CHAPTER XXVI

A QUIET BYE

IGG was all eager for the fray, and readily came into Stobbs’ suggestion, that they should go out, and just take their chance of finding a fox, and of his going to ground or not as luck and his courage served.

“Ar’ll gan to’ard Duncan’s, and get his grey for wor Ben,” said Pigg, “gin ye’ll set the led on to seddle the rest,” adding, “the Squi-er ar’s warned ’ill ride Arterxerxes.”

Off then Pigg went to Duncan Nevin’s, and returned with a woe-begone looking horse in a halter, before Stobbs had made any progress in his department. Ben was not to be found. Neither at Mrs. Candy the tart-woman’s, nor at Mrs. Biffin’s apple-stall, nor at Strap the saddler’s, nor at any of his usual haunts, was anything to be heard of the boy.

The fact was, he had been unable to resist a ride at the back of a return chaise passing along Juniper Street, and being caught by his apron in the spikes, had been carried nearly to Copse Field before he got himself disentangled.

The oracle Gabriel having continued his monitions, Mr. Jorrocks thought to make the absence of the boy an excuse for not going, but now having both Stobbs and Pigg ranged against him, he was soon driven from the attempt. Pigg said, “Squi-er Stobbs wad de quite as weal as Ben,” and Jorrocks, little loth at heart perhaps, at length hoisted himself on to Axterxerxes with a swag that would have sent a light-carcassed horse over, letting the now smartly-clad Pigg ride the redoubtable Xerxes. So with Stobbs in front, Jorrocks with the hounds, and Pigg behind, they set off at a gentle trot, telling the inquirers that they were only going to exercise, a delusion that Mr. Jorrocks’s hat seemed to favour.

Bump, bump,—jog, jog,—on they went; Mr. Jorrocks now chiding, now coaxing, now dropping an observation fore or aft, now looking at the sky, and now at his watch.

“Des say we shall find pretty soon,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “for they tells me the cover has not been disturbed this long time, and there’s lots of lyin’—nice, and dry, and warm—foxes like damp beds as little as Christians. Uncommon pretty betch, that Barbara,—like Bravery as two peas,—by Billin’sgate out o’ Benedict, I think. ’Opes we may get blood; it’ll do them a deal o’ good, and make them steady for the Beef and Carrots. Wen we gets the ’ounds all on the square, we ’ill ’ave the great Mr. Pomponious Hego to come and give us a good hoiling. Nothin’ like soap.”

“Hooi! you chap with the turnip cart!” now roared our master, to a cartman coming up; “vot do you mean by stickin’ your great ugly wehicle right afore my ’ounds!—Mr. Jorrocks’ ’ounds, in fact! I’ll skin ye alive!” added he, looking at the man, who stood staring with astonishment. And again they went, bump, bump, jog, jog, at that pleasant post-boy pace, that has roused the bile of so many sportsmen, and set so many riders fighting with their horses.

At length they reached the cover side,—a long wood stretching up the sides of a gently sloping hill, and widening towards the summit. On the crown there stood a clump of Scotch firs and hollies, forming a landmark for many miles round. Turning from the high-road into a grass field on the right, the party pulled up to reconnoitre the ground and make their final arrangements.

“Now,” said Mr. Jorrocks, standing erect in his stirrups, and pointing with his whip, which had the effect of making half the pack break towards the cover,—“Now,” said he, as soon as he had got them turned, “this is a good big wood—’two ’undred acres or more—and they tells me the foxes generally lie on the risin’ ground, towards the clump. The vind’s north-vest; so if we puts in at this point, we shall draw up it, and p’rhaps get close to the warmint at startin’, which is a grand thing; but, howsomever, let’s be doin’. Draw your girths, Pigg, or your ’oss ’ll slip through his saddle. Now observe, there are three rides—one on each side, one hup the middle, all leadin’ to the clump; and there are cross ones in all directions; so no man need be ’fraid o’ losin’ himself. Now let’s put in. Pigg, open the wicket.”

“It’s locked,” observed Pigg, running the hammer of his whip into the rails, throwing himself off his horse; and pulling a great clasp-knife out of his pocket as he spoke. “Sink, but it aye gars mar knife laugh to see a lock put upon leather,” added he, as he drew the huge blade across the stiff band that secured the gate. Open flew the wicket—in went the pack with a dash, a crash, and a little music from the riotous ones, which gradually yielded to the “Have a cares!” and “Gently, Wenus;” “Gently, Lousey” (Louisa), with the cracks of the whips of Mr. Jorrocks and his huntsman.

“Now, Pigg, my frind, let’s have a touch o’ north country science,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, bringing his horse alongside of his huntsman’s, “I’d like well to kill a fox to-day; I’d praise you werry much if we did.”

“Aye, aye,” said Pigg. “Hoic in, Lousey! Solid puddin’s better nor empty praise. Have at him there, Statesman, old boy,—ye look like a finder. De’il bon me, but ar thought ar winded him at the crossin’ there,” added Pigg, pulling his horse short back to a cross ride he had just passed. “Hoic in there, Priestess, ould gal,” said he, to an old black and white bitch, feathering round some gorse among the underwood; waving his hand as he spoke. “That’s gospel, ar warrant ye,” continued he, watching her movements.

“What will’t tak’ for t’ard nag?” inquired Pigg, of a besom-maker, who now came down the ride with a wretched white Rosinante, laden with stolen brushwood.—“Have at him there, Challenger!” speaking to a hound.

“Twenty shillin’,” replied the man.

“Gie ye eight!” was the answer.—“Yooi, push him up!” to the hound.

“Tak’ twelve,” rejoined the tinker. “Good horse—can get up of hisself, top puller and all!”

