’Oh, you unsightly, sanctified, idolatrous, Bagnigge-Wells coppersmith, you think because I’m a lord, and can’t swear or use coarse language, that you may do what you like; rot you, sir, I’ll present you with a testimonial!  I’ll settle a hundred a year upon you if you’ll quit the country.  By the powers, they’re away again!’ added his lordship, who, with one eye on Sponge and the other on the pack, had been watching Frosty lifting them over the bad scenting-ground, till, holding them on to a hedgerow beyond, they struck the scent on good sound pasture, and went away at score, every hound throwing his tongue, and filling the air with joyful melody.  Away they swept like a hurricane.  ‘F-o-o-rard!’ was again the cry.

‘Hang it.  Jack,’ exclaimed Lord Scamperdale, laying his hand on his double’s shoulder, as they galloped alongside of each other, ’Hang it, Jack, see if you can’t sarve out this unrighteous, mahogany-booted, rattle-snake. Do if you die for it!—­I’ll bury your remainders genteelly—­patent coffin with brass nails, all to yourself—­put Frosty and all the fellows in black, and raise a white marble monument to your memory, declaring you were the most spotless virtuous man under the sun.’

‘Let me off dining with Jaw, and I’ll do my best,’ replied Jack.

‘Done!’ screamed his lordship, flourishing his right arm in the air, as he flew over a great stone wall.

A good many of the horses and sportsmen too had had enough before the hounds checked; and the quick way Frosty lifted them and hit off the scent, did not give them much time to recruit.  Many of them now sat hat in hand, mopping, and puffing, and turning their red perspiring faces to the wind.  ‘Poough,’ gasped one, as if he was going to be sick; ‘Puff,’ went another; ’Oh! but it’s ‘ot!’ exclaimed a third, pulling off his limp neckcloth; ‘Wonder if there’s any ale hereabouts,’ cried a fourth; ‘Terrible run!’ observed a fifth; ‘Ten miles at least,’ gasped another.  Meanwhile the hounds went streaming on; and it is wonderful how soon those who don’t follow are left hopelessly in the rear.

Of the few that did follow, Mr. Sponge, however, was one.  Nothing daunted by the compliments that had been paid him, he got Hercules well in hand; and the horse dropping again on the bit, resumed his place in front, going as strong and steadily as ever.  Thus he went, throwing the mud in the faces of those behind, regardless of the oaths and imprecations that followed; Sponge knowing full well they would do the same by him if they could.

‘All jealousy,’ said Sponge, spurring his horse.  ’Never saw such a jealous set of dogs in my life.’