I20 William Waggleton. 



sir, who's jest gone hout, sir ? Oh that's honly Mister 

 Waggleton, sir. Nobody minds wot he says, sir. Wery 

 picoolier gent, sir ; don't mind wot he does, sir. Comes 

 'ere hevery year he do for this wery ball, sir, same as you 

 'ave and the other company. Great sporting gentleman, 

 sir ; yessir, great sporting gentleman, sir." 



This was our first introduction to the very eccentric 

 subject of our sketch. Since then we have seen a good 

 deal of him, rather more, indeed, than we particularly 

 care about, for, as the waiter at the inn very justly re- 

 marked, his habits of life are, to say the least, very 

 ''picoolier," and in consequence his room is very often a 

 deal pleasanter to quiet and sedate personages, like myself, 

 for instance, than his company. In our case, too, it was 

 rather unfortunate that, very soon after we had made 

 acquaintance with one another, William Waggleton should 

 for some reason or another have taken a very decided 

 liking to us. Why or wherefore we could never make 

 out. The consequence being that we were honoured by a 

 good deal more of his company than we cared about. 

 Like the renowned Soapy Sponge, when once you got 

 him into your house it was extremely difficult to get him 



out. 



Once, indeed, on our return from the Continent, we 

 found him, on our arrival at home, comfortably installed 

 in our house, having been there just ten days. Our man 

 told us he had ridden up one Friday — he lived about 

 fifteen miles off — and on being told we were away, all he 

 said was, "Oh, never mind; he supposed he could have 

 a bed that night." The servants accordingly put him and 

 his horse up. He unfortunately took a fancy to some 

 claret the butler brought up for him ; and the next day, 



