SURREY      SHOOTING

MR.  JORROCKS  IN  TROUBLE.
OuE  readers  are  now  becoming  pretty  familiar  with  our
principal  hero,  Mr.  Jorrocks,  and  we  hope  he  improves  on
acquaintance.  Our  fox-hunting  friends,  we  are  sure,  will
allow  him  to  be  an  enthusiastic  member  of  the  brotherhood,
and  though  we  do  not  profess  to  put  him  in  competition
with  Musters,  Osbaldeston,  or  any  of  those  sort  of  men,  yet
we  mean  to  say  that,  had  his  lot  been  cast  in  the  country,
instead  of  behind  a  counter,  his  keenness  would  have  ren-
dered him  as  conspicuous — if  not  as  scientific — as  the  best
of  them.
For  a  cockney  sportsman,  however,  he  is  a  very  excellent
fellow — fi-ank,  hearty,  open,  generous,  and  hospitable,  and,
with  the  exception  of  riding  up  Fleet  Street  one  Saturday
afternoon,  with  a  cock  pheasant's  tail  sticking  out  of  his  red
coat  pocket,  no  one  ever  saw  him  do  a  cock-tail  action  in
his  life.
The  circumstances  attending  that  exhibition  are  rather
curious.  He  had  gone  out  as  usual  on  a  Saturday  to  have
a  day  with  the  Surrey,  but  on  mounting  his  hunter  at
Croydon,  he  felt  the  nag  rather  queer  under  him,  and  think-
ing he  might  have  been  pricked  in  the  shoeing,  he  pulled  up
at  the  smith's  at  Addington  to  have  his  feet  examined.