“Aye, but we dinna want him to poole; we want him to eat,” replied Pigg. “Had still!” exclaimed he; “ar has him!—Tally-ho!” roared Pigg, cramming his spurs into his horse, and dashing past Jorrocks like a shot. Out went both horns—twang—twang—twang sounded Pigg’s, wow! wow! wow! went Jorrocks’s in deeper and more substantial notes, and in a very short time the body of the pack were laid on the scent, and opened the concert with an overpowering burst of melody.

“Oh, beautiful! beautiful!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, in raptures, as each hound put his nose to the ground, and acknowledged the correctness of the scent. “Oh, beautiful indeed!” added he, thumping the end of his horn upon his thigh, as though he were cutting large gun-waddings out of his breeches. “’Ow true to the line! best ’ounds in England, by far—never were such a pack! Shall have a rare Chevy—all alone to ourselves; and when I gets home I’ll write an account to Bell’s Life and The Field, which nobody can contradict. Hark forrard! hark forrard! hark forrard! away!” continued he, ramming the spurs into Arterxerxes’s sides, to induce him to change his lumbering trot into a canter, which having accomplished, Mr. Jorrocks settled himself into a regular home seat in his saddle, and pounded up a grass ride through the centre of the wood in a perfect frenzy of delight, as the hounds worked their way a little to his right with a full and melodious cry.

“Hould hard, ye sackless ould sinner!” now cried Pigg, crossing the main ride at a canter, and nearly knocking Jorrocks off his horse, as he charged him in his stride. “Had (hold) bye, ar say!” he roared in his master’s ear; “or ar’ll be dingin’ on ye down—fox crossed reet in onder husse’s tail, and thou sits glowerin’ there and never see’d him.”

Out went both the horns again — twang! twang! twang!—wow! wow! wow!

“Hark together! hark! get rorrard, hounds, get forrard!” cried Mr. Jorrocks, cracking his ponderous whip at some lingerers that loitered on the ride, questioning the correctness of their comrades’ cry. “Get forrard, I say,” repeated he, with redoubled energy. “Confound your unbelievin’ souls!” added he, as they went to cry. “Now they are all on him again! Oh, beautiful! beautiful!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks in ecstasies. “I’ll lay five punds to a fiddler’s farthin’ they kill him. Mischief in their cry!—a rare scent—can wind him myself.” So saying, he gathered up his reins again, thrust his feet home in the stirrups, crammed the spurs into his horse, and rolled back on the ride he had just come up. “Hark,” now cried our master, pulling up short and holding his hand in the air, as though he had a hundred and fifty horsemen at his tail to check in their career. “Hark!” again he exclaimed; “whoay, ’oss, whoay!” trying to get Arterxerxes to stand still and let him listen. “Now, fool, vot are you champing the bit for?—whoay, I say! He’s turned short again! Hoick back! Hoick back! They’ve overrun the scent,” continued he, listening, as the chorus gradually died out; “or,” added he, “he may have got to ground.”

“Tally-ho!” now screamed Jorrocks, as a magnificent fellow in a spotless suit of ruddy fur crossed the ride before him at a quiet, stealing, listening sort of pace, and gave a whisk of his well-tagged brush, on entering the copse-wood across. “Hoop! hoop! hoop! hoop!” roared Mr. Jorrocks, putting his finger in his ear, and halloaing as loud as ever he could shout; and just as he got his horn fumbled past the guard, Dexterous, Affable, and Mercury dashed across the ride, lashing their sterns and bristling for blood, and Pigg appeared a little below, cantering along with the rest of the pack at his horse’s heels. “Here, Pigg! there, Pigg!” roared Mr. Jorrocks; “just by the old hoak-stump.—Gently now! ah, ware ’eel—that’s not the vay of him; he’s hover to the left, I tells ye. That’s him! Mercury has him. Hoick to Mercury, hoick! get away, get away, get away, ’ounds! hoick together! hoick together! Oh, Pigg, wot a wopper he is!” observed Mr. Jorrocks, as Pigg joined him in the ride. “The biggest fox whatever was seen—if we do but kill him—my vig! I’ll eat his tongue for supper. Have it grilled ‘cum grano salis,’ with a lee-tle Cayenne pepper, as Pomponius Hego would say.”

“Aye,” replied Pigg, grinning with delight, his cappeak in the air and the tobacco-juice streaming down his mouth like a Chinese mandarin. “Ar’ll be the death of a shillin’ mysel’!” Saying which he hustled his horse and turned to his hounds.

Away they go again full cry across the cover to the utmost limits, and then back again to the far side. Now the fox takes a full swing round, but won’t quit—now he cuts across—now Mr. Jorrocks views him, and swears he’ll have his brains as well as his tongue for supper. Pigg has him next, and again comes Mr. Jorrocks’s turn. “Dash my vig, but he’s a tough un!” observed Mr. Jorrocks to James Pigg, as they met again on the rising ground at the top of the ride, where Mr. Jorrocks had been fifteen times and Pigg seventeen, both their horses streaming with perspiration, and the blue and yellow worsted fronts of the bridles embossed with foam. “Dash my vig, but it’s a million and a half of petties,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, looking at his watch, and seeing it wanted but twenty minutes to four, “that we adwertised, for there’s a wast o’ go left in him yet, and he’ll take the shine out of some of our ’ounds before he is done with them—send them dragglin’ ’ome with their sterns down—make ’em cry capevi, I’m thinking.”

“Niver fear!” exclaimed Pigg—“niver fear!—whativer ye de, keep Tamboreen a rowlin’—yonder he gans! ar wish it mayn’t be a fresh un. Arn’t draggled a bit.”

