II. THE YORKSHIREMAN AND THE SURREY

It is an axiom among fox-hunters that the hounds they individually hunt
with are the best--compared with them all others 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,