章节正文
himself down on a bank and almost cried, and that he had drained
his flask to the last drop before one o'clock ? No one need know
the extent of his miseries. And no one does know how great is the
misery endured by those who hunt regularly, and who do not like it.
THE MAN WHO HUNTS AND DOES LIKE IT.
The man who hunts and does like it is an object of keen envy to
the man who hunts and doesn't; but he, too, has his own miseries,
and I am not prepared to say that they are always less
aggravating than those endured by his less ambitious brother in
the field. He, too, when he comes to make up his account, when
he brings his hunting to book and inquires whether his whistle
has been worth its price, is driven to declare that vanity and
vexation of spirit have been the prevailing characteristics of
his hunting life. On how many evenings has he returned contented
with his sport ? How many days has he declared to have been
utterly wasted ? How often have frost and snow, drought and rain,
wind and sunshine, impeded his plans ? for to a hunting man
frost, snow, drought, rain, wind and sunshine, will all come
amiss. Then, when the one run of the season comes, he is not
there! He has been idle and has taken a liberty with the day; or
he has followed other gods and gone with strange hounds. With
sore ears and bitter heart he hears the exaggerated boastings of
his comrades, and almost swears that he will have no more of it.
At the end of the season he tells himself that the season's
amusement has cost him five hundred pounds; that he has had one
good day, three days that were not bad, and that all the rest
have been vanity and vexation of spirit. After all, it may be a
question whether the man who hunts and doesn't like it does not
have the best of it.
When we consider what is endured by the hunting man the wonder is
that any man should like it. In the old days of Squire Western,
and in the old days too since the time of Squire Western, the
old days of thirty years since, the hunting man had his hunting
near to him. He was a country gentleman who considered himself to
be energetic if he went out twice a week, and in doing this he
rarely left his house earlier for that purpose than he would
leave it for others. At certain periods of the year he
if ho went out twice a he rarely left his house than he would
leave it periods of the year he would, perhaps, be out before
dawn; but then the general habits of his life conduced to early
rising; and his distances were short. If he kept a couple of
horses for the purpose he was well mounted, and these horses were
available for other uses. He rode out and home, jogging slowly
along the roads, and was a martyr to no ambition. All that has
been changed now. The man who hunts and likes it, either takes a
small hurting seat away from the comforts of his own home, or he
locates himself miserably at an inn, or he undergoes the
purgatory of daily journeys up and down from London, doing that
for his hunting which no consideration of money-making would
induce him to do for his business. His hunting requires from him
everything, his time, his money, his social hours, his rest, his
sweet morning sleep; nay, his very dinners have to be sacrificed
to this Moloch!
Let us follow him on an ordinary day. His groom comes to his bed-
chamber at seven o'clock, and tells him that it has frozen during
the night. If he be a London man, using the train for his
hunting, he knows nothing of the frost, and does not learn
whether the day be practicable or not till he finds himself down
in the country. But we will suppose our friend to be located in
some hunting district, and accordingly his groom visits him with
tidings. "Is it freezing now?" he asks from under the bedclothes.
And even the man who does like it at such moments almost wishes
that the answer should be plainly in the affirmative. Then
swiftly again to the arms of Morpheus he might take himself, and
ruffle his temper no further on that morning! He desires, at any
rate, a decisive answer. To be or not to be as regards that day's
hurting is what he now wants to know. But that is exactly what
the groom cannot tell him. " It's just a thin crust of frost,
sir, and the s'mometer is a standing at the pint." That is the
answer which the man makes, and on that he has to come to a
decision! For half an hour he lies doubting while his water is
getting cold, and then sends for his man again. The thermometer
is still standing at the point, but the man has tried the crust
with his heel and found it to be very thin. The man who hunts and
likes it scorns his ease, and resolves that he will at any rate
persevere. He tumbles into his tub, and a little before nine
comes out to his breakfast, still doubting sorely whether or no
the day "will do." There he, perhaps, meets one or two others
like himself, and learns that the men who hunt and don't like it
are still warm in their beds. On such mornings as these, and
such mornings are very many, the men who hunt and do not like it
certainly have the best of it. The man who hunts and does like it
takes himself out to some kitchen-garden or neighbouring paddock,
and kicks at the ground himself. Certainly there is a crust, a
very manifest crust. Though he puts up in the country, he has to
go sixteen miles to the meet, and has no means of knowing whether
or no the hounds will go out. " Jorrocks always goes if there's a
chance," says one fellow, speaking of the master. " I don't
know," says our friend; " he's a deal slower at it than he used
to be. For my part, I wish Jorrocks would go; he's getting too
old." Then he bolts a mutton chop and a couple of eggs hurriedly,
and submits himself to be carried off in the trap.
