CHAPTER XXXII

ANOTHER SPORTING LECTOR

MR. Jorrocks’s tongue being now well laid in for talking, he determined to keep it going, by giving another sporting lecture. Being, however, of opinion that a lecture that was worth listening to, was worth paying for, he determined to charge a shilling a head entrance, as well for the purpose of indemnifying himself against the expenses of the room, &c., as of giving Pigg the chance of any surplus there might be over for pocket-money, of which useful article James was rather short.

Our master’s fame being now widely established, and occupation uncommonly slack at Handley Cross, a goodly muster was the result.

Precisely as the clock was done striking seven, Mr. Jorrocks ascended the platform, attended by a few friends, and was received with loud cheers from the gentlemen, and the waving of handkerchiefs from the lady part of the audience. Of these there was a goodly number, among whom was Mrs. Jorrocks, in a great red turban with a plume of black feathers, reclining gracefully on one side; Stobbs sat between her and Belinda, who was dressed in a pale pink silk, with a gold cord in her hair: Belinda looked perfectly happy. When the applause had subsided, Mr. Jorrocks advanced to the front of the platform (which was decorated as before), and thus addressed the audience:—

“Frinds and fellow-countrymen! Lend me your ears. That’s to say, listen to wot I’m a goin’ to say to you. This night I shall enlighten you on the all-important ceremony of takin’ the field.” (Loud applause.)

“Takin’ the Field!” repeated he, throwing out his arms, and casting his eyes up at the elegant looping of his canopy. “Takin’ the Field! glorious sound! wot words can convey anything ’alf so delightful?

“In my mind’s eye I see the ’ounds in all their glossy pride a trottin’ around Arterxerxes, who stamps and whinnies with delight at their company. There’s old Pristess with her speckled sides, lookin’ as wise as a Christian, and Trusty, and Tuneable, and Warrior, and Wagrant, and Workman, and Wengence, and all the glorious comrades o’ the chase.

“But to the pint. Ingenious youth, having got his ’oss, and learned to tackle him, let me now, from the bonded warehouse of my knowledge, prepare him for the all-glorious ceremony of the ’unt.

“How warious are the motives,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, looking thoughtfully, “that draw men to the kiver side. Some come to see, others to be seen; some for the ride out, others for the ride ’ome; some for happetites, some for ’ealth, some to get away from their wives, and a few to ’unt. Ah! give me the few—the chosen few—‘the band o’ brothers,’ as the poet says, wot come to ’unt!—men wot know the ’ounds, and know the covers, and know the country, and, above all, know when ’ounds are runnin’, and when there’re hoff the scent—men wot can ride in the fields, and yet ’old ’ard in the lanes—men wot would rayther see the thief o’ the world well trounced in cover, than say they took a windmill in the hardour of the chase. Could I but make a little country of my own, and fill it with critturs of my own creation, I’d have sich a lot o’ trumps as never were seen out o’ Surrey. (Loud cheers.)

“Bliss my ’eart, wot a many ways there is of enjoyin’ the chase,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “and ’ow one man is led into folly and extravagance by another! Because great Sampson Stout, who rides twenty stun’, with the nerves of a steam-hengine, keeps twelve ’unters and two ’acks, little Tommy Titmouse, who scarcely turns nine with his saddle, must have as many, though he dare hardly ride over a water furrow. Because Sir Yawnberry Dawdle, who lies long in bed, sends on, Mr. Larkspur, who is up with the sun, must needs do the same, though he is obliged to put off time, lest he should arrive afore his ’oss. Because Lady Giddyfool puts a hyacinth in her lord’s button-’ole, every hass in his ’unt must send to Covent Garden to get some. I werrily believes, if a lord was to stick one of my peacock Gabriel Junks’s feathers in his ’at, there would be fools to follow his example; out upon them, say I: ’unting is an expensive amusement or not, jest as folks choose to make it.

“There’s a nasty word called ‘can’t,’ that does an infinity of mischief. One can’t ’unt without eight ’osses; one can’t do without two ’acks; one can’t ride in a country saddle; one can’t do this, and one can’t do that—hang your can’ts! Let a man look at those below him instead o’ those above, and think ’ow much better boff he is nor they. (Applause.) Surely the man with one ’oss is better off than the man with none! (Renewed applause.)

“Believe me, my beloved ’earers, if a man’s inclined for the chase, he’ll ride a’most anything, or valk sooner than stay at ’ome. I often thinks, could the keen foot-folks change places with the fumigatin’ yards o’ leather and scarlet, wot a much better chance there would be for the chase! They, at all events, come out from a genuine inclination for the sport, and not for mere showsake, as too many do.

“Dash my vig, wot men I’ve seen in the ’unting-field! men without the slightest notion of ’unting, but who think it right to try if they like it, jest as they would try smokin’ or eaten’ olives after dinner.

“ ‘You should get a red coat, and join the ’unt,’ says a young gen’leman’s old aunt; and forthwith our hero orders two coats of the newest cut, five pair of spurs, ten pair of breeches, twenty pair of boots, waistcoats of every cut and figure, a bunch of whips, diachulum drawers, a cigar-case for his pocket, a pocket siphonia, a sandwich-case for one side, and a shoe-case for t’other, and keeps a hair-bed afloat agin he comes ’ome with a broken leg. (Laughter and applause.)

