Mr. Jorrocks had been very poorly indeed of indigestion, as he calls
it, produced by tucking in too much roast beef and plum pudding at
Christmas, and prolonging the period of his festivities a little beyond
the season allowed by Moore's _Almanack_, and having in vain applied the
usual remedies prescribed on such occasions, he at length consented to
try the Cheltenham waters, though altogether opposed to the element, he
not having "astonished his stomach," as he says, for the last fifteen
years with a glass of water.
Having established himself and the Yorkshireman in a small private
lodging in High Street, consisting of two bedrooms and a sitting-room,
he commenced his visits to the royal spa, and after a few good drenches,
picked up so rapidly, that to whatever inn they went to dine, the
landlords and waiters were astounded at the consumption of prog, and in
a very short time he was known from the "Royal Hotel" down to Hurlston's
Commercial Inn, as the great London Cormorant. At first, however, he was
extremely depressed in spirits, and did nothing the whole day after his
arrival, but talk about the arrangement of his temporal affairs; and the
first symptom he gave of returning health was one day at dinner at the
"Plough," by astonishing two or three scarlet-coated swells, who as
usual were disporting themselves in the coffee-room, by bellowing to the
waiter for some Talli-ho "sarce" to his fish. Before this he had never
once spoken of his favourite diversion, and the sportsmen cantered by
the window to cover in the morning, and back in the afternoon, without
eliciting a single observation from him. The morning after this change
for the better, he addressed his companion at breakfast as follows:
"Blow me tight, Mr. York, if I arn't regularly renowated. I'm as fresh
as an old hat after a shower of rain. I really thinks I shall get over
this terrible illness, for I dreamt of 'unting last night, and, if
you've a mind, we'll go and see my Lord Segrave's reynard dog, and then
start from this 'ere corrupt place, for, you see, it's nothing but a
town, and what's the use of sticking oneself in a little pokey lodging
like this 'ere, where there really is not room to swing a cat, and
paying the deuce knows how much tin, too, when one has a splendid house
in Great Coram Street going on all the time, with a rigler establishment
of servants and all that sort of thing. Now, you knows, I doesn't grudge
a wisit to Margate, though that's a town too, but then, you see, one has
the sea to look at, whereas here, it's nothing but a long street with
shops, not so good as those in Red Lion Street, with a few small streets
branching off from it, and as to the prommenard, as they calls it, aside
the spa, with its trees and garden stuff, why, I'm sure, to my mind, the
Clarence Gardens up by the Regent's Park, are quite as fine. It's true
the doctor says I must remain another fortnight to perfect the cure, but
then them 'ere M.D.'s, or whatever you calls them, are such rum jockeys,
and I always thinks they say one word for the patient and two for
themselves. Now, my chap said, I must only take half a bottle o' black
strap a day at the werry most, whereas I have never had less than a
whole one--his half first, as I say, and my own after--and because I
tells him I take a pint, he flatters himself his treatment is capital,
and that he is a wonderful M.D.; but as a man can't be better than well,
I think we'll just see what there's to be seen in the neighbourhood, and
then cut our sticks, and, as I said before, I should like werry much to
see my Lord Segrave's hounds, in order that I may judge whether there
is anything in the wide world to be compared to the Surrey, for if I
remember right, Mr. Nimrod described them as werry, werry fine, indeed."
