could have given them any chance, but the hounds never got well settled to the scent, and after a fruitless cast his lordship gave it up, and Jorrocks and Co. trudged back to Cheltenham, J——­ highly delighted at so favourable an opportunity of seeing the hounds.  Indeed, so pleased was he with the turn-out and the whole thing, that finding from Skinner, one of the whippers-in, that they met on the following morning at Purge Down-turnpike, in their best country, forgetting all about his indigestion and the royal spa, he went to Newman and Longridge, the horse dealers and livery stable keepers and engaged a couple of nags “to look at the hounds upon,” as he impressed upon their minds, which he ordered to be ready at nine o’clock.

This day he proposed to give the landlord of the “George Inn,” in the High Street, the benefit of his rapacious appetite, and about five o’clock (his latest London hour) they sat down to dinner.  The “George” is neither exactly a swell house like the “Royal Hotel” or the “Plough,” nor yet a commercial one, but something betwixt and between.  The coffee-room is very small, consequently all the frequenters are drawn together, and if a conversation is started a man must be deuced unsociable that does not join in the cry.

As three or four were sitting round the fire chatting over their tipple, and Jorrocks was telling some of his best bouncers, the door opened and a waiter bowed a fresh animal into the cage, who, after eyeing the party, took off his hat and forthwith proceeded to pull off divers neckcloths, cloaks, great-coats, muffitees, until he reduced himself to about half the size he was on entering.  He was a little square-built old man, with white hair and plenty of it, a long stupid red face with little pig eyes, a very long awkward body, and very short legs.  He was dressed in a blue coat, buff waistcoat, a sort of baggy grey or thunder-and-lightning trousers, over which he had buttoned a pair of long black gaiters.  Having “peeled,” he rubbed his hands and blew upon them, as much as to say, “Now, gentlemen, won’t you let me have a smell of the fire?” and, accordingly, by a sort of military revolution, they made a place for him right in the centre.

“Coldish night I reckon, sir,” said Jorrocks, looking him over.

“Very cold indeed, very cold indeed,” answered he, rubbing his elbows against his ribs, and stamping with his feet.  “I’ve just got off the top of the Liverpool coach, and, I can assure you, it’s very cold riding outside a coach all day long—­however, I always say that it’s better than being inside, though, indeed, it’s very little that I trouble coaches at all in the course of the year—­generally travel in my own carriage, only my family have it with them in Bristol now, where I’m going to join them; but I’m well used to the elements, hunting, shooting, and fishing, as I do constantly.”

This later announcement made Jorrocks rouse up, and finding himself in the company of a sportsman and one, too, who travelled in his own carriage, he assumed a different tone and commenced on a fresh tack—­“and pray, may I make bold to inquire what country you hunts in, sir?” said he.