“But I lose my patience thinkin’ o’ sich fools. If it warn’t that among those who annually take the field, and are choked off by the expense, there are ingenious youths who, with proper handlin’, might make good sportsmen and waluable payin’ subscribers, I’d wesh my ’ands of sich rubbish altogether. If any such there be within the limits of this well-filled room, let him open wide his hears, and I will teach him, not only how to do the trick, but to do it as if he had been at it all his life, and at werry little cost. Let him now pull out his new purchase, and learn to ride one ’oss afore he keeps two. We will now jog together to the meet. And mark! it’s only buoys in jackets and trousers that are out for the first time.—Viskers, boots, and breeches, are ’sposed to come from another country. First we must dress our sportsman;—no black trousers crammed into top-boots—no white ducks shaped over the foot, or fur-caps cocked jauntily on the head;—real propriety, and no mistake!

“That great man, Mr. Delme Ratcliffe, says in his interestin’ blue-book, ‘that there’s nothin’ more snobbish than a black tye with top-boots.’ It was a werry clever remark, and an enlargement of Mr. Hood’s idea of no one ever havin’ seen a sailor i’ top boots. Bishops’ boots Mr. Ratcliffe also condemned, and spoke highly in favour of tops cleaned with champagne and abricot jam. ’Hoganys, ’owever, are now all the go, and the darker the colour, the keener the wearer expects to be thought. I saw a pair i’ the Cut-me-Downs last year, that were nearly black.

“Leather-breeches Mr. Ratcliffe spoke kindly of, but unless a man has a good many servants, he had better have them cleanin’ his ’oss than cleanin’ his breeches. Leathers are werry expensive, though there’s a deal of wear i’ them. I have a pair that were made by White o’ Tarporley, in George the Third’s reign, and though the cut is summut altered, the constitution of them remains intact. In those days it was the fashion to have them so tight that men used to be slung into them by pulleys from their ceilings; and a fashionable man, writin’ to his tailor for a pair, added this caution, ‘Mind, if I can get into them, I won’t have them.’ Leathers were once all the go for street-work, and werry ’andsome they looked.

“I’ve heard a story, that when George the Fourth was Prince, a swell coveted the style of his leathers so much that he bribed the Prince’s valet largely for the recipe. ‘You shall have it,’ said the man, pocketin’ the coin, and lookin’ werry wise; ‘the fact is,’ added he, ‘the way his Royal ’ighness’s royal unmentionables look so well is, because his Royal ’Ighness sleeps in them.’ ” (“Haw, haw, haw,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, in company with several of his audience.) “Some chaps affect the dark cords as well as the ’hogany boots, but there’s as much haffectation i’ one as the other. Blow me tight, if it weren’t for the bright colours there wouldn’t be many fox-’unters.

“The custom of riding in scarlet is one it becomes me to speak upon;—I doesn’t know nothin’ about the hantiquity of it, or whether Julius Cæsar, or any other of those antient covies, sported it or not; but, like most subjects, a good deal may be said on both sides of the question. There’s no doubt it’s a good colour for wear, and that it tends to the general promotion of fox-’unting, seeing that two-thirds of the men wot come out and subscribe wouldn’t do so if they had to ride in black. Still, I think ingenuous youth should not be permitted to wear it at startin’, for a scarlet coat in the distance, though chock full of hignorance, is quite as allurin’ as when it encloses the most experienced sportsman.

“I remembers dinin’ at a conwivial party in London, where there was a wery pleasant fat ‘M. F. H.,’ who told a story of what ’appened to him in the New Forest. This, I need scarcely say, is a great wood of many thousand hacres (a hundred thousand p’raps), and unless a man looks sharp, and keeps near the ’ounds, he stands a werry good chance of losin’ of them. Well, it so ’appened that this ’ere fat gen’l’man did lose them, and castin’ about he saw a red coat flyin’ over a flight o’ rails i’ the distance. In course he made for it, but afore he got up, what was his axtonishment at seein’ red-coat pull up and charge back! He found the gen’l’man knew nothin’ about the ’ounds, and was gettin’ on capital without them.

“A Yorkshire frind o’ mine went to a union ’unt, where men from three countries attended.—The field was frightful! Three ’undred and fifty ’ossmen, all determined to ride, and as jealous as cats. Now my frind being a true-born Briton, and not to be made to ride over nothin’ on compulsion, started away in quite a different line to wot the fox broke, followed by an ’underd ’ossmen, or more. The ’arder he went, the ’arder they rode, and fearin’ he might fall, and be flummox’d, he made for a windmill on a neighbouring ’ill, and stuck his ’oss’s tail to the sails.

“Up came his followers, puffin’ and blowin’ like so many grampuses. ‘Vich vay? vich vay? vich vay are th’ ’ounds gone?’ gasped they.

“ ‘’Ounds!’ exclaimed my frind; ‘I’ve been ridin’ away from you all the time; ’ounds be gone t’other way?’ ” (“Haw, haw, haw!” a laugh in which the whole room joined, till the mirth got up into a roar, which Mr. Jorrocks availed himself of to pay his respects to a stiff tumbler of brandy and water that now began to send forth its fragrance from the table at the rear of the platform.)

Smacking his lips, he thus resumed—

“So much for the force of example, gen’lemen;—had my frind been in black, the crowd wouldn’t have come. Still the colour’s good, and it ar’n’t the use, but the abuse, that I complains on. For my part I likes a good roomy red rag, that one can jump in and out of with ease. These fine tight things,” continued he, taking hold of his sky-blue coat, lined with pink silk, and looking at his canary-coloured shorts, “are all well enough for dancin’ in, but for real scrimmagin’ out-door work, there’s nothin’ like room and flannel;—good long-backed coats, with the waistcoat made equally warm all round, and the back to come down in a flap, and plenty of good well-lined laps to wrap over one’s thighs when it rains.”—Mr. Jorrocks suiting the action to the word, and describing the cut of each article as he went on. “Berlin gloves are capital for ’unting in,” continued he; “they keep your ’ands warm, and do to rub your nose upon in cold weather.

