are "slow."

Of this species of pardonable egotism, Mr. Jorrocks--who in addition
to the conspicuous place he holds in the Surrey Hunt, as shown in the
preceding chapter, we should introduce to our readers as a substantial
grocer in St. Botolph's Lane, with an elegant residence in Great Coram
Street, Russell Square--has his full, if not rather more than his fair
share. Vanity, however, is never satisfied without display, and Mr.
Jorrocks longed for a customer before whom he could exhibit the prowess
of his[5] pack.

[Footnote 5: Subscribers, speaking to strangers, always talk of the
hounds as their own.]

Chance threw in his way a young Yorkshireman, who frequently appearing
in subsequent pages, we may introduce as a loosish sort of hand, up to
anything in the way of a lark, but rather deficient in cash--a character
so common in London, as to render further description needless.

Now it is well known that a Yorkshireman, like a dragoon, is nothing
without his horse, and if he does understand anything better than
racing--it is hunting. Our readers will therefore readily conceive that
a Yorkshireman is more likely to be astonished at the possibility of
fox-hunting from London, than captivated by the country, or style of
turn-out; and in truth, looking at it calmly and dispassionately, in our
easy-chair drawn to a window which overlooks the cream of the grazing
grounds in the Vale of White Horse, it does strike us with astonishment,
that such a thing as a fox should be found within a day's ride of the
suburbs. The very idea seems preposterous, for one cannot but associate
the charms of a "find" with the horrors of "going to ground" in an
omnibus, or the fox being headed by a great Dr. Eady placard, or some
such monstrosity. Mr. Mayne,[6] to be sure, has brought racing home to
every man's door, but fox-hunting is not quite so tractable a sport. But
to our story.

[Footnote 6: The promoter of the Hippodrome, near Bayswater--a
speculation that soon came to grief.]

It was on a nasty, cold, foggy, dark, drizzling morning in the month of
February, that the Yorkshireman, having been offered a "mount" by Mr.
Jorrocks, found himself shivering under the Piazza in Covent Garden
about seven o'clock, surrounded by cabs, cabbages, carrots, ducks,
dollys, and drabs of all sorts, waiting for his horse and the appearance
of the friend who had seduced him into the extraordinary predicament of
attiring himself in top-boots and breech