At the time of which we are writing, he had accumulated a vast quantity--thousands; the garret at the top of his house was quite full, so were most of the closets, while the rafters in the kitchen, and cellars, and out-houses, were crowded with others in a state of _deshabille_.

He calculated his stock at immense worth, we don't know how many thousand pounds; and as he cut, and puffed, and wheezed, and modelled, with a volume of Buffon, or the picture of some eminent man before him, he chuckled, and thought how well he was providing for his family.

He had been at it so long, and argued so stoutly, that Mrs.
Jogglebury Crowdey, if not quite convinced of the accuracy of his calculations, nevertheless thought it well to encourage his hunting predilections, inasmuch as it brought him in contact with people he would not otherwise meet, who, she thought, might possibly be useful to their children.

Accordingly, she got him his breakfast betimes on hunting-mornings, charged his pockets with currant-buns, and saw to the mending of his moleskins when he came home, after any of those casualties that occur as well in the chase as in gibbey-stick hunting.
A stranger being a marked man in a rural country, Mr.Sponge excited more curiosity in Mr.Jogglebury Crowdey's mind than Mr.Jogglebury Crowdey did in Mr.Sponge's.

In truth, Jogglebury was one of those unsportsmanlike beings, that a regular fox-hunter would think it waste of words to inquire about, and if Mr.Sponge saw him, he did not recollect him; while, on the other hand, Mr.Jogglebury Crowdey went home very full of our friend.