tary check on the Eden Bridge road. The fox
has been headed by a party of gipsies, and, changing his point, bends
southward and again reaches the hills, along which some score of
horsemen have planted themselves in the likeliest places to head him.
Reynard, however, is too deep for them, and has stolen down unperceived.
Poor Jorrocks, what with the violent exertion of riding, his fall, and
the souvenir of the cesspool that he still bears about him, pulls up
fairly exhausted. "Oh, dear," says he, scraping the thick of the filth
off his coat with his whip, "I'm reglarly blown, I earn't go down with
the 'ounds this turn; but, my good fellow," turning to the Yorkshireman,
who was helping to purify him, "don't let me stop you, go down by all
means, but mind, bear in mind the quarter of house-lamb--at half-past
five to a minute."

[Footnote 12: There is a superstition among sportsmen that they are sure
to get a fall the first day they appear in anything new.]

Many of the cits now gladly avail themselves of the excuse of assisting
Mr. Jorrocks to clean himself for pulling up, but as soon as ever those
that are going below hill are out of sight and they have given him two
or three wipes, they advise him to let it "dry on," and immediately
commence a different sort of amusement--each man dives into his pocket
and produces the eatables.

Part of Jorrocks's half-quartern loaf was bartered with the captain of
an East Indiaman for a slice of buffalo-beef. The dentist exchanged
some veal sandwiches with a Jew for ham ones; a lawyer from the Borough
offered two slices of toast for a hard-boiled egg; in fact there was a
petty market "ouvert" held. "Now, Tomkins, where's the bottle?" demanded
Jenkins. "Vy, I thought you would bring it out to-day," replied he; "I
brought it last time, you know." "Take a little of mine, sir," said a
gentleman, presenting a leather-covered flask--"real Thomson and Fearon,
I assure you." "I wish someone would fetch an ocean of porter from the
nearest public," said another. "Take a cigar, sir?" "No; I feel werry
much obliged, but they always make me womit." "Is there any gentleman
here going to Halifax, who would like to make a third in a new yellow
barouche, with lavender-coloured wheels, and pink lining?" inquired
Mr.----, the coach-maker. "Look at the hounds, gentlemen sportsmen,
my noble sportsmen!" bellowed out an Epsom Dorling's
correct--cardseller--and turning their eyes in the direction in which