, waving that proud trophy, a splendid fox's brush, over his grizzly head.
His lordship was the picture of delight. He had had a tremendous run—the finest run that ever was seen! His hounds had behaved to perfection; his horse—though he had downed him three times—had carried him well, and his lordship stood with his crownless flat hat in his hand, and one coat lap in the pocket of the other—a grinning, exulting, self-satisfied specimen of a happy Englishman.
'Lor! what a sight you are!' observed Jack, turning the light of the candle upon his lordship's dirty person. 'Why, I declare you're an inch thick with mud,' he added, 'mud from head to foot,' he continued, working the light up and down.
'Never mind the mud, you old badger!' roared his lordship, still waving the brush over his head: 'never mind the mud, you old badger; the mud'll come off, ormay stay on; but such a run as we've had does not come off every day.'
'Well, I'm glad you have had a run,' replied Jack. 'I'm glad you have had a run,' adding, 'I was afraid at one time that your day's sport was spoiled.'
'Well, do you know,' replied his lordship, 'when I saw that unrighteous snob, I was near sick. If it were possible for a man to faint, I should have thought I was going to do so. At first I thought of going home, taking the hounds away too; then I thought of going myself and leaving the hounds; then I thought if I left the hounds it would only make the sinful scaramouch more outrageous, and I should be sitting on pins and needles till they came home, thinking how he was crashing among them. Next I thought of drawing all the unlikely places in the country, and making a blank day of it. Then I thought that would only be like cutting off my nose to spite my face. Then I didn't know what on earth to do. At last, when I saw the critter's great pecker steadily down in his plate, I thought I would try and steal a march upon him, and get away with my fox while he was feeding; and, oh! how thankful I was when I looked back from Bramblebrake Hill, and saw no signs of him in the distance.'
'It wasn't likely you'd see him,' interrupted Jack, 'for he never got away from the front door. I twigged what you were after, and kept him up in talk about his horses and his ridin' till I saw you were fairly away.'
'You did well,' exclaimed Lord Scamperdale, patting Jack on the back; 'you did well, my old buck-o'-wax; and, by Jove! we'll have a bottle of port—a bottle of port, as I live,' repeated his lordship, as if he had made up his mind to do a most magnificent act.
'But what's happened you behind?—what's happened you behind?' asked Jack, as his lordship turned to the fire, and exhibited his docked tail.
'Oh, hang the coat!—it's neither here nor there,' replied his lordship; 'hat neither,' he added, exhibiting its crushed proportions. 'Old Blossomnose did the coat; and as to the hat, I did it myself—at least, old Daddy Longlegs and I did it between us. We got intoa grass-field, of which they had cut a few roods of fence, just enough to tempt a man out of a very deep lane, and away we sailed, in the enjoyment of fine sound sward, with the rest of the field plunging and floundering, and holding and grinning, and thinking what fools they were for not following my example—when, lo and behold! I got to the bottom of the field, and found there was no way out—no chance of a bore through the great thick, high hedge, except at a branchy willow, where there was just enough room to squeeze a horse through, provided he didn't rise at the ditch on the far side. At first I was for getting off; indeed, had my right foot out of the stirrup, when the hounds dashed forrard with such energy—looking like running—and remembering the tremendous climb I should have to get on to old Daddy's back again, and seeing some of the nasty jealous chaps in the lane eyeing me through the fence, thinking how I was floored, I determined to stay where I was; and gathering the horse together, tried to squeeze through the hole. Well, he went shuffling and sliding down to it, as though he were conscious of the difficulty, and poked his head quietly past the tree, when, getting a sight of the ditch on the far side, he rose, and banged my head against the branch above, crushing my hat right over my eyes, and in that position he carried me through blindfold.'
'Indeed!' exclaimed Jack, turning his spectacles full upon his lordship, and adding, 'it's lucky he didn't crack your crown.'
'It is,' assented his lordship, feeling his head to satisfy himself that he had not done so.
'And how did you lose your tail?' asked Jack, having got the information about the hat.
'The tail! ah, the tail!' replied his lordship, feeling behind, where it wasn't;' I'll tell you how that was: you see we went away like blazes from Springwheat's gorse—nice gorse it is, and nice woman he has for a wife—but, however, that's neither here nor there; what I was going to tell you about was the run, and how I lost my tail. Well, we got away like winking; no sooner were the hounds in on one side than away wentthe fox on the other. Not a soul shouted till he was clean gone; hats in the air was all that told his departure. The fox thus had time to run matters through his mind—think whether he should go to Ravenscar Craigs, or make for the main earths at Painscastle Grove. He chose the latter, doubtless feeling himself strong and full of running; and if we had chosen his ground for him he could not have taken us a finer line. He went as straight as an arrow through Bramblebrake Wood, and then away down the hill over those great enormous pastures to Haselbury Park, which he skirted, leaving Evercreech Green on the left, pointing as if for Dormston Dean. Here he was chased by a cur, and the hounds were brought to a momentary check. Frosty, however, was well up, and a hat being held up on Hothersell Hill, he clapped forrard and laid the hounds on beyond. We then viewed the fox sailing away over Eddlethorp Downs, still pointing for Painscastle Grove, with the Hamerton Brook lighting up here and there in the distance.