Having formed this resolution, Jorrocks stamped on the floor (for the
bell was broken) for the little boy who did the odd jobs of the house,
to bring up his Hessian boots, into which having thrust his great
calves, and replaced the old brown great-coat which he uses for a
dressing-gown by a superfine Saxony blue, with metal buttons and pockets
outside, he pulled his wig straight, stuck his white hat with the green
flaps knowingly on his head, and sallied forth for execution as stout a
man as ever. Knowing that the kennel is near the Winchcourt road, they
proceeded in that direction, but after walking about a mile, came upon
a groom on a chestnut horse, who, returning from the chase, was wetting
his whistle at the appropriate sign of the "Fox and Hounds," and who
informed them that they had passed the turning for the kennel, but that
the hounds were out, and then in a wood which he pointed out on the
hillside about two miles off, into which they had just brought their
fox. Looking in that direction, they presently saw the summit of one of
the highest of the range of hills that encircle the town of Cheltenham,
covered with horsemen and pedestrians, who kept moving backwards and
forwards on the "mountain's brow," looking in the distance more like a
flock of sheep than anything else. Jorrocks, being all right again and
up to anything, proposed a start to the wood, and though he thought they
should hardly reach it before the hounds either killed their fox or he
broke away again, they agreed to take the chance, and away they went,
"best leg first" as the saying is. The cover (Queen Wood by name, and,
as Jorrocks found out from somebody, the property of Lord Ellenborough)
being much larger than it at first appeared and the fox but a bad one,
they were in lots of time, and having toiled to the top of the wood,
Jorrocks swaggered in among the horsemen with all the importance of an
alderman. For full an hour after they got there the hounds kept running
in cover, the fox being repeatedly viewed and the pack continually
pressing him. Once or twice he came out, but after skirting the cover's
edge a few yards turned in again. Indeed, there were two foxes on foot,
one being a three-legged one, and it was extraordinary how he went and
stood before hounds, going apparently very cautiously and stopping every
now and then to listen. At last a thundering old grey-backed fellow went
away before the whole field, making for the steep declivities that
lead into the downs, and though the brow of the hill was covered with
foot-people who holloa'd and shouted enough to turn a lion, he would
make his point, and only altering his course so as to avoid running
right among the mob, he gained the summit of the hill and disappeared.
This hill, being uncommonly steep, was a breather for hounds that had
been running so long as they had, in a thick cover too, and neither they
nor the horses went at it with any great dash. The fox was not a fellow
to be caught very easily, and nothing but a good start 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.
"Oh! I live in Cheshire--Mainwaring's country, but Melton's the place I
chiefly hunt at,--know all the fellows there; rare set of dogs, to be
sure,--only country worth hunting in, to my mind."
_Jorrocks_. Rigler swells, though, the chaps, arn't they? Recollect
one swell of a fellow coming with his upper lip all over fur into our
country, thinking to astonish our weak minds, but I reckon we told him
out.
_Stranger_. What! you hunt, do you?
_Jorrocks_. A few--you've perhaps heard tell of the Surrey 'unt?
_Stranger_. Cocktail affair, isn't it?
_Jorrocks_. No such thing, I assure you. Cocktail indeed! I likes that.
_Stranger_. Well, but it's not what we calls a fast-coach.
_Jorrocks_. I doesn't know wot you calls a fast-coach, but if you've a
mind to make a match, I'll bet you a hat, ay, or half a dozen hats, that
I'll find a fellow to take the conceit out o' any your Meltonians.
_Stranger_. Oh! I don't doubt but you have some good men among you; I'm
sure I didn't mean anything offensive, by asking if it was a cocktail
affair, but we Meltonians certainly have a trick, I must confess, of
running every other country down; come, sir, I'll drink the Surrey hunt
with all my heart, said he, swigging off the remains of a glass of
brandy-and-water which the waiter had brought him shortly after
entering.
_Jorrocks_. Thank you, sir, kindly. Waiter, bring me a bottom o' brandy,
cold, without--and don't stint for quantity, if you please. Doesn't you
think these inns werry expensive places, sir? I doesn't mean this in
particular, but inns in general.
_Stranger_. Oh! I don't know, sir. We must expect to pay. "Live and let
live," is my motto. I always pay my inn bills without looking them over.
Just cast my eyes at the bottom to see the amount, then call for pen and
ink, add so much for waiter, so much for chambermaid, so much for boots,
and if I'm travelling in my own carriage so much for the ostler for
greasing. That's the way I do business, sir.
_Jorrocks_. Well, sir, a werry pleasant plan too, especially for the
innkeeper--and all werry right for a gentleman of fortune like you. My
motto, however, is "Waste not, want not," and my wife's father's motto
was "Wilful waste brings woeful want," and I likes to have my money's
worth.--Now, said he, pulling out a handful of bills, at some places
that I go to they charges me six shillings a day for my dinner, and when
I was ill and couldn't digest nothing but the lightest and plainest of
breakfasts, when a fork breakfast in fact would have made a stiff 'un of
me, and my muffin mill was almost stopped, they charged me two shillings
for one cake, and sixpence for two eggs.--Now I'm in the tea trade
myself, you must know, and I contend that as things go, or at least as
things went before the Barbarian eye, as they call Napier, kicked up a
row with the Hong merchants, it's altogether a shameful imposition, and
I wonder people put up with it.