Though he is half an hour late at the meet, no hounds have as yet
come, and he begins to curse his luck. A non-hunting day, a day
that turns out to be no day for hunting purposes, begun in this
way, is of all days the most melancholy. What is a man to do with
himself who has put himself into his boots and breeches, and who
then finds himself, by one o'clock, landed back at his starting-
point without employment ? Who under such circumstances can apply
himself to any salutary employment ? Cigars and stable-talk are
all that remain to him; and it is well for him if he can refrain
from the additionalexcitement of brandy and water.
But on the present occasion we will not presume that our friend
has fallen into so deep a bathos of misfortune. At twelve o'clock
Tom appears, with the hounds following slowly at his heels; and a
dozen men, angry with impatience, fly at him with assurances that
there has been no sign of frost since ten o'clock. " Ain't there
?" says Tom; " you look at the north sides of the banks, and see
how you'd like it." Some one makes an uncivil remark as to the
north sides of the banks, and wants to know when old Jorrocks is
coming. " The squire 'll be here time enough," says Tom. And then
there takes place that slow walking up and down of the hounds,
which on such mornings always continues for half an hour. Let him
who envies the condition of the man who hunts and likes it,
remember that a cold thaw is going on, that our friend is already
sulky with waiting, that to ride up and down for an hour and a
half at a walking pace on such a morning is not an exhilarating
pastime, and he will understand that the hunting man himself may
have doubts as to the wisdom of his course of action.
But at last Jorrocks is there, and the hounds trot off to cover.
So dull has been everything on this morning that even that is
something, and men begin to make themselves happier in the warmth
of the movement. The hounds go into covert, and a period of
excitement is commenced. Our friend who likes hunting remarks to
his neighbour that the ground is rideable. His neighbour who
doesn't like it quite so well says that he doesn't know. They
remain standing close together on a forest ride for twenty
minutes, but conversation doesn't go beyond that. The man who
doesn't like it has lit a cigar, but the man who does like it
never lights a cigar when hounds are drawing.
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" target="_blank" title="a.感到绝望的">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
quickly, dashing down a ride to the right, while a host of those
who know that he is one of them who like it, follow closely at
his heels, too closely, as he finds at the first fence out of
the woods, when one of his young admirers almost jumps on the top
of him. " Do you want to get into my pocket, sir?" he says,
angrily. The young admirer is snubbed, and, turning away,
attempts to make a line for himself.
But though he has been followed, he has great doubt as to his own
course. To hesitate is to be lost, so he goes on, on rapidly,
looking as he clears every fence for the spot at which he is to
clear the next; but he is by no means certain of his course.
Though he has admirers at his heels who credit him implicitly,
his mind is racked by an agony of ignorance. He has got badly
away, and the hounds are running well, and it is going to be a
good thing; and he will not see it. He has not been in for
anything good this year, and now this is his luck! His eye
travels round over the horizon as he is gallopping, and though he
sees men here and there, he can catch no sign of a hound; nor can
he catch the form of any man who would probably be with them. But
he perseveres, choosing his points as he goes, till the tail of
his followers becomes thinner and thinner. He comes out upon a
road, and makes the pace as good as he can along the soft edge of
it. He sniffs at the wind, knowing that the fox, going at such a
pace as this, must run with it. He tells himself from outward
signs where he is, and uses his dead knowledge to direct him. He
scorns to ask a question as he passes countrymen in his course,
but he would give five guineas to know exactly where the hounds
are at that moment. He has been at it now forty minutes, and is
in despair. His gallant nag rolls a little under him, and he
knows that he has been going too fast. And for what; for what ?
What good has it all done him ? What good will it do him, though
he should kill the beast ? He curses between his teeth, and
everything is vanity and vexation of spirit.
"They've just run into him at Boxall Springs, Mr. Jones," says a
farmer whom he passes on the road. