e an effort to stay. That, however, put it rather
out of his power, especially as it was done so politely, and hinted at a
renewal of the visit. Mr. Sponge spent the evening in cogitating what he
should do--thinking what sportsmen had held out the hand of
good-fellowship, and hinted at hoping to have the pleasure of seeing him.
Fyle, Fossick, Blossomnose, Capon, Dribble, Hook, and others, were all run
through his mind, without his thinking it prudent to attempt to fix a
volunteer visit upon any of them. Many people he knew could pen polite
excuses, who yet could not hit them off at the moment, especially in that
great arena of hospitality--the hunting-field. He went to bed very much
perplexed.

CHAPTER XLIV

WANTED--A RICH GOD-PAPA!

'When one door shuts another opens,' say the saucy servants; and fortune
was equally favourable to our friend Mr. Sponge. Though he could not think
of any one to whom he could volunteer a visit. Dame Fortune provided him
with an overture from a party who wanted him! But we will introduce his new
host, or rather victim.

People hunt from various motives--some for the love of the thing--some for
show--some for fashion--some for health--some for appetites--some for
coffee-housing--some to say they have hunted--some because others hunt.

Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey did not hunt from any of these motives, and it would
puzzle a conjurer to make out why he hunted; indeed, the members of the
different hunts he patronized--for he was one of the run-about,
non-subscribing sort--were long in finding out. It was observed that he
generally affected countries abounding in large woods, such as Stretchaway
Forest, Hazelbury Chase, and Oakington Banks, into which he would dive with
the greatest avidity. At first people thought he was a very keen hand,
anxious to see a fox handsomely found, if he could not see him handsomely
finished, against which latter luxury his figure and activity, or want of
activity, were somewhat opposed. Indeed, when we say that he went by the
name of the Woolpack, our readers will be able to imagine the style of man
he was: long-headed, short-necked, large-girthed, dumpling-legged little
fellow, who, like most fat men, made himself dangerous by compressing a
most unreasonable stomach into a circumscribed coat, each particular button
of which looked as if it was ready to burst off, and knock out the eye of
any one who might have the temerity to ride alongside of him. He was a