_Stranger_. Oh, sir, I don't know. I think that it is the charge all
over the country. Besides, it doesn't do to look too closely at these
things, and you must allow something for keeping up the coffee-room, you
know--fire, candles, and so on.
_Jorrocks_. But blow me tight, you surely don't want a candle to
breakfast by? However, I contends that innkeepers are great fools for
making these sort of charges, for it makes people get out of their
houses as quick as ever they can, whereas they might be inclined to stay
if they could get things moderate.--For my part I likes a coffee-room,
but having been used to commercial houses when I travelled, I knows what
the charges ought to be. Now, this room is snug enough though small, and
won't require no great keeping up.
_Stranger_. No--but this room is smaller than the generality of them,
you know. They frequently have two fires in them, besides no end of oil
burning.--I know the expense of these things, for I have a very large
house in the country, and rely upon it, innkeepers have not such immense
profits as many people imagines--but, as I said before, "live and let
live."
_Jorrocks_. So says I, "live and let live"--but wot I complains of is,
that some innkeepers charge so much that they won't let people live.
No man is fonder of eating than myself, but I don't like to pay by the
mouthful, or yet to drink tea at so much a thimbleful. By the way, Sar,
if you are not previously engaged, I should be werry happy to supply you
with red Mocho or best Twankay at a very reasonable figure indeed for
cash?
_Stranger._ Thank you, sir, thank you. Those are things I never
interfere with--leave all these things to my people. My housekeeper
sends me in her book every quarter day, with an account of what she
pays. I just look at the amount--add so much for wages, and write a
cheque--"live and let live!" say I. However, added he, pulling out his
watch, and ringing the bell for the chambermaid, "I hate to get up very
early, so I think it is time to go to bed, and I wish you a very good
night, gentlemen all."
Jorrocks gets up, advances half-way to the door, makes him one of his
most obsequious bows, and wishes him a werry good night. Having heard
him tramp upstairs and safely deposited in his bedroom, they pulled
their chairs together again, and making a smaller circle round the fire,
proceeded to canvass their departed friend. Jorrocks began--"I say, wot
a regular swell the chap is--a Meltonian, too.--I wonders who the deuce
he is. Wish Mr. Nimrod was among us, he could tell us all about him, I
dare say. I'm blowed if I didn't take him for a commercial gentleman at
first, until he spoke about his carriages. I likes to see gentlemen
of fortune making themselves sociable by coming into the coffee-room,
instead of sticking themselves up in private sitting-rooms, as if nobody
was good enough for them. You know Melton, Mr. York; did you ever see
the gentleman out?"
"I can't say that I ever did," said his friend, "but people look so
different in their red coats to what they do in mufti, that there's no
such thing as recognising them unless you had a previous acquaintance
with them. The fields in Leicestershire are sometimes so large that it
requires a residence to get anything like a general knowledge of the
hunt, and, you know, Northamptonshire's the country for my money, after
Surrey, of course."
"I don't think he is a gentleman," observed a thin sallow-complexioned
young man, who, sitting on one side of the fire, had watched the
stranger very narrowly without joining in the conversation. "He gives me
more the idea of a gentleman's servant, acting the part of master, than
anything else."
_Jorrocks._ Oh! he is a gentleman, I'm sure--besides, a servant wouldn't
travel in a carriage you know, and he talked about greasing the wheels
and all that sort of thing, which showed he was familiar with the thing.
"That's very true," replied the youth--"but a servant may travel in the
rumble and pay for greasing the wheels all the same, or perhaps have to
grease them himself."
"Well, I should say he's a foolish purse-proud sort of fellow," observed
another, "who has come into money unexpectedly, and who likes to be the
cock of his party, and show off a little."