“Youngsters should be cautious o’ spurs;—they may use them wot is called incontinently, and get into grief. I disagree with Geoffry Gambado, who recommends the free use of them, as tendin’ to keep the blood in circulation, and preventin’ one’s toes catchin’ cold. He recommends spurrin’ i’ the shoulder, where he says an ’oss has most feelin’, because he has most weins; adding, that by spurrin’ at his body, five times in six your labour is lost; for if you are a short man, you spur the saddle-cloth only; if a leggy one, you never touch him at all; and if middlin’, the rider wears out his own girths, without the ’oss being a bit the better for it; but my own opinion is, that the less ingenuous youth uses them the better.

“A slight knowlege o’ farmin’ promotes the true enjoyment of the chase. What so ’umiliatin’ as to see a big farmer bullyin’ a little man in leather and scarlet for ridin’ over his seeds, when the innocent is ignorant of havin’ done nothin’ o’ the sort. Seeds, my beloved ’earers, are what grow in clover, or new-land hay; they come hup arter the corn-crop, and when that is reaped, if an inquiring sportsman will examine the ground, he will see little green herbs, like crow’s feet, shooting hup ’mong the stubble, which rear themselves into stalks with expandin’ leaves! and those glorious pink and white balls, called clover, wot smell so fragrantly as one loiters pensively along the shady dusty lanes.

“Now, if the iron-shod ’unter careers over these young and tender plants, leavin’ his copyright behind him, and it comes wet shortly arter, the standin’ water perishes the plants, and leaves the farmer to water his bed with tears and lamentation. Oh, miserable bunch-clod!

“So it is with wheat. If you see a field nicely laid away, the surface all smooth, and the furrows all open, you may conclude that is wheat, even though the tender green blades—the promissory notes of life’s comin’ year, are not yet apparent. Some labour ’ard to make themselves believe that it increases the crop to ride over it, and many a hargument I’ve held with farmers in favour of that position myself, but no man, who treats himself to a little undisguised truth, can make himself believe so, unless, indeed, he is satisfied that a drove of hoxen would improve the prospects of a flower-garden by passin’ a night in frolicsome diwersion. The wheat-field is the farmer’s flower-garden!—It is to it that he looks for the means of payin’ his rent, and giving his hamiable wife and accomplished darters a new piannet, and a scarlet welwet bonnet a-piece, with a black feather drooping over the left hear (Mr. Jorrocks looking slyly at Mrs. J. as he said this); and young and heedless men, if even they have no compassion on the old cock-farmer, should think what distress they will cause to the hens if they lose their scarlet welwet bonnets with the appurtenances. Some wags say that wheat is called ’ard corn, because it stands a wast of ridin’ over; but I maintains that it no more means that, than that ’ardmoney currency means ‘money ’ard to get at,’—or that an ’ard rider means a man wot will trot down ’Olborn ’ill on a frosty mornin’. Let every feelin’ man, then, consider, when he is about to ride over wheat, that he is about to trample under foot scarlet welwet bonnets, and with them the farmer’s darters’ best and tenderest’ opes.

“And here let me observe, that I cannot help thinkin’ that that celebrated man, Gambado, has been the unconscious means of many a field of wheat being trampled down. When such great men talk lightly on a subject, little minds catch the infection, and far outstrip the author’s most sanguinary conceptions.

“Speaking in laudatory terms of the merits of the dray ’oss—merits that no one will deny—Gambado talks of the figure they are calculated to make on the road or in the field. ‘Scarce any of them,’ says he, ‘but is master of thirty stone and hupwards!’ (Roars of laughter.) ‘What a sublime scene would it be,’ continues he, ‘to see fourscore or a ’undred of these hanimals on the full stretch over a piece of wheat, to catch sight of an ’ound!’ (Roars of laughter.)

“Gentlemen,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, looking very irate, “I’m sorry for your mirth—(hisses and laughter)— shocked at your immorality, in fact!—Dash my vig if I arn’t!” (Renewed laughter and cheers.)

“Such undecent mirth would disgrace a Cockney! A Cockney looks upon a farmer as an inferior crittur!—a sort of domestic conwict, transported far beyond the bills o’ mortality, and condemned to wander in ’eavy ’ob-nailed shoes amid eternal hacres o’ dirt and dandy-lions. I’opes such is not your opinion.—(Loud cries of “No, no,” and cheers.) I’m glad sich wickedness finds no response here.” Mr. Jorrocks again retired, and recomposed himself with another draught of brandy and water.

“Now,” said he, licking his lips, as he returned to the front of the platform; “let ingenuous youth suppose himself at the meet, and that he has been presented to the M.F.H., to whom the greatest respect and reverence should always be paid, for there’s no man to compare to him i’ point o’ greatness. The meet is the place for lettin’ off the fulminatin’ balls of wit; but unless young green’orn be a tolerably jawbacious sort of chap, he had better be a listener at first. There are a few stock jokes that do for any country, the ready appliance of which stamps the user as a wag or a sportsman among those who don’t know no better. ‘Dear sir,’ says one man to another, ridin’ a wite-faced ’oss, ‘I fears your nag is werry bad!’

“ ‘’Ow so?’ inquires t’other, all alarm.

“ ‘Vy, he’s all vite in the face!’ (“Haw! haw! haw!”)

“ ‘Yours is an expensive nag, I see,’ observes a second.

“ ‘Not more than other people’s,’ is the answer.

“ ‘Yes, he is; for I see he wears boots as well as shoes,’ pointing to speedy-cut boots.

“ ‘’Ave I lost a shoe in coming?’ inquires a gentleman, who with a late start has come in a hurry.

“ ‘They’re not all on before!’ exclaims half-a-dozen woices, ready with the joke.

