C ME. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



and slanged, but Mr. Sponge regarded them not. He had a sort 

 of " 'bus " panorama in his head, knew the run of them all, whence 

 they started, where they stopped, where they watered, where they 

 changed, and, wonderful to relate, had never been entrapped into a 

 sixpenny fare when he meant to take a threepenny one. In cab 

 and " 'bus" geography there is not a mere learned man in London. 



Mark him as he stands at the corner. He sees what he wants, 

 it's the chequered one with the red and blue wheels that the Bays- 

 water ones have got between them, and that the St. John's Wood 

 and two Western Railway ones are trying to get into trouble by 

 crossing. What a row ! how the ruffians whip, and stamp, and 

 storm, and all but pick each other's horses' teeth with their poles, 

 how the cads gesticulate, and the passengers imprecate ! now the 

 bonnets are out of the windows, and the row increases. Six 

 coachmen cutting and storming, six cads sawing the air, sixteen 

 ladies in flowers screaming, six-and-twenty sturdy passengers 

 swearing they will " fine them all," and Mr. Sponge is the only 

 cool person in the scene. He doesn't rush into the throng and 

 " jump in," for fear the 'bus should extricate itself and drive on 

 without him ; he doesn't make confusion worse confounded by in- 

 timating his behest ; he doesn't soil his bright boots by stepping 

 oil' the kerb-stone ; but, quietly waiting the evaporation of the 

 steam, and the disentanglement of the vehicles, by the smallest 

 possible sign in the world, given at the opportune moment, and a 

 steady adhesion to the flags, the 'bus is obliged either to " come to," 

 or lose the fare, and he steps quietly in, and squeezes along to the 

 far end, as though intent on going the whole hog of the journey. 



Away they rumble up the Edgeware Road ; the gradual emer- 

 gence from the brick and mortar of London being marked as well 

 by the telling out of passengers as by the increasing distances be- 

 tween the houses. First, it is all close huddle with both. Austere 

 iron railings guard the subterranean kitchen areas, and austere 

 looks indicate a desire on the part of the passengers to guard their 

 own pockets ; gradually little gardens usurp the places of the 

 cramped areas, and, Avith their humanising appearance, softer looks 

 assume the place of frowning anti-swell-moh ones. 



Presently a glimpse of green country or of distant hills may be 

 caught between the wider spaces of the houses, and frequent set- 

 tings down increase the space between the passengers ; gradually 

 conservatories appear, and conversation strikes up ; then conic the 

 exciusiveness of villas, some detached and others running out at 

 last into real pure green fields studded with trees and picturesque 

 pot-honses, before one of which latter a sudden wheel round and a 

 jerk announces the journey done. The last passenger (if there is 

 one) is then unceremoniously turned loose upon the country. 



Our readers will have the kindness to suppose our hero, Mr. 



