hen the horse began to plunge, and paw, and give symptoms of
uneasiness, and not wishing to fret or exhibit his weak points, Mr. Sponge
gave him his head, and passing through the side-gate was presently in the
street. He didn't exactly understand it, but having full confidence in his
horsemanship, and believing the one he was on required nothing but riding,
he was not afraid to take his chance.

Not being the man to put his candle under a bushel, Mr. Sponge took the
principal streets on his way out of town. We are not sure that he did not
go rather out of his way to get them in, but that is neither here nor
there, seeing he was a stranger who didn't know the way. What a sensation
his appearance created as the gallant brown stepped proudly and freely up
Coronation Street, showing his smart, clean, well-put-on head up and down
on the unrestrained freedom of the snaffle.

'Oh, d--n it, there he is!' exclaimed Mr. Spareneck, jumping up from the
breakfast-table, and nearly sweeping the contents off by catching the cloth
with his spur.

'Where?' exclaimed half-a-dozen voices, amid a general rush to the windows.

'What a fright!' exclaimed little Miss Martindale, whispering into Miss
Beauchamp's ear: 'I'm sure anybody may have him for me,' though she felt in
her heart that he was far from bad looking.

'I wonder how long he's taken to put on that choker,' observed Mr.
Spareneck, eyeing him intently, not without an inward qualm that he had set
himself a more difficult task than he imagined, to 'cut him down,'
especially when he looked at the noble animal he bestrode, and the masterly
way he sat him.

'What a pair of profligate boots,' observed Captain Whitfield, as our
friend now passed his lodgings.

'It would be the duty of a right-thinking man to ride over a fellow in such
a pair,' observed his friend, Mr. Cox, who was breakfasting with him.

'Ride over a fellow in such a pair!' exclaimed Whitfield. 'No well-bred
horse would face such things, I should think.'

'He seems to think a good deal of himself!' observed Mr. Cox, as Sponge
cast an admiring eye down his shining boot.

'Shouldn't wonder,' replied Whitfield; 'perhaps he'll have the conceit
taken out of him before night.'

'Well, I hope you'll be in time, old boy!' exclaimed Mr. Waffles to
himself, as looking down from his bedroom window, he espied Mr. Sponge
passing up the street on his way to cover. Mr. Waffles was just out of bed,
and had yet to dress and