“ ‘Does you’re mother know you are out?’ is a familiar inquiry that may be safely hazarded to a bumptious boy in a jacket. ‘More dirt the less hurt!’ is a pleasant piece o’ consolation for a friend with a mud mask; and ‘One at a time, and it will last the longer!’ is a knowin’ exclamation to make to a hundred and fifty friends waiting for their turns at an ’unting-wicket. ‘Over you go; the longer you look the less you’ll like it!’ may be ‘ollo’d to a friend lookin’ long at a fence. ‘Hurry no man’s cattle! you may keep a donkey yourself some day!’ is the answer to the last. When you see a lawyer floored, sing out, ‘There’s an ’oss a layin’ down the law!’ If a chap axes if your nag will jump timber, say, ‘He’ll leap over your ’ead.’ These, and sich as these, are your tickets for soup, as the cook said when she basted the scullion with the hox-tail! (Loud laughter.)

“Flattery is easier accomplished than wit, and the meet is a place where butter, with a little knowledge, will go a long way. All masters of ’ounds like praise. Some are so fond on it, that they butter themselves. If you see ’ounds’ ribs, and their loins are well filled, and flanks hollow, you may say they look like their work; if they’re fat, say they are werry even in condition; if lean, that they look like goin’ a bust; if jest noways in ’ticklar, you can’t get wrong if you say you never saw a nicer lot. If you see some with clips on the hears, or along the backs, you may conclude they are new comers, and ax where they are from. Rich coloured ’ounds you may liken to the Belvoir, and then you can talk of Goodhall and Guider, or of the Quorn Trueman, or even go back as far as Furrier and Hosbaldeston; and swear you never saw sich legs and feet; in short, let legs and feet, or legs and loins, be the burthen of your song. Beware of callin’ ’ounds dogs, or sterns tails. Sich a slip would make the M.F.H. turn tail on you directly.

“It looks werry knowin’ to take a bit o’ biscuit out of your pocket, as you are lookin’ over the ’ounds, and make them rise on their hind legs to receive it, while you scrutinise them werry attentively. This is a most scientific proceedin’ and will immediately stamp you as a werry knowin’ ’and, if not for an M.F.H. himself. Still let your talk be of legs and loins, with an occasional mention of helbows and shoulders. Perfection! symmetry! ’andsome! level! bone! breedin’! condition! Lord ’Enry! Sir Richard, Sir Tatton, Mr. Jorrocks,—are terms that may be thrown in at random, jest as the butter seems to go down. If, however, ingenuous youth’s afraid o’ bein’ tempted out of his depth, it’s a safe wentur to look werry approvinly at the pack generally, and then say that ‘they’re larger nor some he has seen, and not so large as others.’ (Laughter.) In sayin’ this, it may p’raps be well jest to feel his ’oss with the spur, so as to make him wince, which will give him an excuse for withdrawin’ on the score o’being afear’d o’ kickin’ the ’ounds, and save him from bein’ axed to name the larger or smaller packs he’s seen, which might be inconwenient

“ ’Untsmen are either ’eaven-born or hidiots—there’s no medium. Every schoolboy can criticise their performance. It’s ’stonishin’ how quickly ’untsmen are run up and down, jest like the funds, with the bulls and the bears. As no M.F.H. keeps what he considers a fool, it may be well to commence in the soapy line; for even though a master may abuse a servant himself, he may not fancy his field doing so too.

“At the meet, every man’s time is accordin’ to his own conwenience. Should he have been too early, the ’ounds have come late; and should he be late, the ’ounds were there afore their time. The last man always says that there’s no one else comin’, as in course he does not see the wit of waitin’ after he arrives.

“Among the many followers of the chase, there be some men wot start with wot seems like a good mould-candle passion for the chase, but, somehow or other, after a few seasons, it simmers down to little better nor a fardin’ rushlight. After the first brush of the thing is over, they begin to economise their ’osses in November, that they may have them fresh about Christmas; or they don’t work them much in February, as they wish to save a couple to take to town in the spring; or tool their missesses about in the Booby Hutch. Ven I hear chaps talk this way, I always reckon upon seein’ their coats nailin’ the happle-trees up afore long.

“Some are much greater ’oss coddles than others. When Tat wrote to Ferguson to know vot he wanted for ’Arkaway, and whether the ’oss was in work, Ferguson replied, ‘The price of ’Arkaway is six thousand guineas, and I ’unts him twice and thrice a-week!’ (roars of laughter).

“Some men keep servants to be their masters.

“ ‘I shall ride the roan, to-morrow, Jones,’ says a gen’leman to his grum.

“ ‘Can’t, sir; just given him a dose o’ physic.’

“ ‘Well, then, the black. He’s not been out since yesterday week.’

“ ‘His turn’s not till Toosday.’

“ ‘Oh, never mind! Just let me have a look at him.’

“ ‘Can’t. Stable’s done up—not to be hopen till four; so mizzle, master.’

“In course these chaps have ’igh wages,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “or they couldn’t ’ave such himperence. They are the bouys wot won’t let their masters buy ’osses o’ men o’ my woracity and judgment, unless they ’ave their ‘reglers,’ five per cent. on the price, or as much more as they can get. A man wot would be master of his stable, must never consult his grum about a quad. Consult ’im forsooth!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks. “Why, there is not one grum i’ fifty that knows when an ’oss he has the care on is lame. They’ll go slouchin’ to cover on ’osses that their masters pronounce lame the moment they mount. A man with a strong bouy and a hash-plant is generally master of his stud; a master with a bouy and no hash-plant is like a fiddle without a stick.

