t--clumps of trees on hill-tops, and plantations on hill-sides, but
nothing of a distinguishing character, nothing that a stranger could say,
'I remember seeing that as I came'; or, 'I remember passing that in the
run.' The landscape seemed all alike: north, south, east, and west, equally
indifferent.

'Curse the thing,' said Mr. Sponge, adjusting himself in his saddle, and
looking about; 'I haven't the _slightest_ idea where I am. I'll blow the
horn, and see if that will bring any one.'

So saying, he applied the horn to his lips, and blew a keen, shrill blast,
that spread over the surrounding country, and was echoed back by the
distant hills. A few lost hounds cast up from various quarters, in the
unexpected way that hounds do come to a horn. Among them were a few branded
with S,[4] who did not at all set off the beauty of the rest.

''Ord rot you, you belong to that old ruffian, do you?' said Mr. Sponge,
riding and cutting at one with his whip, exclaiming, 'Get away to him, ye
beggar, or I'll tuck you up short.'

He now, for the first time, saw them together in anything like numbers, and
was struck with the queerness and inequality of the whole. They were of all
sorts and sizes, from the solemn towering calf-like fox-hound down to the
little wriggling harrier. They seemed, too, to be troubled with various
complaints and infirmities. Some had the mange; some had blear eyes; some
had but one; many were out at the elbows; and not a few down at the toes.
However, they had killed a fox, and 'Handsome is that handsome does,' said
Mr. Sponge, as, with his horse surrounded by them, he moved on in quest of
his way home.

At first, he thought to retrace his steps by the marks of his horse's
hoofs, and succeeded in getting back to the dean, where Sir Harry's hounds
changed foxes with Lord Scamperdale's; but he got confused with the
imprints of the other horses, and very soon had to trust entirely to
chance. Chance, we are sorry to say, did not befriend him; for, after
wandering over the wide-extending downs, he came upon the little hamlet of
Tinkler Hatch, and was informed that he had been riding in a semicircle.

He there got some gruel for his horse, and, with day closing in, now set
off, as directed, on the Ribchester road, with the assurance that he
'couldn't miss his way.' Some of the hounds here declined following him any
farther, and slunk into cottages and outhouses as they passed along. Mr.
Sponge, however, did no