MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 71 



trousers, in the right-hand pocket of which his disengaged hand kept 

 fishing up and slipping down an avalanche of silver, which made a 

 pleasant musical accompaniment to his monetary conversation. On 

 seeing Mr. Waffles, the stranger touched his hat, and appeared to be 

 about to retire, when Mr. Figg, the stud-groom, thus addressed his 

 master : — 



11 This be Mr. Buckram, sir, of London, sir ; says he knows our 

 brown orse, sir." 



" Ah, indeed," observed Mr. Waffles, taking a cigar from his 

 mouth ; " knows no good of him, I should think. What part of 

 London do you live in, Mr. Buckram ? " asked he. 



" Why, I doesn't exactly live in London, my lord, — that's to say, 

 sir — a little way out of it, you know — have a little hindependence of 

 my own, you understand." 



" Hang it, how should I understand anything of the sort — never 

 set eyes on you before," replied Mr. Waffles. 



The half-crowns now began to descend singly in the pocket, keep- 

 ing up a protracted jingle, like the notes of a lazy, undecided musical 

 snuff-box. By the time the last had dropped, Mr. Buckram had col- 

 lected himself sufficiently to resume. 



Taking the ash-plant away from his mouth, with which he had 

 been barricading his lips, he observed, 



"I know'd that oss when Lord Bullfrog had him," nodding his 

 head at our old friend as he spoke. 



" The deuce you did ! " observed Mr. Waffles ; " where was that ? " 



" In Leicestersheer," replied Mr. Buckram. " I have a haunt 

 as lives at Mount Sorrel ; she has a little hindependence of her own, 

 and I goes down 'casionally to see her — in fact, I believe I'm her 

 hare. Well, I was down there just at the beginnin' of the season, 

 the 'ounds met at Kirby Gate — a mile or two to the south, you know, 

 on the Liecester road — it was the fust day of the season, in fact — 

 and there was a great crowd, and I was one ; and havin' a heye for 

 an os.?, I was struck with this one, you understand, bein', as I thought, 

 a 'ticklar nice 'un. Lord Bullfrog's man was a ridin' of him, and he 

 kept him outside the crowd, showin' off his pints, and passin' him 

 backwards and forwards under people's noses, to tract the notish of 

 the nobs — ■parsecutin, what I call — and I see'd Mr. Sponge struck — 

 I've known Mr. Sponge many years, and a 'ticklar nice gent he is — 

 well, Mr. Sponge pulled hup, and said to the gruni, ' Who's o' that 

 oss? ' ' My Lor' Bullfrog's, sir,' said the man. ' He's a deuced nice 

 'un,' observed Mr. Sponge, thinkin' as he was a lord's, he might praise 

 'im, seein', in all probability, he weren't for sale. ' He is that, 1 said 

 the grum, patting him on the neck, as though he were special fond on 

 him. 'Is my lord out?' asked Mr. Sponge. 'No, sir; he's not 

 coined down yet,' replied the man, ' nor do I know when he will come. 

 He's been down at Bath for some time, 'sociatin' with the aldermeu 