“More ’osses are ruined from want o’ work than from the excess on’t. Take a season through, and ’ow werry few days there are on which there is really anything for gen’lemen’s ’osses to do; though, to be sure, such days generally come in a heap; yet, as no one can say how long a run o’luck will last, my adwice is, to keep goin’ as long as ever you can. A man can get but six days a-week if he labours ever so, and there are werry few wot would not rayther have four, or maybe two. The flash o’ ridin’ long distances to meet one pack of ’ounds, when another’s at ’and, arises from the pleasure of sportin’ a red coat through a longer line o’ country, and vinkin’ at the gals on the road, or from a desire to be talked of as havin’ done so, and as being werry keen ’ands. I generally find them werry great fools!

“There is another way that would-be sportsmen have of showin’ their keenness. Durin’ a storm it is not unusual for the M.F.H. to advertise that th’ ’ounds will meet at the kennel the first day the weather permits. Well, as soon as ever the eves begin to drop, the wouldbe’s put on their red coats and go to the kennel, continuin’ the process day after day until the thaw really arrives; they throw up, and swear they von’t ’unt with him any more.

“ ‘Not hung yourself yet, Gilhespie?’ suitin’ the haction to the word by feelin’ your neck and cockin’ your thumb under your hear, is a fine sportin’ interrogatory to put to a frind in the street durin’ a frost. All these mendacious means let ingenuous youth despise. It’s one thin’ to cover your hignorance and another to help you to imperance. I does the former only.

“And now,” continued the worthy lecturer, casting his eyes up to his canopied curtain, as he jingled the silver in his canary-coloured shorts, “And now, if I had a few words ’bout cost, ’bout old £ s. d., I think I’d be ready for a start. The cost of ’unting, my beloved ’earers, like all other things, depends a’most entirely on ’ow you go about it. The only really indispensable outlay is the subscription to the ’ounds, which ought always to be paid punctual in adwance, jest like you ’ave to pay the stakes at a race. Whoever wants, the M.F.H. should be paid. Prudence and ’conomy are all right and proper in everything ’cept ’unting. For ’unting there must be a liberal outlay, and no grumblin’. Mus’nt do like dirty Harry Tight, who, when Fleecy axed wot he would subscribe to my ’ounds, exclaimed, ‘Subscribe! I wouldn’t insult Mr. Jorrocks by offerin’ of him money!’ ” (Laughter and hisses.) “Insult,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, looking very irate, “jest as if I was a likely man to be insulted with the hoffer of money. Much more likely to insult ’im for not offerin’ it.” (Laughter and applause.)

“Well, then, the requirements o’ the master bein’ satisfied,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, buttoning up and slapping his breeches’-pocket, “let ingenuous youth turn his ’tention to the stable. It’s no use givin’ a publican and sinner a guinea or five-and-twenty shillings a-week for keepin’ your quadrupeds, when you can rent a stable and keep them yourself for ten or twelve shillin’. There’s not even the benefit of any flash i’ the thing, which is wot moves many men to the ’orrors o’ the chase. Still less use is it wastin’ your substance on old Bonnyface’s ’ouse, with his sixpenny breakfasts for ’alf-a-crown, and dinners i’ like proportion, when you can get a comfey rumph lodgin’ and find yourself for ’alf or a third o’ the money. There are no people want puttin’ to rights so much as the innkeepers. Kiver ’acks are all gammon for men wi’ short studs. An ’ack can do nothin but ’ack, while he will cost as much as a third ’oss wot will both ’ack and ’unt. Let ingenuous youth then learn to dispense with the useless appendage. I often think,” continued Mr. Jorrocks musingly, “that it would be a capital thing to pass ingenuous youth generally through a sort of Chobham camp to learn ’em wot they can really do without.

“Ingenuous youth, ’aving now got all the implements o’ the chase scraped together, and the early rains of dear delightful November—the best and plisantest month i’ the year—’aving well salivated the ground, forthwith let ’im put all my precepts in practice, i’stead o’ sneakin’ off to Boulogne or Paris for the winter, arter talkin’ ’bout the delights of ’unting all the summer.

“ ‘Time trieth troth,’ says the proverb, ‘but November trieth truth’ i’ the ’unting line, and men that don’t like ’unting, had much better not give themselves the trouble of pretendin’ they do, for they’re sure to be found out, and branded for ’umbugs for their trouble. It’s a werry rum thing ’ow few men there are who candidly say they don’t like it. They’ve all been keen sportsmen at some time or other o’ their lives. Every man,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, sententiously, “wot prefers his ’ealth to the interests o’ the seidletz pooder makers, will get as much ’unting as ever he can afore Christmas.” (Great laughter and applause.) “So now let’s be doin’!” added he, rubbing his elbows against his sides as if anxious for the fray.

“Let us s’pose the last, last fumigatin’ piece o’ conceit has cast up, and the M.F.H. gives the hoffice to the ’untsman to throw off. ’Osses’ ’eads turn one way, th’ ’ounds brisk up at the move, the coffee-room breaks up, frinds pair off to carry out jokes, while the foot people fly to the ’ills, and the bald-’eaded keeper stands ’at in ’and at the gate, to let th’ ’ounds into cover.

“ ‘Eleu in!’ at length cries the ’untsman, with a wave of his ’and, and in an instant his ’osses’ ’eels are deserted. The vipper-in has scuttled round the cover, and his rate and crack are ’eard on the far side. ‘Gently, Conqueror! Conqueror, have a care! Ware are! ware are!’ ”

Here Mr. Jorrocks paused, apparently for the purpose of recollecting something.