“Oh, I ’opes not!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, the picture of despair. “Would eat him, brush and all, sooner than that. Oh, dear! oh, dear! a fresh fox would be cruel—’ounds deserve him—worked him well.”

“Now they begin to chass!” exclaimed Pigg, listening to the ripening chorus. “Aye, but there’s a grand scent!—Ar’ll be the death of a shillin’ if we de but kill him. How way, ould man, how way,” continued Pigg, cheeringly, jerking his arm to induce his master to follow. “Whatever ye de, keep Tamboreen a rowlin’!” continued Pigg, spurring and jagging his horse into a canter.

On man and master go—now they meet Charley, and all three are together. Again they part company for different rides, each according to his fancy. There is an evident improvement in the scent, but whether from a fresh fox, or the hounds having got nearer the hunted one, is matter of doubt. Mr. Jorrocks is elated and excited beyond expression. The hounds are evidently working the fox, but the fear of a fresh one rather mars his enjoyment. The hounds turn short, and Pigg and Charley again join Mr. Jorrocks.

“A! man alive, but they are a dustin’ his jacket!” exclaimed Pigg, pulling up to listen;—“iv’ry hund’s at him;” saying which he pulled out a large steel box and stuffed his mouth full of tobacco.

A sudden pause ensues—all still as death—not a note—not even a whimper.

“Who hoop!” exclaims Mr. Jorrocks in ecstasies—“Who hoop! I say—heard the leadin’ ’ound crack his back! Old Cruiser for a guinea!”

“Yonder they gan!” cried Pigg, pointing to a hog-backed hill on the left, over which three couple of hounds were straining to gain the body of the pack—saying which he clapt spurs to his horse and dashed off at full gallop, followed by Charles.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, the picture of despair—“wot shall I do? wot shall I do?—gone away at this hour—strange country—nobody to pull the ’edges down for me or catch my ’os if I gets spilt, and there’s that Pigg ridin’ as if there was not never no such man as his master. Pretty kettle of fish!” continued Mr. Jorrocks, trotting on in the line they had taken. A bridle-gate let him out of cover, and from the first hill our master sees his hounds going like pigeons over the large grazing grounds of Beddington Bottoms, with Pigg and Stobbs a little in the rear, riding as hard as ever their horses can lay legs to the ground.

“’Ow that Scotch beggar rides!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing Pigg going as straight as an arrow, which exclamation brought him to his first fence at the bottom of the hill, over which both horsemen had passed without disturbing a twig.

“’Old up, ’oss!” roared Mr. Jorrocks, seizing the reins and whip with one hand and the cantrel of the saddle with the other, as Arterxerxes floundered sideways through a low fence with a little runner on the far side. “’Old up!” repeated he, as they got scrambled through, looking back and saying, “Terrible nasty place—wonders I ever got over. Should ha’ been drund to a certainty if I’d got in. Wouldn’t ride at it again for nothin’ under knighthood—Sir John Jorrocks, Knight!” continued he, shortening his hold of his horse. “And my ladyship Jorrocks!” added he. “She’d be bad to ’old—shouldn’t wonder if she’d be for goin’ to Halmack’s. Dash my buttons, but I wish I was off this beastly fallow,” continued he; “wonderful thing to me that the farmers can’t see there’d be less trouble i’ growing grass than in makin’ these nasty rutty fields. ’Eavens be praised, there’s a gate—and a lane too,” saying which he was speedily in the latter, and gathering his horse together he sets off at a brisk trot in the direction he last saw the hounds going.

Terribly deep it was, and great Arterxerxes made a noise like the drawing of corks as he blobbed along through the stiff, holding clay.

Thus Mr. Jorrocks proceeded for a mile or more, until he came upon a red-cloaked gipsy wench stealing sticks from a rotten fence on the left.

“’Ave you seen my ’ounds, ould gal?” inquired he, pulling up short.

“Bless your beautiful countenance, my cock angel!” exclaimed the woman, in astonishment at the sight of a man in a scarlet coat with a face to match; “bless your beautiful countenance, you’re the very babe I’ve been looking for all this blessed day — cross my palm with a bit o’ siller, and I’ll tell you sich a fortin!”

“Cuss your fortin!” roared Mr. Jorrocks, sticking spurs into his horse, and grinning with rage at the idea of having pulled up to listen to such nonsense.

“I hope you’ll brick your neck, ye nasty ugly old thief!” rejoined the gipsy, altering her tone.

“’Opes I sharn’t,” muttered Mr. Jorrocks, trotting on to get out of hearing. Away he went, blob, blob, blobbing through the deep holding clay as before.

Presently he pulled up again with a “Pray, my good man, ’ave you seen my ’ounds—Mr. Jorrocks’s ’ounds, in fact?” of a labourer scouring a fence-gutter. “Don’t you ’ear me, man?” bellowed he, as the countryman stood staring with his hand on his spade.

“I be dull of hearin’, sir,” at length drawled the man, advancing very slowly towards our master with his hand up to his ear.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, starting off again, “was there ever sich a misfortinate indiwidual as John Jorrocks?—’Ark! vot’s that? Pigg’s ’orn! Oh, dear, only a cow! Come hup, ’oss, I say, you hugly beast!—there surely never was sich a worthless beast lapped in leather as you,” giving Arterxerxes a good double thonging as he spoke. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” continued he, “I wish I was well back at the Cross, with my ’ounds safe i’ kennel.—Vot a go is this!—Dinner at five—baked haddocks, prime piece of fore chine, Portingal honions, and fried plum-puddin’; and now, by these darkenin’ clouds, it must be near four, and here I be’s, miles and miles away—’ounds still runnin’, and adwertised for the ‘Beef and Carrots’ on Wednesday—never will be fit to go, nor to the ‘Daisy’ nouther.”

