his drab trousers, gave him the air of a
'well-to-do-in-the-world' sort of man. Moreover, he sported a velvet collar
to his blue coat, a more imposing ornament than it appears at first sight.
To be sure, there are two sorts of velvet collars--the legitimate velvet
collar, commencing with the coat, and the adopted velvet collar, put on
when the cloth one gets shabby.

Buckram's was always the legitimate velvet collar, new from the first, and,
we really believe, a permanent velvet collar, adhered to in storm and in
sunshine, has a very money-making impression on the world. 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. Buckram, who, having seen our friend
advancing up the little twisting approach from the road to his house
through a little square window almost blinded with Irish ivy, out of which
he was in the habit of contemplating the arrival of his occasional lodgers,
Doe and Roe. 'Ah, Mr. Sponge!' exclaimed he, with well-assumed gaiety; 'you
should have been here yesterday; sent away two sich osses--perfect
'unters--the werry best I do think I ever saw in my life; either would have
bin the werry oss for your money. But come in, Mr. Sponge, sir, come in,'
continued he, backing himself through a little sentry-box of a green
portico, to a narrow passage which branched off into little rooms on either
side.

As Buckram made this retrograde movement, he gave a gentle pull to the
wooden handle of an old-fashioned wire bell-pull in the midst of buggy,
four-in-hand, and other whips, hanging in the entrance, a touch that was
acknowledged by a single tinkle of the bell in the stable-yard.

They then entered the little room on the right, whose walls were decorated
with various sporting prints chiefly illustrative of steeple-chases, with
here and there a stunted fox-brush, tossing about as a duster. The
ill-ventilated room reeked with the effluvia of stale smoke, and the faded
green baize of a little round table in the centre was covered with
filbert-shells and empty ale-glasses. The whole furniture of the room
wasn't worth five pounds.

Mr. Sponge, being now on the dealing tack, commenced in the
poverty-stri