by R S Surtees
“But let me proceed a little farther with this author. ‘The severest moralist must allow,’ says Mr. Blaine, ‘that worldly wealth is a desirable possession; but when the miser brings upon himself premature decay, by the extent of his daily toils and nightly speculations to amass riches which he neither uses himself nor permits others to enjoy, the impartial observer sees in his conduct a flagrant abuse of wealth: — warped by his cupidity, he is poor in the midst of his plenty, and remains fast locked in the embraces of Want, that very fiend he supposes himself to be ever flying from.’ So that you see, gentlemen, so far from Mr. Jorrocks’s pastime being fitting subject of censure, it even becomes matter of encomium and recommendation. My pursuits, like those of my learned friend’s on the other side, have been of such a nature as to afford me but little insight into the detail of these hunting proceedings. I believe, however, my learned friend was right in describing a hunt-establishment to consist of a multitude of dogs, over which the head or chief reigns supreme. It is, I believe, the business of the establishment to muster at a certain hour of a morning, and then find a fox or other wild animal, who leads the mounted field a gallop across a country; and those who know the pleasure there is in being proudly borne on the back of a noble generous horse can appreciate the sensation of delight that must be experienced in riding at the head of a vast assembly, composed of all the choice and gallant spirits of the land. The very thought is exhilarating! The clear sky above, the wide expanse of country around, the refreshing air, the jovial spirits, the neighing steeds and chiding hounds, all in one rush of indescribable joy! Who does not exclaim with Shakspeare,
‘I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, When in the wood of Crete they bayed the bear With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, The skies, the fountains, every region near, Seem’d all one mutual cry: I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder!’”
“Bravo!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “werry good indeed — werry good indeed; say it’s the sport of kings, the image of — .” The commissioners again interpose, and vow they will turn Mr. Jorrocks out, or commit him for contempt of court. The sergeant again acts as mediator, Mr. Jorrocks growling something about “werry ‘ard that a man mightn’t kick up a row in his own court!”
“But shall it be,” continued the learned Serjeant, “because a man enters into and enjoys the enlivening scene, — because for a time he casts off the cares of the counter, and ‘this every-day working world,’ and roves unfettered in Nature’s wildest, most sequestered scenes, that he is to be declared insane and incompetent to the management of his affairs? Forbid it, reason! Forbid it, ye nobler and more generous feelings of our nature! Rather let us suppose, that, with mind refreshed and body strengthened, he returns to the peaceful occupations of his trade, grateful for the exercise he has enjoyed, and thankful for the means of partaking of it.” “Better to rove in fields for ‘ealth unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nasty draught;” observed Mr. Jorrocks to himself, in one of his whispers, which produced a roar of laughter, during a long pause the learned Serjeant made.
“My learned friend’s feelings were shocked at Mr. Jorrocks’s exultation at the sight of the drooping dahlias, and would fain draw a conclusion that a person who rejoiced at the return of winter must necessarily be insane; but consider, gentlemen, before you adopt such an idea what might be your situation if the sight of the snowdrop or crocus, drawing from you an exclamation of delight at the sight of returning spring, was to deprive you of the management of your affairs, and perhaps, of your liberty!
“All you have heard, the evidence of Lumpkin, the evidence of Sniffle, — Miss Sniffle I should say, the evidence of Savoy, and the evidence of Greenwood, prove nothing but the devotion of Mr. Jorrocks to a highly popular pleasurable sport; and even the constable Strong, when detailing the act which principally caused the issuing of this commission, admitted that, for aught he knew to the contrary, the purchase and stacking of the horses was a prudent and commendable act. Fortunately, however, I am in a situation to prove that whatever Mr. Jorrocks has done in the way of management has been prudent and cautious, that his character is humane and moderate, and his uniform conduct all that can be desired of an honest grocer and a good man. My fervent hope is, that my excellent client may not suffer through the deficiency of his advocate. I am aware that I have not acquitted myself to the unfortunate gentleman — unfortunate in being placed in such a situation — in the manner I could have wished; but I feel confident, when you have heard the evidence I shall now proceed to offer, that you will come to the only conclusion open from the premises, namely, that Mr. Jorrocks is not only a rational, but a highly talented man.”
A buzz of applause followed the close of the learned Serjeant’s address, of which the foregoing is merely an outline, and the Court availed itself of the break in the proceedings to retire for a few minutes.
Mr. Jorrocks, whose spirits rose thirty per cent. with the eloquence of his advocate, now mounted upon the table, and, dancing about on one leg, declared he would “beat them arter all,” — offering to lay any one a guinea ‘at to a sou’-wester that he did; upon which Pigg, seeing the Jury eyeing him, exclaimed, “Had the gob thon ard gouk.” Where-upon nothing would serve Jorrocks but Pigg should sing them one of his national melodies, — should sing them, “Unrivalled the ‘ounds o’er which Jorrocks presides.” but Pigg was impervious, telling his master “he’d desarve arl he gat gin he went ramin’ on that way.”
CHAPTER LXVIII. THE COURT RESUMES.
