And now the welcome music is heard, and a fox has been found. Mr.
Jorrocks, gallopping along the ride with many oaths, implores
those around him to hold their tongues and remain quiet. Why he
should trouble himself to do this, as he knows that no one will
obey his orders, it is difficult to surmise. Or why men should
stand still in the middle of a large wood when they expect a fox
to break, because Mr. Jorrocks swears
at them, is also not to be understood. Our friend pays no
attention to Mr. Jorrocks, but makes for the end of the
ride, going with ears erect, and listening to the distant hounds
as they turn upon the turning fox. As they turn, he returns; and,
splashing through the mud of the now softened ground, through
narrow tracks, with the boughs in his face, listening
always, now hoping, now despairing, speaking to no one, but
following and followed, he makes his way backwards and forwards
through the wood, till at last, weary with wishing and working,
he rests himself in some open spot, and begins to eat his
luncheon. It is now past two, and it would puzzle him to say what
pleasure he has as yet had out of his day's amusement.

But now, while the flask is yet at his mouth, he hears from some
distant corner a sound that tells him that the fox is away. He
ought to have persevered, and then he would have been near them.
As it is, all that labour of riding has been in vain, and he has
before him the double task of finding the line of the hounds and
of catching them when he has found it. He has a crowd of men
around him; but he knows enough of hunting to be aware that the
men who are wrong at such moments are always more numerous than
they who are right. He has to choose for himself, and chooses