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Updated: June 28, 2025
Hockley Hole was noted for a particular breed of bull-dogs. The actual site of the sports is in the adjoining parish, but the name occurring here justifies some comment. Hockley in the Hole is referred to by Ben Jonson, Steele, Fielding, and others. It was abolished soon after 1728. It was in a sponging-house in Eyre Street that Morland, the painter, died.
You'll soon know every sponging-house and every sheriff's officer in London. Your business will have to take care of itself; you'll have enough to do to run from lawyer to lawyer after the business of other people. Now, it's no use calling me a dear soul not a bit! No; and I shan't put it off till to-morrow. It isn't often I speak, but I WILL speak now.
Why, otherwise, had she come to the sponging-house? Berating myself: had her affection been other than that of a life-long friendship she would not have come an inch. But why had she made me stay in London? Why had she spoken so to Comyn? What interpretation might be put upon a score of little acts of hers that came a-flooding to mind, each a sacred treasure of memory?
And now she has driven the length of the town when she heard you were in a sponging-house, nor all the dowagers in Mayfair could stop her." "Fie, Comyn," said my lady, blushing and gathering up her skirts; "that tongue of yours had hung you long since had it not been for your peer's privilege.
"You mean?" inquired Caryll. "I mean that I am confronted by the danger of beggary, ruin, shame, and the sponging-house, at best." Mr. Caryll was stirred out of his calm. "My lord!" he cried. "How is this possible? What can have come to pass?" The earl was silent for a long while. It was as if he pondered how he should answer, or whether he should answer at all.
She sighed, and kissed me. And I felt at last that I had come home after many wanderings. We sat down, mother and daughter on the sofa with their fingers locked. She did not speak of Mr. Manners's conduct, or of my stay in the sponging-house. And for this I was thankful. "I have had a letter from Mr. Lloyd, Richard," she said. "And my grandfather?" I faltered, a thickness in my throat.
A coach in private arms and livery was in waiting, surrounded by a crowd. They made a lane for us to pass, and stared at the young lady of queenly beauty coming out of the sponging-house until the coachman snapped his whip in their faces and the footman jostled them back. When we were got in, Dolly and I on the back seat, Comyn told the man to go to Mr. Manners's. "Oh, no!"
"But I more than suspected something to have happened, so I asked Horry to send his fellow Favre over to the Star and Garter to see if you were there, tho' I was of three minds to let you go to the devil. You should have seen her face when he came back to say that you had been for three weeks in a Castle Yard sponging-house!
And the scene of "the widow and mother," when young Georgy is born, and the wonderful scene when Sir Pitt proposes marriage to the little green-eyed governess and she is scared into confessing her great secret, and the most famous scene of all, when Rawdon Crawley is released from the sponging-house and finds Lord Steyne with Rebecca alone. It is but a single page.
Read this letter, and you will find something which will surprise you." I opened the letter and read as follows: "Yesterday a bailiff waited for my door to be opened and slipped in and arrested me. I was obliged to go with him, and I am now in the sponging-house, and if I can't get bail by to-day he will take me to Kings Bench Prison.
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