teaks or lamb chops for dinner, Sponge's thumbs
would rest in the arm-holes of his waistcoat; in which easy, but not very
elegant, attitude he would sometimes stand until all trace of the idea that
elevated them had passed away from his mind.

In the trouser line he adhered to the close-fitting costume of former days;
and many were the trials, the easings, and the alterings, ere he got a pair
exactly to his mind. Many were the customers who turned away on seeing his
manly figure filling the swing mirror in 'Snip and Sneiders',' a monopoly
that some tradesmen might object to, only Mr. Sponge's trousers being
admitted to be perfect 'triumphs of the art,' the more such a walking
advertisement was seen in the shop the better. Indeed, we believe it would
have been worth Snip and Co.'s while to have let him have them for nothing.
They were easy without being tight, or rather they looked tight without
being so; there wasn't a bag, a wrinkle, or a crease that there shouldn't
be, and strong and storm-defying as they seemed, they were yet as soft and
as supple as a lady's glove. They looked more as if his legs had been blown
in them than as if such irreproachable garments were the work of man's
hands. Many were the nudges, and many the 'look at this chap's trousers,'
that were given by ambitious men emulous of his appearance as he passed
along, and many were the turnings round to examine their faultless fall
upon his radiant boot. The boots, perhaps, might come in for a little of
the glory, for they were beautifully soft and cool-looking to the foot,
easy without being loose, and he preserved the lustre of their polish, even
up to the last moment of his walk. There never was a better man for getting
through dirt, either on foot or horseback, than our friend.

To the frequenters of the 'corner,' it were almost superfluous to mention
that he is a constant attendant. He has several volumes of 'catalogues,'
with the prices the horses have brought set down in the margins, and has a
rare knack at recognizing old friends, altered, disguised, or disfigured as
they may be--'I've seen that rip before,' he will say, with a knowing shake
of the head, as some woe-begone devil goes, best leg foremost, up to the
hammer, or, 'What! is that old beast back? why he's here every day.' No man
can impose upon Soapy with a horse. He can detect the rough-coated
plausibilities of the straw-yard, equally with the metamorphosis of the
clipper or singer. His