MB. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 375 



" Then show me where I'll find pen and ink and paper," replied 

 our friend. 



" Oh, sir, I don't know nothin' about them," replied the girl ; 

 "indeed, sir, / don't;" thinking it was some other petty larceny 

 he was inquiring about. 



" Well, but you can tell me where to find a sheet of paper, 

 surely ? " rejoined he. 



" Oh, indeed, sir, I can't" replied she ; " I know nothin' about 

 nothin' of the sort." Servants never do. 



" What sort ? " asked Mr. Sponge, wondering at her 

 vehemence. 



" Well, sir, about what you said," sobbed the girl, applying the 

 corner of her dirty apron to her eyes. 



"Hang it, the girl's mad," rejoined our friend, brushing by, and 

 making for the passage beyond. This brought him past the still 

 room, the steward's room, the housekeeper's room, and the butler's 

 pantry. All were in most glorious confusion ; in the latter, Cap- 

 tain Cutitfat's lacquer-toed, lavender-coloured dress-boots were 

 reposing in the silver soup tureen, and Captain Bouncey's varnished 

 pumps were stuffed into a wine-cooler. The last detachment of 

 empty bottles stood or lay about the floor, commingling with 

 boot-jacks, knife-trays, bath-bricks, coat-brushes, candle-end boxes, 

 plates, lanterns, lamp-glasses, oil bottles, corkscrews, wine-strainers 

 — the usual miscellaneous appendages of a butler's pantry. All was 

 still and quiet ; not a sound, save the loud ticking of a timepiece, 

 or the occasional creek of a jarring door, disturbed the solemn silence 

 of the house. A nimble-handed mugger or tramp might have 

 carried off whatever he liked. 



Passing onward, Mr. Sponge came to a red-baized, brass-nailed 

 door, which, opening freely on a patent spring, revealed the fine 

 proportions of a light picture-gallery with which the bright 

 mahogany doors of the entertaining rooms communicated. Opening 

 the first door he came to, our friend found himself in the elegant 

 drawing-room, on whose round bird's-eye-maple table, in the 

 centre, were huddled all the unequalled-lengthed candles of the 

 previous night's illumination. It was a handsome apartment, 

 fitted up in the most costly style ; with rose-colour brocaded satin 

 damask, the curtains trimmed with silk tassel fringe, and 

 ornamented with massive bullion tassels on cornices, Cupids 

 supporting wreaths under an arch, with open carved-work and 

 enrichments in burnished gold. The room, save the muster of the 

 candles, was just as it had been left ; and the richly gilt sofa still 

 retained the indentations of the sitters, with the luxurious down 

 pillows, left as they had been supporting their backs. 



The room reeked of tobacco, and the ends and ashes of cigars 

 dotted the tables and white marble chimney-piece, and the gilt 



