Seedybuck was such a constant customer of Mr Commissioner Fonblanque’s court, that that worthy legal luminary, on discharging him for the fifth time, said to him, with a very significant shake of the head, ‘You’d better not come here again, sir.’ Seedybuck, being of the same opinion, had since fastened himself on to Sir Harry Scattercash, who found him in meat, drink, washing, and lodging. They were all attired in red coats, of one sort or another, though some of which were of a very antediluvian, and others of a very dressing-gown cut. Bouncey’s had a hare on the button, and Seedybuck’s coat sat on him like a sack. Still a scarlet coat is a scarlet coat in the eyes of some, and the coats were not a bit more unsportsmanlike than the men. To Mr Sponge’s astonishment, instead of breaking out in enquiries as to where they had run to, the time, the distance, who was up, who was down, and so on, they began recommending the victuals and drink; and this, notwithstanding Mr Sponge kept flourishing the brush.

‘We’ve had a rare run,’ said he, addressing himself to Sir Harry.

‘Have you (hiccup)? I’m glad of it (hiccup). Pray have something to (hiccup) after it; you must be (hiccup).’

‘Let me help you to some of this cold round of beef?’ exclaimed Captain Bouncey, brandishing the great broad-bladed carving-knife.

‘Have a slice of ’to ’am,’ suggested Captain Quod.

‘The finest run I ever rode!’ observed Mr Sponge, still endeavouring to get a hearing.

‘Dare say it would,’ replied Sir Harry; ‘those (hiccup) hounds of mine are uncommon (hiccup).’ He didn’t know what they were, and the hiccup came very opportunely.

‘The pace was terrific!’ exclaimed Sponge.

‘Dare say it would,’ replied Sir Harry; ‘and that’s what makes me (hiccup) you’re so (hiccup). Pea, here, has some rare old October -- (hiccup) bushels to the (hiccup) hogshead.’

‘It’s capital!’ exclaimed Captain Seedybuck, frothing himself a tumblerful out of the tall brown jug.

‘So is this,’ rejoined Captain Quod, pouring himself out a liberal allowance of gin.

‘That horse of mine carried me magnificently!’ observed Mr Sponge, with a commanding emphasis on the mag.

‘Dare say he would,’ replied Sir Harry; ‘he looked like a (hiccup)er -- a white ’un, wasn’t he?’

‘No; a brown,’ replied Mr Sponge, disgusted at the mistake.

‘Ah, well; but there was somebody on a white,’ replied Sir Harry. ‘Oh -- ah -- yes -- it was old Bugles on my lady’s horse. By the (hiccup) way (hiccup), gentlemen, what’s got Mr Orlando (hiccup) Bugles?’ asked Sir Harry, staring wildly round.

‘Oh! old Bugles! old Pad-the-Hoof! old Mr Funker! the horse frightened him so, that he went home crying,’ replied Bob Spangles.

‘Hope he didn’t lose him?’ asked Sir Harry.

‘Oh, no,’ replied Bob; ‘he gave a lad a shilling to lead him, and they trudged away very quietly together.’

‘The old (hiccup)!’ exclaimed Sir Harry; ‘he told me he was a member of the Surrey something.’