'The field, I should tell you, were fairly taken by surprise. There wasn't a man ready for a start; my horse had only just come down. Fossick was on foot, drawing his girths; Fyle was striking a light to smoke a cigar on his hack; Blossomnose and Capon's grooms were fistling and wisping their horses; Dribble, as usual, was all behind; and altogether there was such a scene of hurry and confusion as never was seen.
'As they came to the brook they got somewhat into line, and one saw who was there. Five or six of us charged it together, and two went under. One was Springwheat on his bay, who was somewhat pumped out; the other was said to be Hook. Old Daddy Longlegs skimmed it like a swallow, and, getting his hind-legs well under him, shot over the pastures beyond, as if he was going upon turf. The hounds all this time had been running, or rather racing, nearly mute. They now, however, began to feel for the scent; and, as they got upon the cold, bleak grounds above Somerton Quarries, they were fairly brought to their noses. Uncommon glad I was to see them; for ten minutes more, at thepace they had been going, would have shaken off every man Jack of us. As it was, it was bellows to mend; and Calcott's roarer roared as surely roarer never roared before. You could hear him half a mile off. We had barely time, however, to turn our horses to the wind, and ease them for a few moments, before the pace began to mend, and from a catching to a holding scent they again poured across Wallingburn pastures, and away to Roughacres Court. It was between these places that I got my head duntled into my hat,' continued his lordship, knocking the crownless hat against his mud-stained knee. 'However, I didn't care a button, though I'd not worn it above two years, and it might have lasted me a long time about home; but misfortunes seldom come singly, and I was soon to have another. The few of us that were left were all for the lanes, and very accommodating the one between Newton Bushell and the Forty-foot Bank was, the hounds running parallel within a hundred yards on the left for nearly a mile. When, however, we got to the old water-mill in the fields below, the fox made a bend to the left, as if changing his mind, and making for Newtonbroome Woods, and we were obliged to try the fortunes of war in the fields. The first fence we came to looked like nothing, and there was a weak place right in my line that I rode at, expecting the horse would easily bore through a few twigs that crossed the upper part of it. These, however, happened to be twisted, to stop the gap, and not having put on enough steam, they checked him as he rose, and brought him right down on his head in the broad ditch, on the far side. Old Blossomnose, who was following close behind, not making any allowance for falls, was in the air before I was well down, and his horse came with a forefoot, into my pocket, and tore the lap clean off by the skirt'; his lordship exhibiting the lap as he spoke.
'It's your new coat, too,' observed Jack, examining it with concern as he spoke.
''Deed, is it!' replied his lordship, with a shake of the head. ''Deed, is it! That's the consequence of having gone out to breakfast. If it had been to-morrow,for instance, I should have had number two on, or maybe number three,' his lordship having coats of every shade and grade, from stainless scarlet down to tattered mulberry colour.
'It'll mend, however,' observed his lordship, taking it back from Jack; 'it'll mend, however,' he said, fitting it round to the skirt as he spoke.
'Oh, nicely!' replied Jack; 'it's come off clean by the skirt. But what said Old Blossom?' inquired Jack.
'Oh, he was full of apologies and couldn't helps it as usual,' replied his lordship; 'he was down, too, I should tell you, with his horse on his left leg; but there wasn't much time for apologies or explanation, for the hounds were running pretty sharp, considering how long they had been at work, and there was the chance of others jumping upon us if we didn't get out of the way, so we both scrambled up as quick as we could and got into our places again.'
'Which way did you go, then?' asked Jack, who had listened with the attention of a man who knows every yard of the country.
'Well,' continued his lordship, casting back to where he got his fall, 'the fox crossed the Coatenburn township, picking all the plough and bad-scenting ground as he went, but it was of no use, his fate was sealed; and though he began to run short, and dodge and thread the hedge-rows, they hunted him yard by yard till he again made an effort for his life, and took over Mossingburn Moor, pointing for Penrose Tower on the hill. Here Frosty's horse, Little Jumper, declined, and we left him standing in the middle of the moor with a stiff neck, kicking and staring and looking mournfully at his flanks. Daddy Longlegs, too, had begun to sob, and in vain I looked back in hopes of seeing Jack-a-Dandy coming up. "Well," said I to myself, "I've got a pair of good strong boots on, and I'll finish the run on foot but I'll see it"; when, just at the moment, the pack broke from scent to view and rolled the fox up like a hedgehog amongst them.'
