MB. SPONGE'S SPOBTING TOUB. 449 



and has what he calls " 'stablish'd a raw " on Mr. Sponge to the 

 extent of three-and-sixpence a week, under threats of exposing the 

 robbery Sponge committed on our friend Mr. Waffles. That 

 volatile genius, we are happy to add, is quite well, and open to the 

 attentions of any young lady who thinks she can tame a wild 

 young man. His financial affairs are not irretrievable. 



And now for the hero and heroine of our tale. The Sponges — 

 for our friend married Lucy shortly after the steeple-chase — 

 stayed at Nonsuch House until the bailiffs walked in. Sir Harry 

 then bolted to Boulogne, where he shortly afterwards died, and 

 Bugles very properly married my lady. They are now living at 

 AVandsworth ; Mr. Bugles and Lady Scattercash, very " much 

 thought of " — as Bugles says. 



Although Mr. Sponge did not gain as much by winning the 

 steeple-chase as he would have done had Hercules allowed him to 

 lose it, he still did pretty well ; and being at length starved out of 

 Nonsuch House, he arrived at his old quarters, the Bantam, in 

 Bond Street, where he turned his attention very seriously to pro- 

 viding for Lucy and the little Sponge, who had now issued its 

 prospectus. He thought over all the ways and means of making 

 money without capital, rejecting Australia and California as unfit 

 for sportsmen and men fond of their "Moggs." Professional 

 steeple-chasing Lucy decried, declaring she would rather return to 

 her flag-exercises at Astley's, as soon as she was able, than have 

 her dear Sponge risking his neck that way. Our friend at length 

 began to fear fortune-making was not so easy as he thought — 

 indeed, he was soon sure of it. 



One day as he was staring vacantly out of the Bantam coffee- 

 room window, between the gilt labels, " Hot Soups," and " Din- 

 ners," he was suddenly seized with a fit of virtuous indignation at 

 the disreputable frauds practised by unprincipled adventurers on 

 the unwary public, in the way of betting-offices, and resolved that 

 he would be the St. George to slay this great dragon of abuse. 

 Accordingly, after due consultation with Lucy, he invested his all 

 in fitting up and decorating the splendid establishment in Jermyn 

 Street, St. James's, now known as the Sponge Cigae and Betting 

 Rooms, whose richness neither pen nor pencil can do justice to. 



We must, therefore, entreat our readers to visit this emporium 

 of honesty, where, in addition to finding lists posted on all the 

 great events of the day, they can have the use of a " Mogg " 

 while they indulge in one of Lucy's unrivalled cigars ; and noble- 

 men, gentlemen, and officers in the household troops, may be 

 accommodated with loans on their personal security to any 

 amount. We see by Mr. Sponge's last advertisements that he has 

 £116,300 to lend at three-and-a-half per cent. ! 



" What a farce," we faucy we hear some enterprising youngster 



