mr. sponge's sporting tour. 199 



established themselves in Heathcote-street, Mecklenburgh-square. 

 Novelists had not then written this part down as " Mesopotamia," 

 and it was quite as genteel as Harley or Wimpole-street are now. 

 Their chief object then was to increase their wealth and make their 

 only son a "gentleman." They sent him to Eton, and in due time 

 to Christ Church, where, of course, he established a red coat, to per- 

 secute Sir Thomas Mostyn's and the Duke of Beaufort's hounds, 

 much to the annoyance of their respective huntsmen, Stephen Good- 

 all and Philip Payne, and the aggravation of poor old Griff. Lloyd. 



What between the field and college, young Puffington made 

 the acquaintance of several very dashing young sparks — Lord Fire- 

 brand, Lord Mudlark, Lord Deuceace, Sir Harry Blueun, and others, 

 whom he always spoke of as " Deuceace," " Blueun," &c, in the easy 

 style that marks the perfect gentleman.* How proud the old people 

 were of him ! How they would sit listening to him, flashing, and 

 telling how Deuceace and he floored a Charley, or Blueun and he 

 pitched a snob out of the boxes into the pit. This was in the old 

 Tom-and-Jerry days, when fistycuffs were the fashion. One evening, 

 after he had indulged us with a more than usual dose, and was leav- 

 ing the room to dress for an eight o'clock dinner at Long's, " Buzzer! " 

 exclaimed the old man, clutching our arm, as the tears started to his 

 eyes, " Buzzer! that's an amaazin instance of a pop'lar man ! " And 

 certainly, if a large acquaintance is a criterion of popularity, young 

 Puffington, as he was then called, had his fair share. He once did 

 us the honour — an honour we never shall forget — of walking down 

 Bond-street with us, in the spring-tide of fashion, of a glorious sum- 

 mer's day, when you could not cross Conduit-street under a lapse of 

 a quarter of an hour, and carriages seemed to have come to an inter- 

 minable lock at the Piccadilly end of the street. In those days 

 great people went about like great people, in handsome hammer- 

 clothed, arms-emblazoned coaches, with plethoric three-corner-hatted 

 coachmen, and gigantic, lace-bedizened, quivering-calved Johnnies, 

 instead of rumbling along like apothecaries in pill-boxes, with a 

 handle inside to let themselves out. Young men, too, dressed as if 

 they were dressed — as if they were got up with some care and attention 

 — instead of wearing the loose, careless, flowing, sack-like garment 

 they do now. 



We remember the day as if it were but yesterday ; Puffington 

 overtook us in Oxford-street, where we were taking our usual saunter- 

 ing stare into the shop windows, and instead of shirking or slipping 

 behind our back, he actually ran his arm up to the hilt in ours, and 

 turned us into the middle of the flags, with an " Ah, Buzzer, old boy, 

 what are you doing in this debauched part of the town ? come along 

 with me, and I'll show you Life ! " 



* Query, " snob ? " — Printer's DeviL 