“Pray, my good man,” inquired he of a drab-coated, big-basketed farmer, on a bay cart-horse, whom he suddenly encountered at the turn of the road, “’ave you seen anything of my ’ounds? Mr. Jorrocks’s ’ounds, in fact?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the farmer, all alive; “they were running past Langford plantations with the fox dead beat close afore them.”

“’Ow long since, my frind?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks, brightening up.

“Oh, why just as long as it’s taken me to come here—mebbe ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, not longer certainly. If you put on you may be in at the death yet.”

Away went spurs, elbows and legs, elbows and legs, Arterxerxes was again impelled into a canter, and our worthy master pounded along, all eyes, ears, and fears. Night now drew on, the darkening clouds began to lower, bringing with them fog and a drizzling rain. “Bad go this,” said Mr. Jorrocks, rubbing his hand down his coat-sleeve, and raising his face to ascertain the precise amount of the fall. “Bad go, indeed. Got my Sunday ’at on, too. Hooi, bouys! did you see th’ ’ounds?” inquired he of a troop of satchel-slung youths, plodding their ways homeward from school.

“Y-e-a-s,” at length drawled out one, after a good stare at the inquirer.

“’Ow long since? come, quick, bouy!”

“May be twenty minutes; just as we com’d past Hookem-Snivey church we see’d fox, and hounds were close ahint—he was varra tired.”

“Twenty minutes,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, aloud to himself; “twenty minutes—may be a werry long way off by this; foxes travel fast. Vich way were they a-goin’?”

“Straight for Staunton-Snivey,” drawled the boy.

“My vig!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “vot a run; if we don’t kill werry soon, it’ll be pitch dark, and then there’ll be a pretty kittle o’ fish—th’ ’ounds will kill all the ship (sheep) in the country—shall have a bill as long as my arm to pay.”

Fear lent fresh impetus to our worthy friend, and tightening his hold of Arterxerxes’s head, who now began tripping and stumbling, and floundering along in a most slovenly manner, Mr. Jorrocks trotted on, and reaching Hookem-Snivey, saw by the foot-people standing on the churchyard wall that the hounds were “forrard”; he turned down a lane to the left of the village stocks, in the direction the people were looking, and catching Staunton-Snivey in the distance, set off for it as hard as ever he could tear. A pretty clattering he made down the stony road.

Night now drew on apace, and heavy darkening clouds proclaimed a fast approaching storm. At Staunton-Snivey he learned that the hounds had just crossed the turnpike on to the Downs, with the fox “dead beat close afore them;” and still unwilling to give in, though every moment increased his difficulties, he groped open a bridlegate, and entered upon the wide-extending Plain. The wind had now risen, and swept with uncommon keenness over the unprotected open. The drizzling rain, too, became changed into larger, heavier drops, and thrusting his hat upon his brow, Mr. Jorrocks buttoned his coat up to the throat, and wrapping its laps over his thighs, tucked them in between his legs and the saddle. Dismal and disheartening were his thoughts, and many his misgivings for his rashness. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” muttered he, “wot a most momentous crisis—lost! lost! lost!—completely lost! Dinner lost! ’ounds lost, self lost—all lost together! Oh, vot evil genius ever tempted me from the lovely retirement o’ Great Coram Street? Oh! why did I neglect the frindly warnin’ o’ Gabriel Junks? Change, change — storm, storm — was in his every scream, and yet I would go. Cuss the rain, it’s gettin’ down my werry back, I do declare;” saying which he turned the blue collar of his coat up to his ears, and both laps flew out with a desperate gust of wind. “Ord rot it,” said he, “it’s not never no use persewerin’, may as well give in at once and ’ark back to Snivey; my Berlins are wet through, and I shall be drenched in another second. “Who-ay, ’oss! who-ay; stand still, you hugly beast, and let me listen.” The ducking-headed brute at length obeyed.

“It is the ’orn,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, after sitting listening for some time, with his hand to his ear; “it is the ’orn, Pigg’s not far off! There it goes again, but the ’owling wind carries so many ways, there’s no saying whereabouts he is. I’ll blow, and see if I can ’ail him.” Mr. Jorrocks then drew out his horn, and puffed and blew most lustily, but the raging tempest scattered the notes before they were well out of his mouth, and having exhausted his breath, he again paused, horn in hand, to listen. Between each blast of the raging hurricane, the faint notes of the horn were heard, some coming more fully as the gale blew more favourably, and a fuller one falling on his ear, during a period of partial lull, Mr. Jorrocks determined on advancing and endeavouring to rejoin his lost huntsman. “Come hup, I say, you hugly beast!” exclaimed he, getting Arterxerxes short by the head, and digging the spurs freely into his sides. The lumbering brute acknowledged the compliment with a sort of half hitch of a kick. “Great henterpriseless brute—do believe you’d rayther ’ave a feed o’ corn than the finest run wot ever was seen,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, cropping him. Night had now closed in, and even the sort of light of darkness that remains so long to the traveller who journeys onward with the closing day, deserted him, and earth and sky assumed the same sombre hue:—

“The dragon wing of night o’erspread the earth.”

Scarce a star was visible in the firmament, and the few scattered lights that appeared here and there about the country, seemed like snatches of hope lit up for the moment to allure and perplex the wanderer.

“If ever mortal man catches me in such a quandary as this again,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “I ’opes—oh, dear! who’s there?—Cus those seidlitz pooders!—Speak, I say!—vot are you?—Come hup, ’oss, I say!” roared he, ramming the spurs into Arterxerxes, who had suddenly shied off with a loud snort. “Now for a murder!” ejaculated Jorrocks, still cramming in the spurs.

