ain't no obelisk a sportsman can't overcome"--and no sooner had he
uttered these encouraging words, than he made a spring, and came
'close-legged' upon the opposite bank; unfortunately, however, he lost
his balance, and fell plump upon a huge stinging nettle, which would have
been a treat to any donkey in the kingdom!

"Oh!--cuss the thing!" shrieked Mr. Spriggs, losing his equanimity with
his equilibrium.

"Don't be in a passion, Spriggs," said Grubb, laughing.

"Me in a passion?--I'm not in a passion--I'm on'y--on'y--nettled!"
replied he, recovering his legs and his good humour. Mr. Grubb, taking
warning by his friend's slip, cautiously looked out for a narrower part
of the ditch, and executed the saltatory transit with all the agility of
a poodle.

They soon penetrated the thicket, and a bird hopped so near them, that
they could not avoid hitting it.--Grubb fired, and Sprigg's gun echoed
the report.

"Ve've done him!" cried Spriggs.

"Ve!--me, if you please."

"Vell--no matter," replied his chum, "you shot a bird, and I shot
too!--Vot's that?--my heye, I hear a voice a hollering like winkin;
--bolt!"

Away scampered Spriggs, and off ran Grubb, never stopping till he reached
a high paling, which, hastily climbing, he found himself literally upon
tenter-hooks.

"There's a man a coming, old fellow," said an urchin, grinning.

"A man coming! vich vay? do tell me vich vay?" supplicated the sportsman.
The little rogue, however, only stuck his thumb against his snub
nose--winked, and ran off.

But Mr. Grubb was not long held in suspense; a volley of inelegant
phrases saluted his ears, while the thong of a hunting-whip twisted
playfully about his leg. Finding the play unequal, he wisely gave up the
game--by dropping his bird on one side, and himself on the other; at the
same time reluctantly leaving a portion of his nether garment behind him.

"Here you are!" cried his affectionate friend,--picking him up--"ain't
you cotch'd it finely?"

"Ain't I, that's all?" said the almost breathless Mr. Grubb, "I'm almost
dead."

"Dead!--nonsense--to be sure, you may say as how you're off the hooks!
and precious glad you ought to be."

"Gracious me! Spriggs, don't joke; it might ha' bin werry serious," said
Mr. Grubb, with a most melancholy shake of the head:--"Do let's get out
o' this wile place."

"Vy, vat the dickins!" exclaimed Spriggs, "you ain't sewed up yet, are
you?"

"No," replied Grubb, forcing a smi