MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR.
Mr. Surtees, the writer of the sporting novels, possessed considerable
powers of invention, which he indulged--amongst other vagaries--in
giving names to most of the characters in his books, which served to
enlighten his readers as to their physical and mental peculiarities, and
never more happily than when he christened the hero of this sporting
tour Mr. Soapy Sponge. "Mr. Sponge," says our author, "wished to be a
gentleman without knowing how;" but what Mr. Sponge did know was how to
sponge upon everybody with whom he could force an acquaintance, and this
he effected with surprising success. Hunting and good hunting quarters
were the objects of Mr. Sponge's machinations, and upon a half-hearted
invitation from a Mr. Jawleyford, of Jawleyford Court, an invitation
given without an idea that it would be accepted (as sometimes happens),
Mr. Sponge found himself installed in the ancestral mansion of the
Jawleyfords. Mr. Jawleyford was "one of the rather numerous race of
paper-booted, pen-and-ink landowners," says Mr. Surtees, "whose
communications with his tenantry were chiefly confined to dining with
them twice a year in the great entrance-hall after the steward, _Mr.
Screwemtight_, had eased them of their rents." Then Mr. Jawleyford would
shine forth the very impersonification of what a landlord ought to be.
Dressed in the height of fashion, he would declare that the only really
happy moments of his life were those when he was surrounded by his
tenantry.
In the background of this admirable drawing we see Mr. Jawleyford's
portrait, flanked by his ancestors, on canvas and in armour, hanging on
the panelled walls of his gorgeous home. The variety of character in the
"chawbacons," each a marked individuality, contrasts effectually with
his _quasi_ fashionable landlord. For the first banquet at Jawleyford
Court, "Mr. Sponge," says the author, "made himself an uncommon swell."
His dress is minutely described, and faithfully depicted by Leech, in
the etching in which we see the sponger conducting a very portly Mrs.
Jawleyford, followed by her daughters, to the dining-room. The young
ladies who have entered the drawing-room "in the full fervour of
sisterly animosity," according to the author, seem--in the lovely group
that Leech makes of them--to have speedily made up their quarrel, as
their entwined arms and pretty, happy faces prove. The solemn butler,
who looks with awe at his aristocratic master, is in Leech's truest
vein, while Mr. Jawleyford himself is simply perfect. In the footmen and
page the illustration is less successful; they seem to approach, if not
to reach, caricature.
When Mr. Sponge found himself in good quarters, no hint however strong,
no looks however cold, no manner however unpleasant, would move him,
until he had provided himself with others to his liking. Under the
impression that he was rich, the Misses Jawleyford set their caps at
him. Amelia and Emily rivalled each other in tender attentions to the
adventurer, who, after hesitating as to which of them he should throw
the handkerchief to, fixed upon Miss Amelia, who found her sister "in
the act of playing the agreeable" with Mr. Sponge as she "sailed" into
the drawing-room before dinner; then, "with a haughty sort of sneer and
toss of the head to her sister, as much as to say, 'What are you doing
with my man?'--a sneer that suddenly changed into a sweet smile as her
eye encountered Sponge's--she just motioned him off to a sofa, where she
commenced a _sotto-voce_ conversation in the engaged-couple style."
During his stay at Jawleyford Court, Mr. Sponge's time was passed in
hunting, smoking all over the house--a habit the owner detested--and in
making love to Miss Amelia; taking care, however, not to commit himself
until he had discovered from papa what the settlements were to be. We
who are behind the scenes know that Jawleyford Court is "mortgaged up to
the chimney-pots," and that Mr. J. is over head and ears in debt
besides. We know also that Mr. Sponge is impecunious, his hunters are
hired; he is, in fact, as his author describes him, "a vulgar humbug."
"Jawleyford began to suspect that Sponge might not be the great 'catch'
he was represented," says the author. No doubt in finding himself
baffled in his attempts to sound his host upon the subject of
settlements, Mr. Sponge also "began to suspect" that neither of the
Misses Jawleyford would be the "catch" that he wanted. Still, he held on
to his quarters in defiance of the attempts to get rid of him. He was
removed from the best bedroom to one in which it was impossible to light
a fire, or, rather, to endure it when it was alight, because of an
incurable smoky chimney. He was given poor food and corked wine, still
he stayed, until he had provided himself with a temporary home at the
house of a hunting gentleman named Puffington.
Mr. Puffington, who made Sponge's acquaintance at the covert-side where
Lord Scamperdale's hounds met, "got it into his head" that Mr. Sponge
was a literary man, whose brilliant pen was about to be employed in the
interest of fox-hunting in general, and of certain runs of Mr.