“There’s a bit o’ potry due here,” observed he; “but somehow or other it von’t come to halloo!

continued he. “No, that von’t do, that was old Dan’s dodge. Yet it’s somethin’ like that, too; can no one help me? Ah, I have it:—

“And yet that’s not exactly the place it should have come in at nouther,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, recollecting himself; “that scrap is meant for the meet; throwin’ off is thus described by Peter Beckford, or some other gen’l’man wot described it to him. Howsomever it von’t do to waste a cotation, so you can jest joggle t’other one back in your minds to the right place. This is throwin’ off:—

“Now that’s poetry and sense too,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, smacking his lips, “which is more than poetry always is; for a poet, you see, has to measure his words, and werry often the one that would best express vot he vonts von’t fit in with t’others, so he’s obliged to halter his meanin’ altogether, or mount a lame steed. For my part I likes prose best, and I reckon Peter’s prose better nor most men’s werse. Hear ’ow he finds his fox.” Mr. Jorrocks then took his newly-bound Beckford from the table at the back of the platform, and read as follows:—

“ ‘’Ow musical their tongues! And as they get near to him, ’ow the chorus fills! ’Ark! he is found. Now, vere are all your sorrows and your cares, ye gloomy souls! or where your pains and aches, ye complainin’ ones! one holloo has dispelled them all. Vot a crash they make! and hecho seeminly takes pleasure to repeat the sound. The ’stonished traveller forsakes his road; lured by its melody, the listenin’ ploughman now stops his plough, and every distant shepherd neglects his flock, and runs to see him break. Vot joy! vot heagerness in every face!’

“Now,” said Mr. Jorrocks, smacking his lips again, “that’s what I call real prime stuff—the concentrated essence of ’untin’—the XXX of sportin’, so different from the wire-spun, wishy-washy yarns of modern penny-a-liners, who smother their meanin’ (if they have any) in words. If I’ve read Peter once, I’ve read him a hundred times, and yet I finds somethin’ fresh to admire every time. Wernor and Hood, Birchin Lane, published this edition in 1796; and on the title-page is pasted a hextract from a newspaper that would adorn a monument. ‘Monday, 8th March, 1811, at his seat, Stapleton, in Dorsetshire, Peter Beckford, Esq., aged 70. Mr. Beckford was a celebrated fox-’unter, and hauthor of ‘Letters on ’unting.’ There’s an inscription for a marble monument! ‘Multum in parvo,’ as Pomponius Ego would say. Blow me tight! but I never looks at Billy Beckford supplicatin’ the king on his marble monument in Guildhall, but I exclaims, ‘Shake Billy from his pedestal and set up Peter!’ ” (Hisses and applause.)

“I once wrote my epitaph, and it was werry short,—

“Hie jacet Jorrocks,”

was all wot I said; but the unlettered ’untsman, or may be M.F.H., might pass me by, jest as he would a dead emperor. Far different would it be should this note follow,—‘Mr.J. was a celebrated fox-hunter, and lectorer upon ’unting.’ Then would the saunterin’ sportsman pause as he passed, and drop a tribute to the memory of one who loved the chase so well. But I’m gettin’ prosaic and off the line. Let us ’ark back into cover! The chase, I sings! Let’s see.

“We had jest found our fox. Well, then, let’s at Peter again, for there’s no one boils one hup into a gallop like him. Here’s a description of the thief o’ the world afore he breaks.” Mr Jorrocks reads:—

“ ‘Mark ’ow he runs the cover’s hutmost limits, yet dares not wentur forth; the ’ounds are still too near! That check is lucky! Now, if our frinds ’ead him not, he will soon be off!

“Talli-ho!” screamed Mr. Jorrocks, at the top of his voice. “Dash my vig, that’s the cry!” continued he, holding his hand in the air. “See ’ow pale the gen’leman in light scarlet and bishop’s boots is turnin’, and how delighted old Jack Rasper, in the cut-away olive, broad cords, and hoganys is; his low-crowned ’at’s in the hair, for he sees the warmint, a sight more glorious nor the lord mayor’s show; yet he ’olloas not! Ah, it’s talli-ho back! The fox is ’eaded by yon puppy in purple, strikin’ a light on the pommel of his saddle. ’Ope he’ll soon be sick! Th’ ’ounds turn short, and are at him again. Have at him, my beauties! Have at him, my darlin’s! Have at him, I say! Yonder he goes at t’other end!—now he’s away! Old Rasper has him again! ‘Talli-ho, away!’ he cries. The old low-crowned ’at’s in the hair, and now every man ’oops and ’olloas to the amount of his superscription. Twang! twang! twang! goes the Percival; crack! crack! crack! go the whips; ’ounds, ’osses, and men, are in a glorious state of excitement! Full o’ beans and benevolence!”

“So am I, my beloved ’earers,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, after a pause; “and must let off some steam, or I shall be teachin’ you to over-ride the ’ounds.” So saying, Mr. Jorrocks retired to the back of the platform, and cooled himself with a fresh glass of hot brandy and water. Presently he returned, and thus resumed his discourse.

“Oh! my beloved ’earers, if I had been at the great Mr. Pomponius Hego’s helbow when in describin’ this critical period of the chase he penned the words, ‘go along, there are three couple of ’ounds on the scent,’ I’d ha’ seen if I couldn’t ha’ got him to put in ‘now ’old your jaws, and ’old ’ard! and let em settle quietly to the scent.’ Believe me, my beloved ’earers, the words ‘go along, there are three couple of ’ounds on the scent,’ have lost many a run and saved the life of many a warmint. ’Ow I likes to see the ’ounds come quietly out, settlin’ and collectin’ together, gradually mending their pace as they go, till they brew up a reg’lar bust. That’s the way to make the foxes cry ‘Capevi!’ ” added he. (Laughter and applause.)

