MR. 6P0NGE 1 S SPORTING TOUR. 413 



imposing style of a cockney sportsman. He has been puffing u Sir 

 Danapalus (the Bart.") in public, and taking all the odds he can get 

 against him in private. Watchorn knows that it is easier to make a 

 horse lose than win. The restless-looking, lynx-eyed caitiff, in the 

 dirty green shawl, with his hands stuffed into the front pockets of the 

 brown tarriar coat, is their jockey, the renowned Captain Hangallows ; 

 he answers to the name of Sam Slick in Mr. Spavin, the horse-dealer's 

 yard in Oxford Street, when not in the country on similar excursions, 

 to the present. And now in the throng on the principal line are two 

 conspicuous horses — a piebald and a white — carrying Mr. Sponge and 

 Lucy Glitters. Lucy appears as she did on the frosty-day hunt, 

 glowing with health and beauty, and rather straining the seams of 

 Lady Scattercash's habit with the additional embonpoint she has ac- 

 quired by early hours in the country. She has made Mr. Sponge a 

 white silk jacket to ride in, which he has on under his grey tarriar 

 coat, and a cap of the same colour is in his hard hat. He has dis- 

 carded the gosling-green cords for cream-coloured leathers, and, to 

 please Lucy, has actually substituted a pair of rose-tinted tops for 

 the " 'hogany bouts." Altogether he is a great swell, and very like 

 the bridegroom. 



But hark — what a crash ! The leaders of Sir Harry Scattercash's 

 drag start at a blind fiddler's dog stationed at the gate leading into 

 the fields, a wheel catches the post, and in an instant the sham cap- 

 tains are scattered about the road : — Bouncey on his head, Seedeybuck 

 across the wheelers, Quod on his back, and Sir Harry astride the gate. 

 Meanwhile, the old fiddler, regardless of the shouts of the men and 

 tfee shrieks of the ladies, scrapes away with the appropriate tune of 

 " The Devil among the Tailors ! " A rush to the horses' heads 

 arrests further mischief, the dislodged captains are at length righted, 

 the nerves of the ladies composed, and Sir Harry once more essays to 

 drive them up the hill to the stand. That feat being accomplished, 

 tben came the unloading, and consternation, and huddling of the 

 tight-laced occupants at the idea of these female women coming 

 amongst them, and the usual peeping, and spying, and eyeing of the 

 " creatures:" " What impudence ! " " Well, I think ! " " Ton my 

 word!" "What next!" — exclamations that were pretty well lost 

 upon the fair objects of them amid the noise and flutter and confu- 

 sion of the scene. But hark again! What's up now? 



" Hooray ! " " hooray ! " " A-o-o-o-ray / " " Three cheers for the 

 Squire ! H-o-o-y&j ! " Old Puff as we live ! The " amazin' instance 

 of a pop'lar man" greeted by the Swillingford snobs. The old frost- 

 bitten dandy is flattered by the cheers, and bows condescendingly ore 

 he alights from the well-appointed mail phaeton. See how gra- 

 ciously the ladies receive him, as, having ascended the stairs, he ap- 

 pears among them. " A man is never too old to marry " is their 

 maxim. 



