8 MR. SPONGE'S SPOUTING TOUIi. 



the hands of his assignees, sometimes in those of his cousin 

 Abraham Brown, and sometimes John Doe and Eichard Eoe were 

 the occupants of it. 



Mr. Benjamin Buckram, though very far from being one, had 

 the advantage of looking like a respectable man. There was a 

 certain plump, well-fed rosiness about him, which, aided by a 

 bright-coloured dress, joined to a continual fumble in the pockets 

 of his drab trousers, gave him the air of a " well-to-do-in-the- 

 world " sort of man. Moreover, he sported a velvet collar to his 

 blue coat, a more imposing ornament than it appears at first sight. 

 To be sure, there are two sorts of velvet collars, — the legitimate 

 velvet collar, commencing with the coat, and the adopted velvet 

 collar, put on when the cloth one gets shabby. 



Buckram's was always the legitimate velvet collar, new from 

 the first, and, we really believe, a permanent velvet collar, adhered 

 to in storm and in sunshine, has a very money-making impression 

 on the world. It shows a spirit superior to feelings of paltry 

 economy, and we think a person would be much more excusable 

 for being victimised by a man with a good velvet collar to his 

 ■coat, than by one exhibiting that spurious sign of gentility — a 

 horse and gig. 



The reader will now have the kindness to consider Mr. Sponge 

 arriving at Scampley. 



"Ah, Mr. Sponge!" exclaimed Mr. Buckram, who, having 

 seen our friend advancing up the little twisting approach from 

 the road to his house through a little square window almost blinded 

 with Irish ivy, out of which he was in the habit of contemplating 

 the arrival of his occasional lodgers, Doe and Eoe, "Ah, Mr. 

 Sponge ! " exclaimed he, with well-assumed gaiety ; " you should 

 have been here yesterday ; sent away two sich osses — perfect 

 \mters — the werry best I do think I ever saw in my life ; either 

 would have bin the werry oss for your money. But come in, Mr. 

 Sponge, sir, come in," continued he, backing himself through a 

 little sentry-box of a green portico, to a narrow passage which 

 branched off into little rooms on either side. 



As Buckram made this retrograde movement, he gave a gentle 

 pull to the wooden handle of an old-fashioned wire bell-pull, in 

 the midst of buggy, four-in-hand, and other whips, hanging in 

 the entrance, a touch that was acknowledged by a single tinkle 

 of the bell in the stable-yard. 



They then entered the little room on the right, whose walls 

 were decorated with various sporting prints, chiefly illustrative of 

 steeple-chaces, with here and there a stunted fox-brush, tossing 

 about as a duster. The ill-ventilated room reeked with the 

 effluvia of stale smoke, and the foded green baize of a little round 

 table in the centre was covered with filbert-shells and empty ale- 