“E-yah! E-yah! E-yah!” went a donkey, greatly to the relief of Mr. Jorrocks’s mind, who had clenched his huge hammer-headed whip by the middle, so as to give an assailant the full benefit of its weight. Out then went his horn again, and the donkey brayed a full accompaniment.

“Oh, the deuce be with the hanimal!” cried Jorrocks, grinning with vexation, “never saw a donkey yet that knew when to ’old his tongue. Oh, my vig, vot a vind! almost blows the ’orn itself; shall be blown to hatoms, I do believe. And the rain too! I really thinks I’m wet to the werry waistband o’ my breeches. I’ll lay a guinea ’at to a half-crown gossamer I haven’t a dry thread upon me in ’alf a minute. Got a five-pund note i’ my pocket that will be hutterly ruined. Sarves me right, for bein’ such a hass as take these ’ounds—vy wasn’t I content with the glorious old Surrey and an occasional turn with the Cut-’em-downs? Well; I thinks this night will be the last of John Jorrocks! Best master of ’ounds wot ever was seen. ’Orrible termination to a hactive life; starved on a common—eat by wolves, or shepherds’ dogs, which is much of a muchness as far as comfort’s concerned. Why even yon donkey would be ’shamed of such an end. There goes the vind with my ’at—lucky it’s tied on,” added he, trying to catch it as it dangled at his back, “or I should never have seen it no more. I’d give fifty punds to be back at ’Andley Cross—I’d give a ’underd punds to be back at ’Andley Cross—knows no more where I am than if I was among the Bohea mountains—oh, dear, ’ow it pours! I’d give two ’underd punds to be back at ’Andley Cross—yonder’s a light, I do declare—two on ’em—come hup, ’oss, I say. The hanimal seems to have no sense! I’ll lead you, you nasty hugly brute, for I do believe you’ll brick my neck, or my back, or both, arter all;” so saying, Mr. Jorrocks clambered down, and getting on to the sheltered side of the animal, proceeded to plunge and roll, and stagger and stumble across the common, with the water churning in his great boots, in the direction of the distant lights.

After a good hour’s roll about the open Downs, amid a most pelting, pitiless storm, our much-respected master at length neared the longed-for lights, which he had kept steadily in view, and found they proceeded from lamps at lodges on either side of handsome gates, betokening the entrance to a large demesne. Mounting his horse he rode quickly through the gates, and trusting to the sound of Arterxerxes’ hoofs for keeping the road, he jogged on in search of the mansion. Tall stately pines, rising like towers to heaven, with sombre yews in massive clumps, now made darkness visible, and presently a sudden turn of the road brought a large screen full of lights to view, some stationary, others gliding about, which acted like sunbeams on our master’s mind; more grateful still was the shelter afforded by the lofty portals of the entrance, under which, as if by instinct, Arterxerxes bore his master, and then stood still to be delivered of his load. “The bell ’ill be somewhere here, I guess,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, dismounting and running his hand up either side of the door-posts. “Here’s as much door as would serve Jack the Giant-killer’s castle and leave a little over.” So saying, having grasped the bulky handle of a wall-ensconced bell, he gave it a hearty pull, and paused, as they say, for an answer.

In an instant, two tall, highly-powdered footmen, in rich scarlet and white lace-bedaubed liveries, threw wide the folding-doors as though they expected Daniel Lambert, or the great Durham ox, exhibiting a groom of the chamber and a lusty porter, laying down the newspapers, and hurrying from a blazing fire in the back-ground.

“Perhaps you would like to be shown to your room, sir as you seem wet?” observed the groom of the chamber, after a mutual stare, which Mr. Jorrocks did not seem likely to interrupt.

“Seem vet!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, stamping and shaking himself, “seem vet; I’m just as vet as a man can be, and no vetter; but what shall I do with my ’oss? The musciful man, you know, is musciful to his quad.”

“Oh, there’s a stall all ready for him, sir; your servant’s been here this ’alf-hour and more; I’ll send the ’orse round for you, if you’ll allow me, sir. Here, Jones, take hold of him, and you, Peters, run down-stairs and tell Saul to come and take it round.”

“Yes,” added Mr. Jorrocks; “and tell Pigg to let him have some warm gruel directly, and to get him well done hup, for he’s had a hard day. Werry clever of the chap,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “runnin’ to ground here—seems a capital house—wot a passage! like the Thames Tunnel.” Jorrocks then stumped in.

“This way, if you please, sir,” said the groom of the chamber, motioning him across a magnificent old baronial hall, and turning short up a well-lit, softly-carpeted winding staircase, he preceded Mr. Jorrocks, with a chamber candle, along a lengthy gallery, all hung with portraits of grim-visaged warriors, and small-waisted, large looming ladies. “This is your room, sir,” said he, at length, opening a partially closed door, and ushering Mr. Jorrocks into a splendidly furnished apartment, whose blazing fire, gleaming on the rich crimson curtains and hangings of the room, imparted a glow that long exposure to the unruly elements made appear quite enchanting. “ ’Eavens be praised for these and all other mercies!” exclaimed the grateful Mr. Jorrocks, throwing his hat and whip upon the sofa, and plunging into the luxurious depths of a many-cushioned easy-chair.

“Your clothes are laid out, I think, sir,” observed the groom of the chamber, casting a glance at another sofa, on which clean linen, dress clothes, shiny thin shoes, were ranged in the most orthodox order. “P’rhaps you’d like some hot water, sir?”

“Yes, I should,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “werry much—and a little brandy, if you’ve no objection.”

