, "Come to the stag--much better
sport--sure of a gallop--open country--get it over soon--back in town
before the post goes out." Before Mr. Jorrocks had time to make a reply
to this last interrogatory, they were overtaken by another horseman,
who came hopping along at a sort of a butcher's shuffle, on a worn-out,
three-legged, four-cornered hack, with one eye, a rat-tail, and a head
as large as a fiddle-case.--"Who's for the blue mottles?" said he,
casting a glance at their respective coats, and at length fixing it on
the Yorkshireman. "Why, Dickens, you're not going thistle-whipping with
that nice 'orse of yours," said the gentleman in the velvets; "come
and see the stag turned out--sure of a gallop--no hedges--soft
country--plenty of publics--far better sport, man, than pottering about
looking for your foxes and hares, and wasting your time; take my advice,
and come with me." "But," says Dickens, "my 'orse won't stand it; I had
him in the shay till eleven last night, and he came forty-three mile
with our traveller the day before, else he's a 'good 'un to go,' as you
know. Do you remember the owdacious leap he took over the tinker's tent,
at Epping 'Unt, last Easter? How he astonished the natives within!"
"Yes; but then, you know, you fell head-foremost through the canvas, and
no wonder your ugly mug frightened them," replied he of the velvets.
"Ay; but that was in consequence of my riding by balance instead of
gripping with my legs," replied Dickens; "you see, I had taken seven
lessons in riding at the school in Bidborough Street, Burton Crescent,
and they always told me to balance myself equally on the saddle, and
harden my heart, and ride at whatever came in the way; and the tinker's
tent coming first, why, naturally enough, I went at it. But I have had
some practice since then, and, of course, can stick on better. I have
'unted regularly ever since, and can 'do the trick' now." "What, summer
and winter?" said Jorrocks. "No," replied he, "but I have 'unted
regularly every fifth Saturday since the 'unting began."

After numerous discourses similar to the foregoing, they arrived at the
end of the first stage on the road to the hunt, namely, the small town
of Croydon, the rendezvous of London sportsmen. The whole place was
alive with red coats, green coats, blue coats, black coats, brown
coats, in short, coats of all the colours of the rainbow. Horsemen were
mounting, horsemen were dismounting, one-horse "shays" and tw