“Here let me hobserve,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “that it’s a grand thing for ingenuous youth to get a view of the warmint at startin’! by so doing he gets a sort of wested interest in the fox, and rides arter him as he would arter a thief with his watch. There’s a knack in doin’ this, and some men are cleverer at it than others, but half the battle consists in not being flurried— ‘Yonder he goes! yonder he goes! Talli-ho! talli-ho!’ exclaim a dozen people, pointin’ different ways—and hearin’ that a fox is a quick travellin’ beast, ingenuous youth begins to look some half-a-mile ahead; whereas if the people were to cry ‘Here he is! here he is!’ pointing downwards, Spooney would take a nearer range, and see that a fox travels more like a cat nor a crow. Folks overlook the fox,’ jest as one overlooks a mustard-pot under one’s nose.

“Well, then, my beloved ’earers, glorious talli-ho! talli-ho!—whose very echo kivers me all over with the creeps—is holloaed and repeated, and responded and re-echoed, and th’ ’ounds are settlin’ to the scent. As soon as ever you ’ear the cry, make up your minds either to go on or go ’ome. But I won’t s’pose that any man will stop stirrin’ till the puddin’s done; at all ewents, not till he sees a fence, so thrust your ’eads well into your ’ats, tighten your reins, ’arden your ’earts, and with elbows and legs, elbows and legs, get forrard to the ’ounds.” Mr. Jorrocks suiting the action to the word, straddling and working an imaginary horse with his arms.

“Now we are away! The cover’s wacated, and there’s not another within four miles, which courtesy will call fourteen! Vich vay’s the vind? South-east, as I live Then he’s away for Brammelkite Brake! Now for your topographical dictionaries, or, vot is still better, some gemman with a map of the country in his ’ead. The field begins to settle into places, like folks at the play. If there’s no parson to pilot the way, gen’lemen with ’osses to sell take the first rank. Every one now sees who are there, and many may be wantin’ at the end to tell who come in so; a rasper well negotiated at this time o’ day has sold many a screw. After the gen’lemen with ’osses to sell comes the ’untsman, entreatin’ the gen’lemen with ’osses to sell not to press upon the ’ounds; but as he only talks to their backs, they regard the exhortation as a mere figure o’ speech. The top-sawyers of the ’unt will be close on the ’untsman. There will not be many of these; but should there be a barrack in the neighbourhood, some soger officers will most likely mex up and ride at the ’ardest rider among ’em. The dragon soger officer is the most dangerous, and may be known by the viskers under his nose. A foot soger officer’s ’oss is generally better in his wind than on his legs. They generally wear chin wigs, and always swear the leaps are nothin’ compared with those in the county they came from—Cheapside, p’raps.

“In the wake of the top-sawyers and soger officers will come your steady two ’oss men, their eyes to the ’ounds, their thoughts in the chase, regardless of who crams or who cranes. These generally wear cords, their viskers are greyish, and their brown top-boots look as if they have never been wite.

“The ‘safe pilot’ is generally a man with a broad back, clad in bottle-green, with plain metal buttons, white neckcloth, striped veskit, drab kerseys, with ribbons danglin’ over a ’hogany top; or maybe in the scarlet coat of the ’unt, with a hash-plant, to denote that he is a gate-opener, and not a leaper: a man of this sort will pilot a youngster all day without ridin over a fence. He knows every twist, every turn, every gate, every gap, in the country, and though sometimes appearin’ to ride away from the ’ounds, by skirtin’ and nickin’, will often gain Reynard’s p’int afore them— p’raps afore Reynard himself!

“We must not follow him, but ‘streak it’ across the country a bit, as brother Jonathan would say, and this is the time that, if ingenuous youth’s ’oss has any monkey in him, he will assuredly get his dander up and show it. The commonest occurrence in all natur’ is for him to run away, which is highly disagreeable. Geoffrey Gambado well observes, that when a man is well run away with, the first thing that occurs to him is how to stop his ’oss. Some will run him at a ditch, which is a werry promisin’ experiment, if he leaps ill, or not at all; others try a gate-post, but it requires a nice eye to hit the centre with the ’oss’s ’ead, so as not to graze your own leg. Frenchmen—and Frenchmen ride as well now as they did in Gambado’s time—will ride against one another; and Geoffrey tells a good story of an ingenious Frenchman he saw make four experiments on Newmarket Heath, in only one of which he succeeded. His ’oss ran away with him whilst Gimcrack was runnin’ a match, and the Count’s ’opes of stoppin’ him being but small, he contrived to turn him across the course and rode slap at Gimcrack, ’opin’ to effect it by a broadside; but Gimcrack was too quick for the Count, and he missed his aim. He then made full at Lord March, but unluckily only took him slantin’; baffled in this second attempt, the Count relied on the Devil’s Ditch as a certain check to his career, but his ’oss carried him clean over; and had not the rubbin’-house presented itself, the Count asserted he werily believed he should soon have reached London. Dashin’ at the rubbin’-’ouse, with true French spirit, he produced the desired effect; his ’oss, not being able to proceed, stopped, and that so suddenly that Ducrow himself would have kissed his own saw-dust. The Count, it is true, came off but tolerably well; the ’oss broke his ’ead and the Count’s likewise, so that, accordin’ to the opinion of two negatives makin’ an affirmative, little or no ’arm was done, an ingenious, if not a satisfactory, mode of disposin’ of damage.

