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Updated: June 29, 2025
Jogglebury-Crowdey of "Sponge's Sporting Tour," noticed the forbidden cigar through a glass door, and came puffing and blowing into the hall in hot indignation. He reproved Lord Charles Beresford for his breach of the club rules in, as I thought, quite unnecessarily severe tones.
As they routed them out of hole and corner, Jogglebury kept up a sort of running recommendation to mercy, mingled with an inquiry into the state of the household affairs. 'Three, sir, replied Mary Ann. 'Three! repeated he, with an emphasis. Ah! here he is, added Mr. Jogglebury, as Mr. Sponge's voice rose now from the passage into the room above. Things now looked pretty promising. Mr.
His coat was a light, jackety sort of thing, with little pockets behind, something in the style of Mr. Sponge's. His waistcoat, of course, was a worked one heart's-ease mingled with foxes' heads, on a true blue ground, the gift of we'll not say who his leathers were of the finest doe-skin, and his long-topped, pointed-toed boots so thin as to put all idea of wet or mud out of the question.
For this supper, and for more porter and gin than she ought to have drunk, Betty was forced to pay so high that it ate up all the profits of the day, which, added to the daily interest, made Mrs. Sponge a rich return for her five shillings. Betty was reminded again of the gentility of her new situation, as she crept up to bed in one of Mrs. Sponge's garrets, five stories high.
Can anybody tell me does the author of the "Tale of Two Cities" read novels? does the author of the "Tower of London" devour romances? does the dashing "Harry Lorrequer" delight in "Plain or Ringlets" or "Sponge's Sporting Tour?"
Very willing hacks they are, too, railways especially, and so frequently ridden, that it is no easy matter to discriminate between the real and the fictitious loser. But though we are able to contradict Mr. Sponge's losses on the turf, we are sorry we are not able to elevate him to the riches the character of a fox-hunter generally inspires.
Soapey vaulted into the saddle, and seizing him by the head, let in the Latchfords in a style that satisfied the hack he was not going to canter in a circle. Away he went, best pace; for like all Mr. Sponge's horses, he had the knack of going, the general difficulty being to get them to go the way they were wanted. Sponge presently overtook Mr.
Puffington by opening a route by which he might escape from the penalty of hound-keeping, and the persecution of his huntsman. The reader will therefore now have the kindness to consider Mr. Puffington in receipt of Mr. Sponge's note, volunteering a visit. With gay and cheerful steps our friend hurried off to the kennel, to communicate the intelligence to Mr.
Sponge's last advertisements that he has £116,300 to lend at three and a half per cent.! 'What a farce, we fancy we hear some enterprising youngster exclaim 'what a farce, to suppose that such a needy scamp as Mr.
Sponge's black-daubed clothes. 'Oh no! replied Sponge. 'Oh no! fell soft fell soft. More dirt, less hurt more dirt, less hurt. 'Why, you've been in a bog! exclaimed Mr. Puffington, eyeing the much-stained Hercules. 'Almost over head, replied Sponge. 'Scamperdale saw me going, and hadn't the grace to halloa. 'Ah, that's like him, replied Mr.
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