Puffington's hounds in particular. Mr. Puffington "was the son of a
great starch-maker at Stepney." Puffington, senior, made a large
fortune, which enabled his son to become the owner of Hanby House, and
of the "Mangeysterne--now Hanby-Hounds," because he thought they would
give him consequence. Our author says, Mr. Puffington "had no natural
inclination for hunting," but he seems to have become M.F.H. so that he
might entertain some of the sporting friends he had made at college,
such "dashing young sparks as Lord Firebrand, Lord Mudlark, Lord
Deuceace, Sir Harry Blueun, Lord Legbail, now Earl of Loosefish," and so
on.
My space, or, rather, the want of it, prevents my telling how it was
that Mr. Sponge "awoke and found himself famous" as an author. In
conjunction with a friend, who steered him through the spelling and
grammar, he concocted an article for the _Swillingford Patriot_--Grimes,
editor--which "appeared in the middle of the third sheet, and was
headed, 'Splendid Run with Mr. Puffington's Hounds.'" Mr. Grimes was
ably assisted in his editorial duties by "his eldest daughter, Lucy--a
young lady of a certain age, say liberal thirty--an ardent Bloomer, with
a considerable taste for sentimental poetry, with which she generally
filled the Poet's Corner."
As Mr. Puffington quite expected to be immortalized in some work of
general circulation, his indignation knew no bounds when he found
himself relegated to a corner of the county paper, and all his hopes of
his doings being read by "the Lords Loosefish, the Sir Toms and Sir
Harrys of former days" grievously disappointed. Never, surely, were
disgust, disappointment, and rage more perfectly expressed than in the
second portrait of Mr. Puffington: not only the face, but the whole
figure--one can fancy how the hand in the pocket of the dressing-gown is
clenched--denotes the surprise and exasperation of the miserable man.
Mr. Sponge's literary effort has "done for him" with Mr. Puffington. He
must go. Easier said than done.
"Couldn't you manage to get him to go?" asked Mr. Puffington of his
valet.
"Don't know, sir. I could try, sir--believe he's bad to move, sir," said
the valet.
Driven to despair, the host "scrawled a miserable-looking note,
explaining how very ill he was, how he regretted being deprived of Mr.
Sponge's agreeable society--hoped he would come another time," and so
on. Even the "sponger" felt the difficulty of parrying such a palpable
notice to quit. "He went to bed sorely perplexed," and in his waking
moments trying to remember "what sportsmen had held out the hand of good
fellowship and hinted at hoping to have the pleasure of seeing him"; he
could think of no one to whom he could volunteer a visit. But Fortune
favours the brave sponger, as she often does unworthy people, and in Mr.
Jogglebury Crowdey, an eccentric individual whose acquaintance Sponge
had made in the hunting-field, he found another host. At the suggestion
of Mrs. Jogglebury, who, without the slightest reason, had taken it into
her head that Mr. Sponge was a wealthy man, and would make a
satisfactory godfather to one of her children, Mr. Jogglebury called on
Mr. Sponge at the Puffington mansion, and invited him to "pay us a
visit."
No sooner does our hero grasp the situation than he says:
"Well, you're a devilish good fellow, and I'll tell you what, as I am
sure you mean what you say, I'll take you at your word and go at once."
And in this determination he persists, though Mr. J. pleads for some
delay, as Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey requires some little time for
preparation in receiving so distinguished a guest.
The visit to Puddingpote Bower, as the Jogglebury dwelling was called,
proved as unfortunate as the previous visits; the more people saw of Mr.
Sponge the less they liked him, and this time the dislike was mutual.
"Jog and Sponge," says the author, "were soon most heartily sick of each
other." Mr. Sponge soon began to think that it was not worth while
staying at Puddingpote Bower for the mere sake of his keep, "seeing
there was no hunting to be had from it."
Within twelve or thirteen miles from the Bower there lived Sir Harry
Scattercash, a very fast young gentleman indeed. He kept "an
ill-supported pack of hounds, that were not kept upon any fixed
principles; their management was only of the scrimmaging order," but Mr.
Sponge, scenting an invitation, determined to make one amongst the
field.
In his attempt to "go it," my lord "was ably assisted by Lady
Scattercash, late the lovely and elegant Miss Glitters, of the Theatre
Royal, Sadler's Wells. Lady Scattercash could ride--indeed, she used to
do scenes in the circle (two horses and a flag), and she could drive,
and smoke, and sing, and was possessed of many other accomplishments."
What a winning creature Leech has made of her, and the scarcely less
delightful little tiger behind her, may be seen in the illustration
which the law of copyright prevents me from introducing, as it also
prohibits the appearance here of Sir Harry, her husband, the happy
possessor of the charming Lady Scattercash.
