vations, which a westerly
wind wafted into his ear.

'Oh, d--n me! that man in the lane's headed the fox,' puffed one.

'Who is it?' gasped another.

'Tom Washball!' exclaimed a third.

'Heads more foxes than any man in the country,' puffed a fourth.

'Always nicking and skirting,' exclaimed a fifth.

'Never comes to the meet,' added a sixth.

'Come on a cow to-day,' observed another.

'Always chopping and changing,' added another; 'he'll come on a giraffe
next.'

Having commenced his career with the 'F.H.H.' so inauspiciously and yet
escaped detection, Mr. Sponge thought of letting Tom Washball enjoy the
honours of his _faux-pas_, and of sneaking quietly home as soon as the
hounds hit off the scent; but unluckily, just as they were crossing the
lane, what should heave in sight, cantering along at his leisure, but the
redoubtable Multum in Parvo, who, having got rid of old Leather by bumping
and thumping his leg against a gate-post, was enjoying a line of his own.

'Whoay!' cried Sponge, as he saw the horse quickening his pace to have a
shy at the hounds as they crossed. 'Who--o--a--y!' roared he, brandishing
his whip, and trying to turn the piebald round; but no, the brute wouldn't
answer the bit, and dreading lest, in addition to heading the fox, he
should kill 'the best hound in the pack,' Mr. Sponge threw himself off,
regardless of the mud-bath in which he lit, and caught the runaway as he
tried to dart past.

'For-rard!--for-rard!--for-rard!' was again the cry, as the hounds hit off
the scent; while the late pausing, panting sportsmen tackled vigorously
with their steeds, and swept onward like the careering wind.

Mr. Sponge, albeit somewhat perplexed, had still sufficient presence of
mind to see the necessity of immediate action; and though he had so lately
contemplated beating a retreat, the unexpected appearance of Parvo altered
the state of affairs.

'Now or never,' said he, looking first at the disappearing field, and then
for the non-appearing Leather. 'Hang it! I may as well see the run,' added
he; so hooking the piebald on to an old stone gate-post that stood in the
ragged fence, and lengthening a stirrup-leather, he vaulted into the
saddle, and began lengthening the other as he went.

It was one of Parvo's going days; indeed, it was that that old Leather and
he had quarrelled about--Parvo wanting to follow the hounds, while Leather
wanted to wait for his master. And Parvo had the knack of g