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 two-horse
chaises were discharging their burdens, grooms were buckling on their
masters' spurs, and others were pulling off their overalls. Eschewing
the "Greyhound," they turn short to the right, and make for the "Derby
Arms" hunting stables.

Charley Morton, a fine old boy of his age, was buckling on his armour
for the fight, for his soul, too, was "on fire, and eager for the
chase." He was for the "venison"; and having mounted his "deer-stalker,"
was speedily joined by divers perfect "swells," in beautiful leathers,
beautiful coats, beautiful tops, beautiful everything, except horses,
and off they rode to cut in for the first course--a stag-hunt on a
Saturday being usually divided into three.

The ride down had somewhat sharpened Jorrocks's appetite; and feeling,
as he said, quite ready for his dinner, he repaired to Mr. Morton's
house--a kind of sporting snuggery, everything in apple-pie order, and
very good--where he baited himself on sausages and salt herrings, a
basin of new milk, with some "sticking powder" as he called it, _alias_
rum, infused into it; and having deposited a half-quartern loaf in one