'Well done!' exclaimed Jack, adding, 'that was a run with a vengeance!''Wasn't it?' replied his lordship, rubbing his hands and stamping; 'the finest run that ever was seen—the finest run that ever was seen!'
'Why, it couldn't be less than twelve miles from point to point,' observed Jack, thinking it over.
'Not a yard,' replied his lordship, 'not a yard, and from fourteen to fifteen as the hounds ran.'
'It would be all that,' assented Jack. 'How long were you in doing it?' he asked.
'An hour and forty minutes,' replied his lordship; 'an hour and forty minutes from the find to the finish'; adding, 'I'll stick the brush and present it to Mrs. Springwheat.'
'It's to be hoped Springy's out of the brook,' observed Jack.
'To be hoped so,' replied his lordship, thinking, if he wasn't whether he should marry Mrs. Springwheat or not.
Well now, after all that, we fancy we hear our fair friends exclaim, 'Thank goodness, there's an end of Lord Scamperdale and his hunting; he has had a good run, and will rest quiet for a time; we shall now hear something of Amelia and Emily, and the doings at Jawleyford Court.' Mistaken lady! If you are lucky enough to marry an out-and-out fox-hunter, you will find that a good run is only adding fuel to the fire, only making him anxious for more. Lord Scamperdale's sporting fire was in full blaze. His bumps and his thumps, his rolls, and his scrambles, only brought out the beauties and perfections of the thing. He cared nothing for his hat-crown, no; nor for his coat-lap either. Nay, he wouldn't have cared if it had been made into a spencer.
'What's to-day? Monday,' said his lordship, answering himself. 'Monday,' he repeated; 'Monday—bubble-and-squeak, I guess—sooner it's ready the better, for I'm half-famished—didn't do half-justice to that nice breakfast at Springy's. That nasty brown-booted buffer completely threw me off my feed. By the way, what became of the chestnut-booted animal?'
'Went home,' replied Jack; 'fittest place for him.'
'Hope he'll stay there,' rejoined his lordship. 'No fear of his being at the roads to-morrow, is there?''None,' replied Jack. 'I told him it was quite an impossible distance from him, twenty miles at least.'
'That's grand!' exclaimed his lordship; 'that's grand! Then we'll have a rare, ding-dong hey—away pop. There'll be no end of those nasty, jealous, Puffington dogs out; and if we have half such a scent as we had to-day, we'll sew some of them up, we'll show 'em what hunting is. Now,' he added, 'if you'll go and get the bottle of port, I'll clean myself, and then we'll have dinner as quick as we can.'
We left our friend Mr. Sponge wending his way home moodily, after having lost his day at Larkhall Hill. Some of our readers will, perhaps, say, why didn't he clap on, and try to catch up the hounds at a check, or at all events rejoin them for an afternoon fox? Gentle reader! Mr. Sponge did not hunt on those terms; he was a front-rank or a 'nowhere' man, and independently of catching hounds up being always a fatiguing and hazardous speculation, especially on a fine-scenting day, the exertion would have taken more out of his horse than would have been desirable for successful display in a second run. Mr. Sponge, therefore, determined to go home.
As he sauntered along, musing on the mishaps of the chase, wondering how Miss Jawleyford would look, and playing himself an occasional tune with his spur against his stirrup, who should come trotting behind him but Mr. Leather on the redoubtable chestnut? Mr. Sponge beckoned him alongside. The horse looked blooming and bright; his eye was clear and cheerful, and there was a sort of springy graceful action that looked like easy going.
One always fancies a horse most with another man on him. We see all his good points without feeling his imperfections—his trippings, or startings, or snatchings,or borings, or roughness of action, and Mr. Sponge proceeded to make a silent estimate of Multum in Parvo's qualities as he trotted gently along on the grassy side of the somewhat wide road.
'By Jove! it's a pity but his lordship had seen him,' thought Sponge, as the emulation of companionship made the horse gradually increase his pace, and steal forward with the lightest, freest action imaginable. 'If he was but all right,' continued Sponge, with a shake of the head, 'he would be worth any money, for he has the strength of a dray-horse, with the symmetry and action of a racer.'
Then Sponge thought he shouldn't have an opportunity of showing the horse till Thursday, for Jack had satisfied him that the next day's meet was quite beyond distance from Jawleyford Court.
'It's a bore,' said he, rising in his stirrups, and tickling the piebald with his spurs, as if he were going to set-to for a race. He thought of having a trial of speed with the chestnut, up a slip of turf they were now approaching; but a sudden thought struck him, and he desisted. 'These horses have done nothing to-day,' he said; 'why shouldn't I send the chestnut on for to-morrow?'