“Certainly, sir, certainly,” replied the well-drilled servant, giving the top log on the fire a lift so as to make it blaze, and lighting the toilet-table candles.

All this passed with such extraordinary rapidity—the events of the day had been so numerous and exciting—the transition from the depths of misery to the height of luxury so sudden, and, above all, the perfect confidence of the servant so seductively convincing, that, not doubting of the accuracy of everything, and placing all to the credit of his renowned name and the acuteness of his northern huntsman, Mr. Jorrocks proceeded with the aid of a boot-jack to suck off his adhering boots, and divest himself of his well-soaked garments. The servant presently returned with a long-necked bottle of white brandy on a massive silver tray, accompanied with hot water, lemon, sugar, nutmeg, and a plate of biscuits. Seeing Mr. Jorrocks advancing rapidly to a state of nudity, he placed them on a table near the fire, and pointing to a bell beside the bed, observed that if Mr. Jorrocks would ring when he was ready, he would come and conduct him to the drawing-room. The servant then withdrew.

“Wonder if Pigg’s killed the fox,” observed Mr. Jorrocks to himself, pouring out half a tumbler of brandy and filling the glass up with hot water. “Capital fun ’unting, to be sure,” said he, sipping away; “’specially ven one gets into a good quarter like this,” continued he, jerking his head, “but desperation poor fun sleepin’ on a common!” and thereupon, after a few more preliminary sips, he drained off the tumbler.

“May as well vet both eyes,” observed he, as he felt the grateful influence of the brandy upon his nearly exhausted frame, saying which he poured himself out another half tumbler of brandy, and adding sugar and lemon, drank off a good part of it, and left the remainder till he got himself washed.

“Werry considerate this,” said he,—“werry considerate indeed,” he repeated, taking a large Turkey sponge out of the handle of a hip bath of warm water, shaded from the fire by a glass screen, inside of which upon a rail hung a row of baked towels. “Kettle too,” said he, now attracted by its simmering, “may as well have a boil;” so saying, he emptied the contents into the bath, and pulling off his wig, proceeded to wash and disport himself therein, using the sponge as if it was his own. In the midst of his ablutions the door opened, and through the glass screen he saw a servant in a dark coat and scarlet waistcoat enter, and hastily retire as he caught a glimpse of our white Hottentot-like hero squatting in the water. Out Mr. Jorrocks got and bolted the door, and hearing something going on in the passage, he listened for a moment and caught divers scraps of conversation, apparently between a servant and his master, such as, “Why, you stupid fool, don’t you know the room? You certainly are the greatest ass ever man encumbered himself with.”

“Beg pardon, sir, I could have sworn that was the room.”

“Stuff and nonsense! look along the passage; the doors are all so much alike, no wonder a fool like you is puzzled;” saying which the voices moved along, and Mr. Jorrocks heard knocking and opening of doors all along the gallery, until they gradually died away in the distance. Our hero had just done with his bath, and finished his brandy and water, when the sound of returning footsteps again drew his attention to his door, and an angry voice and a meek one sounded alternately through the panels.

“Now what are you staring there about, you great idiot—keeping me shivering in my wet clothes? If this is the room, why don’t you knock?”

“Please, sir, there’s a gen’leman in.”

“How d’you know?”

“Saw him, sir.”

“Then it can’t be my room.”

“Laid your clothes out in it, howsomever, sir.

“How do you know this is it?”

“’Cause I tied this bit of straw round the ’andle of the door.”

“Then knock and ask the gentleman to let you in, and get my clothes out again. You’ve put them into the wrong room, that’s the long and short of the matter—stupid fool!” The servant then ventured a very respectful double tap.

“Who’s there?” roared Jorrocks, in a voice of thunder.

“Beg pardon, sir,—but I think I’ve made a mistake, sir, with master’s clothes, sir.”

“No, you haven’t!” replied Mr. Jorrocks in the same sweet tone as before.

“Oh, beg pardon, sir,” rejoined the servant.

“Now are you satisfied?” roared the master in the Jorrockian strain. “Go along, you fool, and seek a servant.”

In a few minutes there was a renewed and increased noise outside, and Mr. Jorrocks now recognized the bland voice of his friend the groom of the chamber.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said he softly through the door, “but would you allow me to speak to you for a moment?”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “talk through the door.”

“Please, sir, would you ’blige me with your name, sir?”

“Certainly! Mr. Jorrocks, to be sure! The M.F.H.! Who else should it be?”

“Oh, I fear, sir, there’s a mistake, sir. This room, sir, was meant for Captain Widowfield, sir. Those are his clothes, sir.”

“The deuce!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, in disgust “Didn’t Pigg tell you I was a comin’?”

“It was the captain’s servant I took for yours, sir.”

“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, “that won’t do; at all ewents, I can’t part with the garments.”

“I will thank you, sir, to let my servant remove my clothes from my room,” observed Captain Widowfield, in a slow, determined tone through the door.

“My good frind,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, altering his accents, “’ow is it possible for me to part with the garments when I’ve nothin’ o’ my own but wot’s as drippin’ wet as though I’d been dragged through the basin of the Paddin’ton Canal? reg’larly salivated in fact!”

“I have nothing to do with that, sir,” exclaimed the captain, indignantly; “I’m wet myself. Will you open the door, I say?”

“No, I von’t,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “and that’s the plain English of it!” So saying, he swaggered back to the fire with the air of a man resisting an imposition. He then mixed himself a third tumbler of brandy and water.

It may be well here to mention that the mansion in which Mr. Jorrocks so suddenly found himself was Ongar Castle, where Michael Hardey, the founder of the Hunt, found himself at the end of his long and successful run. The vicissitudes of many years had thrice changed the ownership of the castle since the day when the good earl greeted our primitive sportsman on killing his fox before the castle windows, and the present possessor was nephew to that nobleman, who having that day attained his majority, was about to celebrate the event among a party of friends and neighbours.

