.'

'Bravo!' shouted Sir Harry.

'Capital!' exclaimed Seedeybuck.

'Go it, you cripples! Newgate's on fire!' shouted Captain Quod.

'Well, what said he?' asked Sir Harry.

'"They commonly call me the Earl of Scamperdale," roared he, "and those are
MY HOUNDS."

'"They're _not_ your hounds," replied I.

'"Whose are they, then?" asked he.

'"Sir Harry Scattercash's, a devilish deal better fellow," replied I.

'"Oh, by Jove!" roared he, "there's an end of everything, Jack," shouted he
to old Spraggon, "this gentleman says these are not my hounds!"

'"I'll tell you what it is, my lord," said I, gathering my whip and riding
close up as if I was goin' to pitch into him, "I'll tell you what it is;
you think, because you're a lord, you may abuse people as you like, but by
Jingo you've mistaken your man. I'll not put up with any of your nonsense.
The Sponges are as old a family as the Scamperdales, and I'll fight you any
non-hunting day you like with pistols, broadswords, fists or
blunder-busses."'

'Well done you! Bravo! that's your sort!' with loud thumping of tables and
clapping of hands, resounded from all parts.

'By Jove, fill him up a stiff'un! he deserves a good drink after that!'
exclaimed Sir Harry, pouring Mr. Sponge out a beaker, equal parts brandy
and water.

Mr. Sponge immediately became a hero, and was freely admitted into their
circle. He was clearly a choice spirit--a trump of the first water--and
they only wanted his name to be uncommonly thick with him. As it was, they
plied him with victuals and drink, all seeming anxious to bring him up to
the same happy state of inebriety as themselves. They talked and they
chattered, and they abused Old Scamperdale and Jack Spraggon, and lauded
Mr. Sponge up to the skies.

Thus day closed in, with Farmer Peastraw's bright fire shedding its
cheering glow over the now encircling group. One would have thought that,
with their hearts mellow, and their bodies comfortable, their minds would
have turned to that sport in whose honour they sported the scarlet; but no,
hunting was never mentioned. They were quite as genteel as Nimrod's swell
friends at Melton, who cut it altogether. They rambled from subject to
subject, chiefly on indoor and London topics; billiards, betting-offices,
Coal Holes, Cremorne, Cider Cellars, Judge and Jury Courts, there being an
evident confusion in their minds between the characters of sportsmen and
sporting men, or gents as they are cal