e the last had dropped, Mr. Buckram had collected himself
sufficiently to resume.

Taking the ash-plant away from his mouth, with which he had been
barricading his lips, he observed--

'I know'd that oss when Lord Bullfrog had him,' nodding his head at our old
friend as he spoke.

'The deuce you did!' observed Mr. Waffles;' where was that?'

'In Leicestersheer,' replied Mr. Buckram. 'I have a haunt as lives at Mount
Sorrel; she has a little hindependence of her own, and I goes down
'casionally to see her--in fact, I believes I'm her _hare_. Well, I was
down there just at the beginnin' of the season, the 'ounds met at Kirby
Gate--a mile or two to the south, you know, on the Leicester road--it was
the fust day of the season, in fact--and there was a great crowd, and I was
one; and havin' a heye for an oss, I was struck with this one, you
understand, bein' as I thought, a 'ticklar nice 'un. Lord Bullfrog's man
was a ridin' of him, and he kept him outside the crowd, showin' off his
pints, and passin' him backwards and forwards under people's noses, to
'tract the notish of the nobs--parsecutin, what I call--and I see'd Mr.
Sponge struck--I've known Mr. Sponge many years, and a 'ticklar nice gent
he is--well, Mr. Sponge pulled hup, and said to the grum, "Who's o' that
oss?" "My Lor' Bullfrog's, sir," said the man. "He's a deuced nice 'un,"
observed Mr. Sponge, thinkin', as he was a lord's, he might praise 'im,
seein', in all probability, he weren't for sale. "He is _that_," said the
grum, patting him on the neck, as though he were special fond on him. "Is
my lord out?" asked Mr. Sponge. "No, sir; he's not come down yet," replied
the man, "nor do I know when he will come. He's been down at Bath for some
time 'sociatin' with the aldermen o' Bristol and has thrown up a vast o'
bad flesh--two stun' sin' last season--and he's afeared this oss won't be
able to carry 'im, and so he writ to me to take 'im out to-day, to show
'im." "He'd carry _me_, I think," said Mr. Sponge, making hup his mind on
the moment, jist as he makes hup his mind to ride at a fence--not that I
think it's a good plan for a gent to show that he's sweet on an oss, for
they're sure to make him pay for it. Howsomever, that's nouther here nor
there. Well, jist as Mr. Sponge said this, Sir Richard driv' hup, and
havin' got his oss, away we trotted to the goss jist below, and the next
thing I see'd was Mr. Sponge leadin' the 'ole field on this werry nag.
Well, I