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''