barn, and once in
a brickfield--altogether the finest day's sport I ever saw in my life."
"What have you done, Mr. J----?" "Oh, we have had a most gallant thing;
a brilliant run indeed--three hours and twenty minutes without a
check--over the finest country imaginable." "And who got the brush?"
inquired the stag-man. "Oh, it was a gallant run," said Jorrocks, "by
far the finest I ever remember." "But did you kill?" demanded his
friend. "Kill! to be sure we did. When don't the Surrey kill, I should
like to know?" "And who got his brush, did you say?" "I can't tell,"
said he--"didn't hear the gentleman's name." "What sport has Mr. Meager
had to-day?" inquired he of a gentleman in trousers, who issued from a
side lane into the high road. "I have been with the Sanderstead, sir--a
very capital day's sport--run five hares and killed three. We should
have killed four--only--we didn't." "I don't think Mr. Meager has done
anything to-day." "Yes, he has," said a gentleman, who just joined
with a hare buckled on in front of his saddle, and his white cords all
stained with blood; "we killed this chap after an hour and forty-five
minutes' gallop; and accounted for another by losing her after running
upwards of-three-quarters of an hour." "Well, then, we have all had
sport," said Jorrocks, as he spurred his horse into a trot, and made for
Morton's stables--"and if the quarter of house-lamb is but right, then
indeed am I a happy man."

III. SURREY SHOOTING: MR. JORROCKS IN TROUBLE

Our readers are now becoming pretty familiar with our principal hero,
Mr. Jorrocks, and we hope he improves on acquaintance. Our fox-hunting
friends, we are sure, will allow him to be an enthusiastic member of the
brotherhood, and though we do not profess to put him in competition with
Musters, Osbaldeston, or any of those sort of men, we yet mean to say
that had his lot been cast in the country instead of behind a counter,
his keenness would have rendered him as conspicuous--if not as
scientific--as the best of them.

For a cockney sportsman, however, he is a very excellent fellow--frank,
hearty, open, generous, and hospitable, and with the exception of riding
up Fleet Street one Saturday afternoon, with a cock-pheasant's tail
sticking out of his red coat pocket, no one ever saw him do a cock tail
action in his life.

The circumstances attending that exhibition are rather curious.--He had
gone out as usual on a Saturday to have a day with the Surre