Mr Puffington quite eclipsed all the old country families with their ‘company rooms’ and put-away furniture. Then, when he began to grind about the country in his lofty mail-phaeton, with a pair of spanking, high- stepping bays, and a couple of arm-folded, lolling grooms, shedding his cards in return for their calls, there was such a talk, such a commotion as had never been known before. Then, indeed, he was appreciated at his true worth.

‘Mr Puffington was here the other day,’ said Mrs Smirk to Mrs Smooth, in the well-known ‘great-deal- more-meant-than-said’ style. ‘Oh such a charming man! Such ease! such manners! such knowledge of high life!’

Puff had been at his old tricks. He had resuscitated Lord Legbail, now Earl of Loosefish; imported Sir Harry Blueun from somewhere near Geneva, whither he had retired on marrying his mistress; and resuscitated Lord Mudlark, who had broken his neck many years before from his tandem in Piccadilly. Whatever was said, Puff always had a duplicate or illustration involving a nobleman. The great names might be rather far-fetched at times to be sure, but when people are inclined to be pleased, they don’t keep putting that and that together to see how they fit, and whether they come naturally, or are lugged in neck and heels. Puff’s talk was very telling.

One great man to a house is the usual country allowance, and many are not very long in letting out who theirs are; but Puffington seemed to have the whole peerage, baronetage, and knightage at command. Old Mrs Slyboots, indeed, thought that he must be connected with the peerage some way; his mother, perhaps, had been the daughter of a peer, and she gave herself an infinity of trouble in hunting through the ‘matches’ -- with what success it is not necessary to say. The old ladies unanimously agreed that he was a most agreeable, interesting young man; and though the young ones did pretend to run him down among themselves, calling him ugly, and so on, it was only in the vain hope of dissuading each other from thinking of him.

Mr Puffington still stuck to the ‘amaazin’ pop’lar man’ character; a character that is not so convenient to support in the country as it is in town. The borough of Swillingford, as we have already intimated, was not the best conducted borough in the world; indeed, when we say that the principal trade of the place was poaching, our country readers will be able to form a very accurate opinion on that head. When Puff took possession of Hanby there was a fair show of pheasants about the house, and a good sprinkling of hares and partridges over the estate and manor generally; but refusing to prosecute the first poachers that were caught, the rest took the hint, and cleared everything off in a week, dividing the plunder among them. They also burnt his river and bagged his fine Dorking fowls, and all these feats being accomplished with impunity, they turned their attention to his fat sheep.

‘Poacher’ is only a mild term for ‘thief.’

Puff was a perfect milch-cow in the way of generosity. He gave to everything and everybody, and did not seem to be acquainted with any smaller sum than a five-pound note: a five-pound note to replace Giles Jolter’s cart-horse (that used to carry his own game for the poachers to the poulterers at Plunderston) five pounds to buy Dame Doubletongue another pig, though she had only just given three pounds for the one that died -- five pounds towards the fire at farmer Scratchley’s, though it had taken place two years before Puff came into the country, and Scratchley had been living upon it ever since -- and sundry other five pounds to other equally deserving and amiable people. He put his name down for fifty to the Mangeysterne hounds without ever being asked; which reminds us that we ought to be directing our attention to that noble establishment.

It is hard to have to go behind the scenes of an ill-supported hunt, and we will be as brief and tender with the cripples as we can. The Mangeysterne hounds wanted that great ingredient of prosperity, a large nest-egg subscriber, to whom all others could be tributary, paying or not as might be convenient. The consequence was they were always up the spout. They were neither a scratch pack nor a regular pack, but something betwixt and between. They were hunted by a saddler, who found his own horses,