"Sometimes," says the author of "Sponge," "Sir Harry would drink
straight on end for a week!" Mr. Sponge made desperate efforts to take
up his abode at Nonsuch House, but Sir Harry was surrounded by congenial
spirits, who, one and all, had taken prejudice against that worthy; so,
beyond a hunting dinner, at which everybody, including the ladies, took
more wine than was good for them, Mr. Sponge and Nonsuch House were
strangers to each other for a time. But, as the hunting-field is open to
all and sundry, Mr. Sponge, not easily daunted, put in a frequent
appearance, in the sure and certain hope that admission to free quarters
at Sir Harry's was only delayed. Beyond what is elegantly called "peck
and perch," Nonsuch House contained a very powerful attraction in the
form of Miss Lucy Glitters, sister to Lady Scattercash. Miss Lucy was a
lovely person, and her charms were increased in Mr. Sponge's eyes
because he persuaded himself that the sister-in-law of a baronet must
necessarily be a rich woman. Miss Lucy had also the conviction that Mr.
Sponge was a rich man; how else could he spend his time in the sports of
the field, with all their expensive accompaniments? Miss Glitters was a
bold rider, and that accomplishment also endeared her to the gentleman
in whom the passion of love burned suddenly, and with a very furious
flame indeed; till on one fateful hunting day the amorous couple found
themselves "in at the death": they had distanced the field, they were
alone. Mr. Sponge secured the brush, and said:
"We'll put this in your hat, alongside the cock's feathers."
I now quote my author: "The fair lady leant towards him, and as he
adjusted it becomingly in her hat, looking at her bewitching eyes, her
lovely face, and feeling the sweet fragrance of her breath, a something
shot through Mr. Sponge's pull-devil pull-baker coat, his corduroy
waistcoat, his Eureka shirt, angola vest, and penetrated to the very
cockles of his heart. He gave her such a series of smacking kisses as
startled her horse and astonished a poacher who happened to be hid in
the adjoining hedge."
On the return of the happy pair Lucy rushes to her sister with the good
news. Lady Scattercash was delighted, because "Mr. Sponge was such a
nice man, _and so rich_! She was sure he was rich--couldn't hunt if he
wasn't. Would advise Lucy to have a good settlement, in case he broke
his neck." On further inquiry, however, her ladyship had good reason to
suspect that a red coat and two or three hunters were not satisfactory
proofs of wealth; and in reply to one who knew, she retorted, "Well,
never mind, if he has nothing, she has nothing, and nothing can be
nicer." With the conviction that nothing could be nicer, "Lady
Scattercash warmly espoused Mr. Sponge's cause," the consequence being
his instalment in splendid quarters at Nonsuch House, where he made
himself thoroughly at home. "It was very soon 'my hounds,' 'my horses,'
and 'my whips,' etc., being untroubled by his total inability to keep
the angel who had ridden herself into his affections, for he made no
doubt that something would turn up." If it were not for the introduction
of a delightful drawing by Leech, I should take no note of a
"Steeplechase," in which Mr. Sponge comes before us for the last time.
This function is not a favourite with Mr. Surtees, nor is it looked upon
without much anxiety by Miss Lucy. "She has made Mr. Sponge a white silk
jacket to ride in, and a cap of the same colour. Altogether, he is a
great swell, and very like a bridegroom," says the author.
[Illustration]
If this drawing suffered in the hands of the wood-engraver, it must
have been beyond imagination beautiful, for, as it is, it shows us Leech
in his full strength. Nothing, it seems to me, could surpass the figure of
Lucy, whose expression of loving fear for the safety of the bold Sponge is
shown to us in one of the prettiest faces conceivable. Sponge himself is
no less successfully rendered as he smiles reassuringly at his beloved.
The race--admirably described by the author--is run, and won by Mr.
Sponge. "And now for the hero and heroine of our tale. The Sponges--for
our friend married Lucy shortly after the steeplechase--stayed at Nonsuch
House till the bailiffs walked in. Sir Harry then bolted to Boulogne,
where he afterwards died. Being at length starved out of Nonsuch House,"
says the historian, "he--Sponge--arrived at his old quarters, the Bantam,
in Bond Street, where he turned his attention very seriously to providing
for Lucy and the little Sponge, who had now issued its prospectus. He
thought over all the ways and means of making money without capital....
Professional steeplechasing Lucy decried, declaring she would rather
return to her flag exercises at Astley's as soon as she was able than have
her dear Sponge risking his neck that way. Our friend at length began to
fear fortune-making was not so easy as he thought; indeed he was soon sure
of it." Something had to be done; "accordingly, after due consultation
with Lucy, he invested his all in fitting up and decorating the splendid
establishment in Jermyn Street, St. James's, now known as the SPONGE CIGAR
AND BETTING ROOMS, where noblemen, gentlemen, and officers in the
Household troops may be accommodated with loans on their personal security
to any amount." We see by Mr. Sponge's last advertisement that he has
L116,000 to lend at 31/2 per cent.