expatiating upon the different purposes to which the machine might be
converted, and the stoutness of the horse that was drawing it.

As they approached the town of Croydon, he turned his cloak over his
legs in a very workman-like manner, and was instantly hailed by some
brother sportsmen;--one complimented him on his looks, another on his
breeches, a third praised his horse, a fourth abused the fire-engine,
and a fifth inquired where he got his glazed hat. He had an answer for
them all, and a nod or a wink for every pretty maid that showed at the
windows; for though past the grand climacteric, he still has a spice of
the devil in him--and, as he says, "there is no harm in looking." The
"Red Lion" at Smitham Bottom was the rendezvous of the day. It is a
small inn on the Brighton road, some three or four miles below Croydon.
On the left of the road stands the inn, on the right is a small
training-ground, and the country about is open common and down. There
was an immense muster about the inn, and also on the training-ground,
consisting of horsemen, gig-men, post-chaise-men, footmen,--Jorrocks and
the Yorkshireman made the firemen.

"Here's old Jorrocks, I do declare", exclaimed one, as Jorrocks drove
the fire-engine up at as quick a pace as his horse would go. "Why,
what a concern he's in", said another, "why, the old man's mad,
surely".--"He's good for a subscription," added another, addressing him.
"I say, Jorrocks, old boy, you'll give us ten pound for our hounds
won't you?--that's a good fellow." "Oh yes, Jorrocks promised us a
subscription last year," observed another, "and he is a man of his
word--arn't you old leather breeches?" "No, gentlemen," said Jorrocks,
standing up in the fire-engine, and sticking the whip into its nest,
"I really cannot--I wish I could, but I really cannot afford it. Times
really are so bad, and I have my own pack to subscribe to, and I must