MR. SERJEANT HORSEFIELD, having refreshed himself with a glass of sherry and a water biscuit, now rustles back into court; and all parties being again prepared, he glances at his brief and exclaims, “Call William Bower!” whereupon our versatile friend Bill emerges from a side room, or rather a closet, in which he had been ensconced, attired in the incongruous habiliments that theatrical people and cockneys consider peculiar to sportsmen. What a sight it is to see a fox-hunter put upon the stage! Mr. Bowker, who has come to assist his great patron out of trouble, by assuming the character of a fox-hunter at short notice, has got himself, as he thinks, becomingly up. He has on a pair of Mr. Jorrocks’s drab shags and top-boots; and, as a red coat would be inappropriate in a court of justice, he preserves the character in a bright green one, with a black velvet collar, and a hare on a dead gold button, with a burnished rim. His capacious chest is covered with foxes’ heads on a double-breasted, worsted-worked, brown waistcoat, and his green cashmere neckcloth is secured in front with a gilt coach-and-four brooch. He has a cane-whip stick in one hand, and a hat with a red cord to it in the other.
“You are, I believe, Mr. Bowker, — a great merchant?” said Serjeant Horsefield, eyeing him intently, as one does a person we think we have seen before.
“Head of the great house of Bowker and Co.” replied Bill with a slight bend of his body, as he dived his forefinger and thumb into a massive gilt snuff-box set round with brilliants, and a huge mock diamond in the centre of the lid.
“And a great sportsman, I believe?” continued the Serjeant.
“And a great sportsman,” repeated Bill, drawing the immense pinch off his thumb up his nose with a long and noisy sniff.
“You have hunted in many countries, I believe?” continued the Serjeant, “and are well acquainted with the minutiæ of the management of a pack of fox-hounds?”
“Perfectly so,” replied Bill, twirling his hat-string round his forefinger.
“You are well acquainted with Mr. Jorrocks, the gentleman respecting whom we are met together this day?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Have known Mr. Jorrocks long and intimately.”
“Then would you have the kindness to state to the Court your opinion generally of that gentleman?”
“My opinion generally,” said Bill running his many-ringed fingers through his sandy locks; “my general opinion is — is — is — that he is quite the gent.”
“Ah! but the Court would like to know what y
ou consider of him in relation to general life?”
“In relation to general life,” repeated Bill; “I should say he is a very good relation, — good as a grandmother to me, I’m sure, — liberal — hospitable — dines at five and never waits for any one.”
“I think you do not exactly understand the point I wish to arrive at. I wish you, as an old and intimate friend of Mr. Jorrocks, to state the impression that gentleman’s general conduct creates in your mind.”
Mr. Bowker.— “Mr. Jorrocks’ general conduct, I should say, is very much the conduct of opulent merchants generally, — he takes care of the pence and lets the pounds take care of themselves, — he’s very rich.”
“Then you consider him a good man of business?”
“Capital man of business — double entry — cash at Christmas, bill-book off by heart, and so forth.”
“And in his amusements you consider him sober and rational?”
“Oh, quite! He’s president of our free-and-easy, chairman of the incorporated society of Good Fellows, and recorder of the Wide-awake Club.”
Serjeant Horsefield.— “Are those high offices?”
“Undoubtedly so.”
“And conferred on men of talent and standing?”
“Undoubtedly so. A fool would never do for recorder of a wide-awake club.”
Serjeant Horsefield.— “And in these clubs is he considered a wit?”
Mr. Bowker (with emphasis).— “Premier wag!”
Serjeant Horsefield.— “Does he ever favour them with any of his literary performances?”
“Frequently. Ode to April-fool’s day; elegy on a giblet-pie that was smashed in coming from the baker’s; ode to the Lumber Troop, in most heroic measure; odes to — I don’t know how many other things.”
“You are, I believe, acquainted with his establishment at Handley Cross, and having, as you say, had considerable experience in hunting matters, will you favour the Court with your opinion of his set out?”
“Certainly,” replied Bill, tapping his boot, or rather Mr. Jorrocks’ boot, with his Malacca cane-whip stick. “His set out is very good — quite the go, I should say.”
“Is it larger or smaller than you have been accustomed to?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Oh, smaller, decidedly. It’s what we fox-hunters call a two-days-a-week establishment. Melton men hunt six days a-week, and think that too little.
“And a five or six-days-a-week establishment is larger than a two-days-a-week one.”
Mr. Bowker.— “Undoubtedly so; more boots, more breeches — more breeches, more boots.”
“And requires more horses and hounds?”
“Undoubtedly so; more hounds, more horses — more horses, more hounds.”
“And the larger the establishment, the greater the consumption of food?”
“Of course; more hounds, more fool — more food, more hounds.”
“You have heard, I suppose, of Mr. Jorrocks’s purchase of horses, — will you tell the Court your opinion of it?”
Mr. Bowker.— “My opinion as to the merits of the bargain or the prospects of remuneration?”
“No, your opinion of the policy of the step.”
“Upon my word, it is a difficult question to answer. Speculation is the soul of commercial life, and it is only by ventures of this sort that men get rich. If Mr. J. bought the horses to sell as sausages, there is no doubt he would have cleared a considerable sum by the spec.”
