' replied his lordship, thinking, if he wasn't whether he
should marry Mrs. Springwheat or not.

Well now, after all that, we fancy we hear our fair friends exclaim, 'Thank
goodness, there's an end of Lord Scamperdale and his hunting; he has had a
good run, and will rest quiet for a time; we shall now hear something of
Amelia and Emily, and the doings at Jawleyford Court.' Mistaken lady! If
you are lucky enough to marry an out-and-out fox-hunter, you will find that
a good run is only adding fuel to the fire, only making him anxious for
more. Lord Scamperdale's sporting fire was in full blaze. His bumps and his
thumps, his rolls, and his scrambles, only brought out the beauties and
perfections of the thing. He cared nothing for his hat-crown, no; nor for
his coat-lap either. Nay, he wouldn't have cared if it had been made into a
spencer.

'What's to-day? Monday,' said his lordship, answering himself. 'Monday,' he
repeated; 'Monday--bubble-and-squeak, I guess--sooner it's ready the
better, for I'm half-famished--didn't do half-justice to that nice
breakfast at Springy's. That nasty brown-booted buffer completely threw me
off my feed. By the way, what became of the chestnut-booted animal?'

'Went home,' replied Jack; 'fittest place for him.'

'Hope he'll stay there,' rejoined his lordship. 'No fear of his being at
the roads to-morrow, is there?' 'None,' replied Jack. 'I told him it was
quite an impossible distance from him, twenty miles at least.'

'That's grand!' exclaimed his lordship; 'that's grand! Then we'll have a
rare, ding-dong hey--away pop. There'll be no end of those nasty, jealous.
Puffington dogs out; and if we have half such a scent as we had to-day,
we'll sew some of them up, we'll show 'em what hunting is. Now,' he added,
'if you'll go and get the bottle of port, I'll clean myself, and then we'll
have dinner as quick as we can.'

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE FAITHFUL GROOM

We left our friend Mr. Sponge wending his way home moodily, after having
lost his day at Larkhall Hill. Some of our readers will, perhaps, say, why
didn't he clap on, and try to catch up the hounds at a check, or at all
events rejoin them for an afternoon fox? Gentle reader! Mr. Sponge did not
hunt on those terms; he was a front-rank or a 'nowhere' man, and
independently of catching hounds up being always a fatiguing and hazardous
speculation, especially on a fine-scenting day, the exertion would have
taken more out of his horse t