Having waited until half-past six to welcome Captain Widowfield, before dressing, his lordship at length concluded the storm had prevented his coming; and the party, consisting of five or six and twenty, were in the act of retiring to their respective apartments to prepare for dinner, when Walker, the aforesaid groom of the chamber, came hurrying along, pale in the face from the parley in the passage, followed by the captain in a high state of exasperation, to announce the appearance of an uninvited guest. No sooner was the name “Jorrocks” announced, than a shout of triumph and a roar of laughter burst from all present; and after learning the particulars of his arrival, which seemed to fill everyone with ecstasies (for during the long wait before dressing, they had talked over and abused all their absent friends), his lordship begged the gallant captain to be pacified, and put up with a suit of his clothes for the evening.

“It was no use being angry with old Jorrocks,” he observed, “whom everybody said was mad; and he trusted the amusement he would afford the company would atone for the inconvenience he had subjected his good friend the captain to.”

The doctrine, though anything but satisfactory to a man burning for vengeance, seemed all the consolation the captain was likely to get, so, returning with Walker, he borrowed the roomiest suit of Lord Bramber’s clothes, and while attiring himself in them, he considered how best he could have his revenge.

Meanwhile our hero, having disposed of his third tumbler of stiff brandy and water, which contributed materially to the restoration of his usual equanimity, began to appropriate the clothes so conveniently laid out on the sofa.

Captain Widowfield was a stout, big fellow, as bulky as Jorrocks, and much taller, and being proud of his leg, was wont to adorn his lower man in shorts on high days and holidays; so having drawn on a pair of fine open-ribbed black silk stockings, over the gauze ones, Mr. Jorrocks speedily found himself in a pair of shorts, which, by dint of tight girthing, he managed to bring up to the middle of his calves. The captain’s cravat was of black satin, the waistcoat a white one, articles, as Mr. Jorrocks observed, that could be reefed or let out to fit anyone, and having plunged into the roomy recesses of a blue coat, with Conservative buttons, he surveyed the whole in the cheval glass, and pronounced them “werry good.” He then exchanged the captain’s lily and rose worked slippers for his patent leather pumps, and the brandy acting forcibly on an empty stomach, banished all diffidence, and made Jorrocks ring the bell as though the house were his own.

“You’ve got me into a pretty scrape with the Earl,” said Walker, entering the room, “I thought you were Captain Widowfield.”

“Did you?” replied Mr. Jorrocks, placing himself before the fire with a coat-lap over each arm.—“You’ll know better another time.—But tell me, what Hearl is it you are talkin’ about?”

“The Earl of Bramber, to be sure,” replied the servant.

“What! this is his shop, is it?” inquired Jorrocks—“Ongar Castle, in fact?”

“Yes; I thought you had been one of the party when I showed you in here,” replied Walker.

“Oh, never mind,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “where there’s ceremony there’s no frindship—I makes no doubt I shall be werry welcome.—See; there’s five shillin’s for you,” giving him a dollar. “You mustn’t let the captin in here though, mind. Now tell us, is there any grub to get?”

“Dinner will be served in a quarter of an hour,” replied Walker.

“Dinner!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, looking at his watch; “ten minutes past seven, and not dined yet; what will the world come to next? Dead o’ winter too!”

Walker then conducted him down-stairs, and ushered him into a splendid drawing-room, brilliantly lighted up, whose countless mirrors reflected his jolly person a hundred-fold. The housemaids were just giving the finishing sweep to the grates, and the footmen lighting the candles and lamps, when our master entered; so making up to a table all covered with pamphlets and papers, he drew an easy chair towards it, and proceeded to make himself comfortable.

Lord Bramber was the first to enter. He was a tall, handsome young man, of delicate appearance and gentlemanly manners. He wore mustachios, and was dressed in a black coat and trousers, with a white waistcoat.

Seeing a stranger, he had no difficulty in settling who he was, so he advanced with a bow and extended hand to greet him.

Mr. Jorrocks was up in an instant.

“My Lord, ‘necessitas non habet legs,’ as that classical stableman, Mr. Pomponious Hego, would say—or, ‘’unger makes a man bold,’ as I would say—I’m werry glad to see you,” saying which he shook his lordship’s hand severely.

“Thank you,” replied Lord Bramber, smiling at his guest’s hospitality; “thank you,” repeated he—“hope you left Mrs. Jorrocks and your family well.”

“Thank’e,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “thank’e, my lordship,” as the existence of his better half was brought to his recollection; “ ’opes I sharn’t find her as I left her.”

“How’s that? I hope she is not unwell?” inquired his lordship with well-feigned anxiety.

“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, raising his eye-brows with a shrug of his shoulders; “oh, no, only I left her in a werry bad humour, and I hopes I shall not find her in one when I gets back—haw, haw, haw,—he, he, he,—s’pose your ’at (hat) covers your family—wish mine did too; for atwixt you and I and the wall, my lordship, women are werry weary warmints. I say, my lord, a gen’leman should do nothin’ but ’unt,—it’s the sport of kings, the image of war, without its guilt, and only five-and-twenty per cent. of its danger. You’ve got a werry good shop here—capital shop, I may say,” added he, surveying the rich orange silk furniture and gilding of the room. “Wonder how long this room is? Sixty feet, I dare say, if it’s a hinch;—let’s see.” So saying, Mr. Jorrocks, having set his back against the far wall, took a coat-lap over each arm, and thrusting his hands into Captain Widowfield’s breeches pockets, proceeded to step the apartment. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,” when he was interrupted in his measurement by the opening of the door and the entrance of some of the guests. He was introduced to each in succession, including Captain Widowfield, a big, red-whiskered, pimply-faced, choleric-looking gentleman, to whom our worthy master tendered the hand of fellowship, in perfect ignorance of his being the person with whom he had held communion sweet through the door.

