o-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
pocket, as a sort of balance against a huge bunch of keys which rattled
in the other, he pulled out his watch, and finding they had a quarter of
an hour to spare, proposed to chaperon the Yorkshireman on a tour of the
hunting stables. Jorrocks summoned the ostler, and with great dignity
led the way. "Humph," said he, evidently disappointed at seeing half the
stalls empty, "no great show this morning--pity--gentleman come from a
distance--should like to have shown him some good nags.--What sort of
a devil's this?" "Oh, sir, he's a good 'un, and nothing but a good
'un!--Leap! Lord love ye, he'll leap anything. A railway cut, a windmill
with the sails going, a navigable river with ships--anything in short.
This is the 'orse wot took the line of houses down at Beddington the day
they had the tremendious run from Reigate Hill." "And wot's the grey in
the far stall?" "Oh, that's Mr. Pepper's old nag--Pepper-Caster as we
call him, since he threw the old gemman, the morning they met at the
'Leg-of-Mutton' at Ashtead. But he's good for nothing. Bless ye! his
tail shakes for all the world like a pepper-box afore he's gone half a
mile. Those be yours in the far stalls, and since they were turned round
I've won a bob of a gemman who I bet I'd show him two 'osses with their
heads vere their tails should be.[11] I always says," a