People hunt from various motives--some for the love of the thing--some for
show--some for fashion--some for health--some for appetites--some for
coffee-housing--some to say they have hunted--some because others hunt.
Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey did not hunt from any of these motives, and it would
puzzle a conjurer to make out why he hunted; indeed, the members of the
different hunts he patronized--for he was one of the run-about,
non-subscribing sort--were long in finding out. It was observed that he
generally affected countries abounding in large woods, such as Stretchaway
Forest, Hazelbury Chase, and Oakington Banks, into which he would dive with
the greatest avidity. At first people thought he was a very keen hand,
anxious to see a fox handsomely found, if he could not see him handsomely
finished, against which latter luxury his figure and activity, or want of
activity, were somewhat opposed. Indeed, when we say that he went by the
name of the Woolpack, our readers will be able to imagine the style of man
he was: long-headed, short-necked, large-girthed, dumpling-legged little
fellow, who, like most fat men, made himself dangerous by compressing a
most unreasonable stomach into a circumscribed coat, each particular button
of which looked as if it was ready to burst off, and knock out the eye of
any one who might have the temerity to ride alongside of him.
Pages:
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622