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Updated: June 17, 2025
The priest starts back in wrath, for Mogg was a hopeful agent of the faith, and bids her go, for she can ask no pardon. Brooding within his chapel, then, he is startled by the sound of shot and hum of arrows. Harmon and Moulton are advancing with their men and crying, "Down with the beast of Rome! Death to the Babylonish dog!"
Sponge forthwith proceeded to put his brown boots, his substantial cords, his superfine tights, his cuttey scarlet, his dress blue saxony, his clean linen, his heavy spurs, and though last, not least in importance, his now backless Mogg, into his solid leather portmanteau, sweeping the surplus of his wardrobe into a capacious carpet-bag.
Sponge to himself, as he heard Jog's reiterated assertion that he would be wheezing away that day. 'Wish you may get it, old boy, added he, tucking the now backless Mogg under his pillow, and turning over for a snooze.
'Cards, added he, for the third time, as he conned Facey's rotund visage, and wondered if he was a sharper. If the cards were fair, Sponge didn't care trying his luck. It all depended upon that. 'Well, said he, in a tone of indifference, as he picked up his Mogg, thinking he wouldn't pay if he lost, 'I'll give you a turn. What shall it be?
'Oh w-h-o-y s'pose we say écarté? replied Facey, in an off-hand sort of way. 'Well, drawled Sponge, pocketing his Mogg, preparatory to action. 'You haven't a clean pack, have you? asked Sponge, as Facey, diving into a drawer, produced a very dirty, thumb-marked set. 'W-h-o-y, no, I haven't, replied Facey. 'W-h-o-y, no, I haven't: but, honour bright, these are all right and fair.
Nor did there seem any prospect of relief, for no sooner did Facey get through one tune than he at the other again. 'Rot it! at length exclaimed Sponge, throwing his Mogg from him in despair, 'you'll deafen me with that abominable noise. 'Bless my heart! exclaimed Facey, in well-feigned surprise, 'Bless my heart!
Father Rasles, in his chapel at Norridgewock, is affecting his Indian converts against the Puritans, who settled to the southward of him fifty years before. To him comes a woman with torn garments and frightened face. Her dead mother stood before her last night, she says, and looked at her reprovingly, for she had killed Mogg Megone.
Jog's charms, nor the voluble enunciation of 'Obin and Ichard, followed by 'Bah, bah, black sheep, &c, from that wonderful boy, Gustavus James, mend matters; for the young rogue having been in Mr. Sponge's room while Murry Ann was doing it out, had torn the back off Sponge's Mogg, and made such a mess of his tooth-brush, by cleaning his shoes with it, as never was seen. Mr.
Before the fact was ascertained, there was a hurried tramp of feet past the drawing-room door, and presently the entrance one opened and let in a rush of wind. 'Is Mr. Sponge at home? demanded a slow, pompous-speaking, deep-toned voice, evidently from the vehicle. 'Yez-ur, was the immediate answer. 'Who can that be? exclaimed Sponge, pocketing his Mogg.
The priest starts back in wrath, for Mogg was a hopeful agent of the faith, and bids her go, for she can ask no pardon. Brooding within his chapel, then, he is startled by the sound of shot and hum of arrows. Harmon and Moulton are advancing with their men and crying, "Down with the beast of Rome! Death to the Babylonish dog!"
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