United States or Belarus ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
It shows a spirit superior to feelings of paltry economy, and we think a person would be much more excusable for being victimized by a man with a good velvet collar to his coat, than by one exhibiting that spurious sign of gentility a horse and gig. The reader will now have the kindness to consider Mr. Sponge arriving at Scampley. 'Ah, Mr. Sponge! exclaimed Mr.
Benjamin Buckram, the horse-dealer's farm at Scampley, distant some mile and a half from where he was set down, a space that he now purposed travelling on foot. Mr. Benjamin Buckram was a small horse-dealer small, at least, when he was buying, though great when he was selling. It would do a youngster good to see Ben filling the two capacities.
Scampley is one of those pretty little suburban farms, peculiar to the north and north-west side of London farms varying from fifty to a hundred acres of well-manured, gravelly soil; each farm with its picturesque little buildings, consisting of small, honey-suckled, rose-entwined brick houses, with small, flat, pan-tiled roofs, and lattice-windows; and, hard by, a large hay-stack, three times the size of the house, or a desolate barn, half as big as all the rest of the buildings.
All the great job-masters and horse-dealers have these retreats in the country, and the smaller ones pretend to have, from whence, in due course, they can draw any sort of an animal a customer may want, just as little cellarless wine-merchants can get you any sort of wine from real establishments if you only give them time. There was a good deal of mystery about Scampley.
Word Of The Day