for a horseman, and then have to ride to maintain one's reputation. Will be
thankful to give it up altogether. The bays will make capital
carriage-horses, and one can often pick up a second-hand carriage as good
as new. Shall save no end of money by not having to put "B" to my name in
the assessed tax-payer. One club's as good as a dozen--will give up the
Polyanthus and the Sunflower, and the Refuse and the Rag. Ladies' dresses
are cheap enough. Saw a beautiful gown t'other day for a guinea. Will start
Master Bergamotte. Does nothing for his wages; will scarce clean my boots.
Can get a chap for half what I give him, who'll do double the work. Will
make Beans into coachman. What a convenience to have one's wife's maid to
sew on one's buttons, and keep one's toes in one's stocking-feet! Declare I
lose half my things at the washing for want of marking. Hanged if I won't
marry and be respectable--marriage is an honourable state!' And thereupon
Tom grows a couple of inches taller in his own conceit.

Though Mr. Sponge's thoughts did not travel in quite such a luxurious
first-class train as the foregoing, he, Mr. Sponge, being more of a
two-shirts-and-a-dicky sort of man, yet still the future ways and means
weighed upon his mind, and calmed the transports of his present joy. Lucy
was an angel! about that there was no dispute. He would make her Mrs.
Sponge at all events. Touring about was very expensive. He could only
counterbalance the extravagance of inns by the rigid rule of giving nothing
to servants at private houses. He thought a nice airy lodging in the
suburbs of London would answer every purpose, while his accurate knowledge
of cab-fares would enable Lucy to continue her engagement at the Royal
Amphitheatre without incurring the serious overcharges the inexperienced
are exposed to. 'Where one can dine, two can dine,' mused Mr. Sponge; 'and
I make no doubt we'll manage matters somehow.'

'Twopence for your thoughts!' cried Lucy, trotting up, and touching him
gently on the back with her light silver-mounted riding-whip. 'Twopence for
your thoughts!' repeated she, as Mr. Sponge sauntered leisurely along,
regardless of the bitter cold, followed by such of the hounds as chose to
accompany him.

'Ah!' replied he, brightening up; 'I was just thinking what a deuced good
run we'd had.'

'Indeed!' pouted the fair lady.

'No, my darling; I was thinking what a very pretty girl you are,' rejoined
he, sidling his horse up, and