MR. SrONGE's SPORTING TOUR. 33 



ick Wells Hunt ; and whatever may be the merits of either — upon 

 which we pass no opinion — it cannot be denied that they were essen- 

 tially different. Mr. Slocdolager was a man of few words, and not 

 at all a ladies' man. He could not even talk when he was crammed 

 with wine, and though he could hold a good quantity, people soon 

 found out they might just as well pour it into a jug as down his 

 throat, so they gave up asking him out. He was a man of few coats, 

 as well as of few words ; one on, and one off, being the extent of his 

 wardrobe. His scarlet was growing plum-colour, and the rest of his • 

 hunting-costume has been already glanced at. He lodged above 

 Sniallbones, the veterinary-surgeon, in a little back street, where he 

 lived in the quietest way, dining when he came in from hunting, — 

 dressing, or rather changing, only when he was wet, hunting each fox 

 again over his brandy-and-water, and bundling off to bed long before 

 many of his " field " had left the dining-room. He was little better 

 than a better sort of huntsman. 



Waffles, as we said before, had made himself conspicuous towards 

 the close of Mr. Slocdolager's reign, chiefly by his dashing costume, 

 his reckless riding, and his off-hand way of blowing up and slander- 

 ing people. 



Indeed, a stranger would have taken him for the master, a delu- 

 sion that was heightened by his riding with a formidable-looking 

 sherry-case, in the shape of a horn, at his saddle. Save when engaged 

 in sucking this, his tongue was never at fault. It was jabber, jabber, 

 jabber ; chatter, chatter, chatter ; prattle, prattle, prattle ; occasion- 

 ally about something, oftener about nothing, but in cover or out, stiff 

 country or open, trotting or galloping, wet day or dry, good scenting 

 day or bad, Waffles' clapper never was at rest. Like all noisy chaps, 

 too, he could not bear any one to make a noise but himself. In 

 furtherance of this, he called in the aid of his Oxfordshire rhetoric. 

 He would holloo at people, designating them by some peculiarity that 

 he thought he could wriggle out of, if necessary, instead of attacking 

 them by name. Thus, if a man spoke, or placed himself where 

 Waffles thought he ought not to be (that is to say, any where but 

 where Waffles was himself), he would exclaim, " Pray, sir, hold your 

 tongue ! — you, sir ! — no, sir, not you — the man that speaks as if he 

 had a brush in his throat ! " — or, " Do come away, sir ! — you, sir ! — 

 the man in the mushroom-looking hat ! " — or, " that gentleman in the 

 parsimonious boots ! " looking at some one with very narrow tops. 



Still he was a rattling, good-natured, harum-scarum fellow ; and 

 masterships of hounds, memberships of Parliament — all expensive un- 

 money-making offices, — being things that most men are anxious to 

 foist upon their friends, Mr. Waffles' big talk and interference in the 

 field procured him the honour of the first refusal. Not that he was 

 the man to refuse, for he jumped at the offer, and, as he would be of 

 age before the season came round, and would have got all his money 

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