'Do you know where the cross-roads are?' he asked his groom.
'Cross-roads, cross-roads—what cross-roads?' replied Leather.
'Where the hounds meet to-morrow.'
'Oh, the cross-roads at Somethin' Burn,' rejoined Leather thoughtfully—'no, 'deed, I don't,' he added. 'From all 'counts, they seem to be somewhere on the far side of the world.'
That was not a very encouraging answer; and feeling it would require a good deal of persuasion to induce Mr. Leather to go in search of them without clothing and the necessary requirements for his horses, Mr. Sponge went trotting on, in hopes of seeing some place where he might get a sight of the map of the county. So they proceeded in silence, till a sudden turn of the road brought them to the spire and housetops of thelittle agricultural town of Barleyboll. It differed nothing from the ordinary run of small towns. It had a pond at one end, an inn in the middle, a church at one side, a fashionable milliner from London, a merchant tailor from the same place, and a hardware shop or two where they also sold treacle, Dartford gunpowder, pocket-handkerchiefs, sheep-nets, patent medicines, cheese, blacking, marbles, mole-traps, men's hats, and other miscellaneous articles. It was quite enough of a town, however, to raise a presumption that there would be a map of the county at the inn.
'We'll just put the horses up for a few minutes, I think,' said Sponge, turning into the stable-yard at the end of the Red Lion Hotel and Posting House, adding, 'I want to write a letter, and perhaps,' said he, looking at his watch, 'you may be wanting your dinner.'
Having resigned his horse to his servant, Mr. Sponge walked in, receiving the marked attention usually paid to a red coat. Mine host left his bar, where he was engaged in the usual occupation of drinking with customers for the 'good of the house.' A map of the county, of such liberal dimensions, was speedily produced, as would have terrified any one unaccustomed to distances and scales on which maps are laid down. For instance, Jawleyford Court, as the crow flies, was the same distance from the cross-roads at Dallington Burn as York was from London, in a map of England hanging beside it.
'It's a goodish way,' said Sponge, getting a lighter off the chimney-piece, and measuring the distances. 'From Jawleyford Court to Billingsborough Rise, say seven miles; from Billingsborough Rise to Downington Wharf, other seven; from Downington Wharf to Shapcot, which seems the nearest point, will be—say five or six, perhaps—nineteen or twenty in all. Well, that's my work,' he observed, scratching his head, 'at least, my hack's; and from here, home,' he continued, measuring away as he spoke, 'will be twelve or thirteen. Well, that's nothing,' he said. 'Now for the horse,' he continued, again applying the lighter in a different direction. 'From here to Hardington will be, say, eightmiles; from Hardington to Bewley, other five; eight and five are thirteen; and there, I should say, he might sleep. That would leave ten or twelve miles for the morning; nothing for a hack hunter; 'specially such a horse as that, and one that's done nothing for I don't know how long.'
Altogether, Mr. Sponge determined to try it, especially considering that if he didn't get Tuesday, there would be nothing till Thursday; and he was not the man to keep a hack hunter standing idle.
Accordingly he sought Mr. Leather, whom he found busily engaged in the servants' apartment, with a cold round of beef and a foaming flagon of ale before him.
'Leather,' he said, in a tone of authority, 'I'll hunt to-morrow—ride the horse I should have ridden to-day.'
'Where at?' asked Leather, diving his fork into a bottle of pickles, and fishing out an onion.
'The cross-roads,' replied Sponge.
'The cross-roads be fifty miles from here!' cried Leather.
'Nonsense!' rejoined Sponge; 'I've just measured the distance. It's nothing of the sort.'
'How far do you make it, then?' asked Leather, tucking in the beef.
'Why, from here to Hardington is about six, and from Hardington to Bewley, four—ten in all,' replied Sponge. 'You can stay at Bewley all night, and then it is but a few miles on in the morning.'
'And whativer am I to do for clothin'?' asked Leather, adding, 'I've nothin' with me—nothin' nouther for oss nor man.'
'Oh, the ostler'll lend you what you want,' replied Sponge, in a tone of determination, adding, 'you can make shift for one night surely?'
'One night surely!' retorted Leather. 'D'ye think an oss can't be ruined in one night?—humph!'
'I'll risk it,' said Sponge.
'But I won't,' replied Leather, blowing the foam from the tankard, and taking a long swig at the ale. 'I thinks I knows my duty to my gov'nor better nor that,'continued he, setting it down. 'I'll not see his waluable 'unters stowed away in pigsties—not I, indeed.'
The fact was, Leather had an invitation to sup with the servants at Jawleyford Court that night, and he was not going to be done out of his engagement, especially as Mr. Sponge only allowed him two shillings a day for expenses wherever he was.