What true-bred city sportsman has not in his day put off the most urgent business-perhaps his marriage, or even the interment of his rib-that he might "brave the morn" with that renowned pack, the Surrey subscription foxhounds? Lives there, we would ask, a thoroughbred, prime, bang-up, slap-dash, break-neck, out-and-out artist, within three miles of the Monument, who has not occasionally "gone a good 'un" with this celebrated pack? ***-excerpt from "Jorrocks' Jaunts and Jollities"
