416 me. sponge's sporting tour. 



"Why, now, as to the matter of that," replied the gentleman, 

 gathering all the loose silver up into his hand, and speaking very 

 slowly, just as a country gentleman, who has all the livelong day to 

 do nothing in, may be supposed to speak — " Why, now, as to the mat- 

 ter of that," said he, eyeing Pacey intently, and beginning to drop 

 the silver slowly as he spoke, " I can't say that I've any very 'ticklar 

 'quaintance with the captim I knows him, in course, just as one 

 knows a neighbour's son. The captin's a good deal younger nor me," 

 continued he, raising his new eight-and-sixpenny Parisian, as if to 

 show his sandy grey hair. " I'm a'most sixty ; and he, I dare say, is 

 little more nor twenty," dropping a half crown as he said it. " But 

 the captin's a nice young gent* — a nice young gent, without any blan- 

 dishment, I should say-; and that's more nor one can say of all young 

 gents now-a-days," said Buckram, looking at Pacey as he spoke, and 

 dropping two consecutive half crowns. 



" Why, but you live near him, don't you ? " interrupted Bragg. 



"Near him," repeated Buckram, feeling his well-shaven chin 

 thoughtfully. " Why, yes — that's to say, near his dad. The fact 

 is," continued he, " I've a little independence of my own," dropping 

 a heavy five-shilling piece as he said it, " and his father — old Bo, as I 

 call him — adjoins me ; and if either of us 'appen to have a battue, or 

 a 'aunch of wenzun, and a few friends, we inwite each other, and 

 wicey wersey, you know," letting off a lot of shillings and sixpences. 

 And just at the moment the blind fiddler struck up " The Devil 

 among the Tailors," when the shouts and laughter of the mob closed 

 the scene. 



And now gentlemen, who heretofore have shown no more of the 

 jockey than Cinderella's feet in the early part of the pantomime dis- 

 close of her ball attire, suddenly cast off the pea-jackets and bearskin 

 wraps, and shawls and over-coats of winter, and shine forth in all the 

 silken flutter of summer heat. 



We know of no more humiliating sight than misshapen gentlemen 

 playing at jockeys. Playing at soldiers is bad enough, but playing 

 at jockeys is infinitely worse — above all, playing at steeple-chase jock- 

 eys, combining, as they generally do, all the worst features of the 

 hunting-field and and racecourse — unsympathlsing boots and breeches, 

 dirty jackets that never fit, and caps that won't keep on. What a 

 farce to see the great bulky fellows go to scale with their saddles 

 strapped to their backs, as if to illustrate the impossibility of putting 

 a round of beef upon a pudding-plate ! 



But the weighed in ones are mounting. See, there's Jack Sprag- 

 gon getting a hoist on to Daddy Longlegs ! Did ever mortal see 

 such a man for a jockey ? He has cut off the laps of a stunner 

 tartan jacket, and looks like a great backgammon-board. He has got 

 his head into an old gold-banded military foraging-cap, which comes 

 down almost on to the rims of his great tortoise-shell spectacles. 



