an and
hounds went down, but many of the field held a council of war on the
top. "Well! who's going down?" said one. "I shall wait for the next
turn," said Jorrocks, "for my horse does not like collar work." "I shall
go this time," said another, "and the rest next." "And so will I,"
said a third, "for mayhap there will be no second turn." "Ay," added a
fourth, "and he may go the other way, and then where-shall we all be?"
"Poh!" said Jorrocks, "did you ever know a Surrey fox not take to the
hills?--If he does not, I'll eat him without mint sauce," again harping
on the quarter of lamb. Facilis descensus Averni--two-thirds of the
field went down, leaving Jorrocks, two horse-dealers in scarlet, three
chicken-butchers, half a dozen swells in leathers, a whip, and the
Yorkshireman on the summit. "Why don't you go with the hounds?" inquired
the latter of the whip. "Oh, I wait here, sir," said he, "to meet Tom
Hills as he comes up, and to give him a fresh horse." "And who is Tom
Hills?" inquired the Yorkshireman. "Oh, he's our huntsman," replied he;
"you know Tom, don't you?" "Why, I can't say I do, exactly," said he;
"but tell me, is he called Hills because he rides up and down these
hills, or is that his real name?" "Hought! you know as well as I do,"
said he, quite indignantly, "that Tom Hills is his name."

The hounds, with the majority of the field, having effected the descent
of the hills, were now trotting on in the valley below, sufficiently
near, however, to allow our hill party full view of their proceedings.
After drawing a couple of osier-beds blank, they assumed a line parallel
to the hills, and moved on to a wood of about ten acres, the west end
of which terminated in a natural gorse. "They'll find there to a
certainty," said Mr. Jorrocks, pulling a telescope out of his breeches'
pocket, and adjusting the sight. "Never saw it blank but once, and that
was the werry day the commercial panic of twenty-five commenced.--I
remember making an entry in my ledger when I got home to that effect.
Humph!" continued he, looking through the glass, "they are through the
wood, though, without a challenge.--Now, my booys, push him out of
the gorse! Let's see vot you're made of.--There goes the first 'ound
in.--It's Galloper, I believe.--I can almost see the bag of shot round
his neck.--Now they all follow.--One--two--three--four--five--all
together, my beauties! Oh, vot a sight! Peckham's cap's in the air, and
it's a find, by hea