“And here let me observe, that to ’unt pleasantly two things are necessary—to know your ’oss and to know your own mind. An ’oss is a queer critter. In the stable, on the road, or even in a green lane, he may be all mild and hamiable—jest like a gal you’re a courtin’ of—but when he gets into the matrimony of the ’untingfield among other nags, and sees th’ ’ounds, which always gets their danders up, my vig! it’s another pair of shoes altogether, as we say in France. Howsomever, if you know your ’oss and can depend upon him, so as to be sure he will carry you over whatever you put him at, have a good understandin’ with yourself afore ever you come to a leap, whether you mean to go over it or not, for nothing looks so pusillanimous as to see a chap ride bang at a fence as though he would eat it, and then swerve off for a gate or a gap. Better far to charge wiggorously, and be chucked over by the ’oss stoppin’ short, for the rider may chance to light on his legs, and can look about unconsarnedly, as though nothing particklar had ’appened. I’m no advocate for leapin’, but there are times when it can’t be helped, in which case let a man throw his ’eart fearlessly over the fence and follow it as quick as ever he can, and being well landed, let him thank Providence for his luck, and lose no time in lookin’ for the best way out. Thus he will go on from leap to leap, and from field to field, rejoicin’; and havin’ got well over the first fence, it’s ’stonishin’ ’ow fearlessly he charges the next. Some take leapin’-powder—spirits of some sort—but it’s a contemptible practice, unworthy of ingenuous youth.

“The finest receipt, however, for makin’ men ride is shakin’ a sportin’ hauthor afore them at startin’. Crikey! ’ow I’ve seen ’em streak across country so long as he remained in sight! Coves wot wouldn’t face a water-furrow if they had had their own way, under the impulse of glory, will actually spur their steeds!

“Gentlemen wot take their ideas of ’unting from Mr. Hackermann’s pictor-shop in Regent’s Street must have rum notions of the sport. There you see red laps flyin’ out in all directions, and ’osses apparently to be had for catchin’. True, that in ’unting men will roll about—but so they will on the road; and I’d rayther have two bumps in a field than one on a pike. Danger is everywhere! An accomplished frind of mine says, ‘Impendet omnibus periculum’—Danger ’angs over an omnibus: and ‘Mors omnibus est communis,’—You may break your neck in an omnibus: but are we, on that account, to shun the wehicle of which the same great scholar says, ‘Wirtus parvo pretio licet ab omnibus,’—Wirtue may ride cheap in an omnibus? Surely not!

“Still, a fall’s a hawful thing. Fancy a great sixteen ’and ’oss lyin’ on one like a blanket, or sittin’ with his monstrous hemispheres on one’s chest, sendin’ one’s werry soul out o’ one’s nostrils! Dreadful thought! Vere’s the brandy?” Hereupon Mr. Jorrocks again retired to the back of the platform to compose his nerves.

“Now, my beloved ’earers,” continued he, returning and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand,—“Now, my beloved ’earers, let’s draw on old Peter for a run, for I really think a good suck of ’im is a’most as good as a tuck out at the Ship and Turtle Tavern.

“Here we ’ave ’im,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, opening at the place, and proceeding to read with all due energy and emphasis: “ ‘Mind, Galloper, ’ow he leads them? It’s difficult to ’stinguish which is first, they run in such good style; yet he is the foremost ’ound. The goodness of his nose is not less excellent than his speed:—’ow he carries the scent! and when he loses it, see ’ow eagerly he flings to recover it again! There—now he’s at ’ead again! See ’ow they top the ’edge! Now, now they mount the ’ill!—Observe wot a ’ead they carry; and show me, if thou canst, one shuffler or shirker ’mongst ’em all: are they not like a parcel of brave fellows, who, when they ’gage in an undertakin’, determine to share its fatigue and its dangers equally ’mongst them?’

“Capital!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, smacking his lips. “Excellent indeed. That’s jest precisely like my ’ounds.

“Dash my vig, if I could but get a clever feller like Leech to draw me a panorama o’ the chase, with all my beauties goin’ like beans—’eads up and sterns down, and a lot o’ trumps ridin’ as they should do—near enough to ’ear their sweet music, but not too near to prevent their swingin’ and spreadin’ like a rocket to make their own cast, I’d—I’d—I’d—bowl Halbert Smith and his wite mountain and his black box right down Sin Jimses Street into the Thames, and set up i’ the ’Giptian ’All myself.” (Great laughter and applause.) When it subsided, Mr. Jorrocks, returning to his volume, said,

“Peter now does a little potry, and we’ll do ditto, Here it is:—

“That’s capital, too,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, conning the matter over, “werry superior readin’, indeed, but some ’ow or other, I thinks I likes old Peter better; it comes more nattural like. ’Ere, for instance, is a bit o’ fine sportin’ scenery, that makes one feel all over, ’unting like.”

Mr. Jorrocks then read as follows:—

“ ‘It was then the fox I saw, as we came down the ’ill; —those crows directed me which way to look, and the ship ran from ’im as he passed along. The ’ounds are now on the werry spot, yet the ship stop them not, for they dash beyond them. Now see with wot heagerness they cross the plain!—Galloper no longer keeps his place; Brusher takes it—see ’ow he flings for the scent, and ’ow impetuously he runs! ’Ow heagerly he took the lead, and ’ow he strives to keep it. Yet Wictor comes hup apace. He reaches ’im! See wot an excellent race it is between them! It is doubtful which will reach the cover first. ’Ow equally they run! ’Ow heagerly they strain! Now, Wictor—Wictor!—Ah, Brusher, you are beaten; Wictor first tops the ’edge. See there! See ’ow they all take in their strokes! The ’edge cracks with their weight, so many jump at once.’

“Capital, indeed,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks; “most excellent, I may say. All sheer ’unting—no nasty jealous stipple chase ridin’, ’urrying ’ounds a mile beyond the scent. No ‘go-alongs! there are three couple of ’ounds on the scent,’ but real ‘Fox et preteria nihil,’ as Hego would say. Blow me tight, if such readin’ doesn’t parfectlie bust me,” added he, again retiring to the brandy, amidst the loud and long-continued applause of the company.