_Jorrocks._ I'll be bound to say you're all wrong--you are not
fox-hunters, you see, or you would know that that is a way the sportsmen
have--we always make ourselves at home and agreeable--have a word for
everybody in fact, and no reserve; besides, you see, there was nothing
gammonacious, as I calls it, about his toggery, no round-cut coats with
sporting buttons, or coaches and four, or foxes for pins in his shirt.
"I don't care for that," replied the sallow youth, "dress him as you
will, court suit, bag wig, and sword, you'll make nothing better of
him--he's a SNOB."
Jorrocks, getting up, runs to the table on which the hats were standing,
saying, "I wonder if he's left his castor behind him? I've always found
a man's hat will tell a good deal. This is yours, Mr. York, with the
loop to it, and here's mine--I always writes Golgotha in mine, which
being interpreted, you know, means the place of a skull. These are
yours, I presume, gentlemen?" said he, taking up two others. "Confound
him, he's taken his tile with him--however, I'm quite positive he's a
gentleman--lay you a hat apiece all round he is, if you like!"
"But how are we to prove it?" inquired the youth.
_Jorrocks._ Call in the waiter.
_Youth._ He may know nothing about him, and a waiter's gentleman is
always the man who pays him most.
_Jorrocks._ Trust the waiter for knowing something about him, and if he
doesn't, why, it's only to send a purlite message upstairs, saying that
two gentlemen in the coffee-room have bet a trifle that he is some
nobleman--Lord Maryborough, for instance,--he's a little chap--but we
must make haste, or the gentleman will be asleep.
"Well, then, I'll take your bet of a hat," replied the youth, "that he
is not what I call a gentleman."
_Jorrocks._ I don't know what you calls a gentleman. I'll lay you a hat,
a guinea one, either white or black, whichever you like, but none o'
your dog hairs or gossamers, mind--that he's a man of dibs, and doesn't
follow no trade or calling, and if that isn't a gentleman, I don't know
wot is. What say you, Mr. York?
"Suppose we put it thus--You bet this gentleman a hat that he's a
Meltonian, which will comprise all the rest."
_Jorrocks._ Werry well put. Do you take me, sir? A guinea hat against a
guinea hat.
"I do," said the youth.
_Jorrocks._ Then DONE--now ring the bell for the waiter--I'll pump him.
_Enter waiter._
_Jorrocks._ Snuff them candles, if you please, and bring me another
bottom o' brandy-cold, without--and, waiter! here, pray who is that
gentleman that came in by the Liverpool coach to-night? The little
gentleman in long black gaiters who sat in this chair, you know, and had
some brandy-and-water.
_Waiter._ I know who you mean, sir, quite well, the gentleman who's gone
to bed. Let me see, what's his name? He keeps that large Hotel in----
Street, Liverpool--what's the--Here an immense burst of laughter drowned
the remainder of the sentence.
Jorrocks rose in a rage. "No! you double-distilled blockhead," said he,
"no such thing--you're thinking of someone else. The gentleman hunts at
Melton Mowbray, and travels in his own carriage."
_Waiter_. I don't know nothing about Melton Mowbray, sir, but the last
time he came through here on his road to Bristol, he was in one of his
own rattle-trap yellows, and had such a load--his wife, a nurse, and
eight children inside; himself, his son, and an apple-tree on the
dickey--that the horses knocked up half-way and...
_Jorrocks_. Say no more--say no more--d----n his teeth and
toe-nails--and that's swearing--a thing I never do but on the most
outrageous occasions. Confounded humbug, I'll be upsides with him,
however. Waiter, bring the bill and no more brandy. Never was so done in
all my life--a gammonacious fellow! "There, sir, there's your one pound
one," said he, handing a sovereign and a shilling to the winner of the
hat. "Give me my tile, and let's mizzle.--Waiter, I can't wait; must
bring the bill up to my lodgings in the morning if it isn't ready.--Come
away, come away--I shall never get over this as long as ever I live.
'Live and let live,' indeed! no wonder he stuck up for the innkeepers--a
publican and a sinner as he is. Good night, gentlemen, good night."
_Exit Jorrocks_.