Dinner was then announced.

We suppose our readers will not care to have the names of the guests who sat down to the banquet, or yet the wines or viands that constituted the repast; suffice it to say, that the company consisted chiefly of people in the neighbourhood, sprinkled with a few idle Honourables, who lend themselves out to garnish country-houses in the dull season, and the best French and English cookery furnished the repast.

Despite the prevailing non-wineing fashion, everybody, save Captain Widowfield, drank wine with Mr. Jorrocks, and before the dessert appeared, the poor gentleman, what from the effects of brandy on an empty stomach before dinner, and wine on a full one during it, began to clip her Majesty’s English very considerably. “Never were such ’ounds as mine,” he kept hiccupping, first into one neighbour’s ear and then into another. “Never were such ’ounds (hiccup), certainly—hurrah, I say (hiccup), Jorrocks is the boy! Forrard! hark, forrard, away (hiccup). You must come and ’unt with me,” hiccupped he to the gentleman on the left. “ ‘Beef and Onions’ on Wednesday (hiccup)—‘Candid Pig’—no, ‘Mountain-Daisy’ (hiccup)—Saturday—James Pigg is a real warmint (hiccup)—a trump, a real trump (hiccup), and no mistake. Give me port, none o’ your clarety wines.”

The Earl of Bramber’s health, of course, was proposed in a bumper, with “all the honours.” Mr. Jorrocks hooped and halloaed at the top of his voice—an exertion that put the finishing stroke to his performances, for on attempting to resume his seat he made a miscalculation of distance, and fell with a heavy thump upon the floor. After two or three rolls he was lifted into his chair, but speedily resuming his place on the floor, Walker was summoned with two stout footmen to carry him to bed.

Captain Widowfield followed to make sure of his clothes: the gap caused by Mr. Jorrocks’s secession was speedily closed in, and the party resumed the convivialities of the evening.

The room to which our master was transferred was the dressing-room, over a large swimming bath, on the eastern side of the castle, and very cosily he was laid into a little French bed. Walker wound up his watch, Captain Widowfield walked off with his clothes, and our drunken hero was left alone in his glory.

The events of the day, together with the quantity of brandy and wine he had drunk, and the fatigue consequent upon his exertions, combined to make Mr. Jorrocks feverish and restless, and he kept dreaming, and tossing, and turning, and tumbling about, without being able to settle to sleep. First, he fancied he was riding on the parapet of Waterloo Bridge with Arterxerxes, making what he would call a terrible fore-paw (faux pas), or stumble; next, that he was benighted on the common, and getting devoured by shepherds’ dogs; then, that having bought up all the Barcelona nuts in the world, and written to the man in the moon to secure what were there, he saw them become a drug in the market, and the firm of Jorrocks and Co. figuring in the Gazette.

Next, he dreamt that he had got one of James Pigg’s legs and one of his own—that on examination they both turned out to be left ones, and he could not get his boots on. Now, that he was half-famished, and chained to a wall in sight of a roast goose—anon that the Queen had sent to say she wanted to dance with him, and he couldn’t find his pumps; “No! give him all the world, sir, he couldn’t find his pumps.” Now that the Prince wanted to look at Arterxerxes, and he couldn’t find the ginger. “No: give him all the world, sir, he couldn’t find the ginger!” Then he got back to the chase, and in a paroxysm of rage, as he fancied himself kicking on his back in a wet ditch, with Benjamin running away with his horse, his dreams were interrupted by a heavy crack, bang, splash sort of sound, and in an instant he was under water. All was dark and still. His dreams, though frightful, had all vanished as he awoke, and after rising to the top he waited an instant to see if this would not do likewise; but the sad reality was too convincing, so he began bellowing, and roaring, and splashing about in a most resolute manner.

“Hooi! hooi! hooi!” spluttered he, with his eyes and mouth full of water. “ ’Elp! ’elp! ’elp! ’elp! I’m a drownin’, I’m a drownin’! Mr. Jorrocks is a drownin’—oh, dear! oh, dear! will nobody come?—Oh, vere am I? vere am I? Binjimin! I say, Binjimin! James Pigg! James Pigg! James Pigg! Batsay! Batsay! Murder! ’elp! murder! ’elp!”

“What’s happen’d? what’s happen’d? what’s happen’d? Who’s there? who’s there? Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!” screamed half-a-dozen voices at once, rushing with candles into the gallery of the swimming bath.

“Vot’s ’appened?” replied Mr. Jorrocks, blobbing and striking out for hard life with his white cotton night-capped head half under water; “Vy, I’m drownin’.—’Elp! ’elp! ’elp! I say! Oh, vill nobody come to ’elp?”

“Throw out the rope! throw out the rope!” cried half-a-dozen voices.

“No; get a boat,” responded Mr. Jorrocks, thinking there was little choice between hanging and drowning. “Oh, dear, I’m sinkin’, I’m sinkin’!”

“Come to this side,” cried one, “and I’ll lend you a hand out!” thereupon Mr. Jorrocks struck out with a last desperate effort, and dashed his head against the wall.

They then pulled him out of the bath, and with great care and condolence put him to bed again. He was still rather drunk—at least, not quite sober; for when pressed to exchange his wet shirt for a dry one, he hugged himself in it, exclaiming, “No, no; they’ll worry it! They’ll worry it!”