Serjeant Horsefield.— “No; but confining it to the simple question of buying them for the purpose of feeding his hounds upon, what would you say of the prudence of such a step?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Oh, I should say it was a very prudent step; the war was sure to raise the price of horse-flesh, and Mr. J. was making himself independent of fluctuations and foreign markets.”
“And you think there would not be more flesh than his hounds would require?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Certainly not; suppose they had half a horse for breakfast, a whole horse for dinner, and half a horse for supper. Let me see — one horse a-day is seven horses a-week, two horses a-day — two horses a-day is fourteen horses a week, fourteen horses a-week is fifty-six horses per calendar month, and fifty-six horses per calendar month is—”
Serjeant Horsefield.— “Never mind any further calculation. Am I to understand, then, that you consider buying and stacking the horses was a prudent step on the part of Mr. Jorrocks?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Undoubtedly so; — war and all things considered, he must either have stacked or potted them.”
“Pray, Mr. Bowker,” inquired Mr. Smith, the Islington toy-shopkeeper, looking uncommonly wise, “may I inquire if Mr. Jorrocks is a Poor-law guardian?”
“No he’s not,” replied Mr. Bowker, with a sneer.
Mr. Martin Moonface now proceeded to take Bill in hand.
“I think I understood you to tell my learned friend that you are a great sportsman?” observed he.
“Right!” replied Bill, taking a huge pinch of snuff.
“Pray do you keep hounds yourself?”
Mr. Bowker (flattered by the supposition).— “No, sir, not at present at least.”
Mr. Moonface.— “Then you have kept them?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Why, no, not exactly — thinking of it.”
Mr. Moonface.— “It will depend, perhaps, upon the verdict of this case?”
Mr. Bowker (nodding).— “Perhaps so.”
Mr. Moonface.— “Then you merely hunt with other people’s hounds?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Merely hunt with other people’s hounds.”
Mr. Moonface.— “Pray whose hounds do you hunt with?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Oh, just any that come in the way, — the Queen’s, Prince Albert’s — Prince Albert’s, the Queen’s.”
Mr. Moonface.— “Then you are not speaking from your own knowledge when you say Mr. Jorrocks’ hounds would eat a brace of horses a-day?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Not of my own knowledge exactly.”
Mr. Moonface.— “Then what made you say so?”
Mr. Bowker (looking rather disconcerted).— “Why, I suppose they must eat — couldn’t hunt if they didn’t eat.”
Mr. Moonface.— “But might not they eat more than a brace of horses a-day?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Undoubtedly they might.”
Mr. Moonface.— “Now might they not eat three just as well as two, for anything you knew to the contrary?”
Mr. Bowker.— “For anything I know to the contrary.”
Mr. Moonface.— “Ah, but say yes or no.”
Mr. Bowker.— “Yes or no?”
Mr. Moonface.— “Come, sir, don’t fence with the question. I want you to give a direct negative or a direct affirmative to that question, — whether, for anything you know to the contrary, Mr. Jorrocks’s hounds might not eat three horses a-day, as well as two.”
“What! five a day?” replied Bill.
Mr. Moonface.— “No, sir; — might not Mr. Jorrocks’s hounds eat three horses a-day for anything you know to the contrary?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Perhaps they might.”
Mr. Moonface.— “Well now, sir, having got that question answered, let me ask you another.”
“Certainly,” interrupted Bill.
“What would be the value of each horse?”
Mr. Bowker.— “Value of each horse! — how can I tell without seeing them? I give a couple of ‘undred for some of mine.”
“I’m talking of dead horses.”
“I know nothing about dead horses — I’m not a Whitechapel knacker!”
Mr. Moonface.— “Well, sir, but you talked just now of horseflesh rising in price in consequence of the war.”
“That was beefologically considered,” replied Bill, with a smile.
Mr. Moonface.— “You say Mr. Jorrocks is a good man of business — takes care of the pence and leaves the pounds to take care of themselves, — I suppose from that, you mean to say he is penny wise and
pound foolish.”
Mr. Bowker.— “Pardon me; no such thing — pounds are supposed to be better able to take care of themselves than pence — Mr. Jorrocks has a very proper respect for a sovereign — very loyal!”
“You mentioned some clubs, I think, Mr. Bowker, that Mr. Jorrocks belongs to; pray what is the nature of them?”
“Nature of them, sir — nature of them, sir, — convivial, intellectual, musical — musical, intellectual, convivial!”
Mr. Moonface.— “The free-and-easy, for instance, what is that?”
“Convivial, musical — musical, convivial!”
Mr. Moonface.— “Where does it hold its sittings?”
“Sky-parlour of the ‘Pig in Trouble,’ Oxford Street; sign, ‘Pig in the Pound;’ motto, —
‘Self-praise, we know, is all a bubble, Do let me out, I am in trouble!’”
“Never mind the motto — tell the Court now what are the rules of that society.”
“Certainly, — sir, certainly. Fundamental rules of the ‘Sublime Society’ are, that members eat nothing but chops and Welsh rabbits; drink nothing but port wine, porter, or punch, and never take offence at what each other say or do.”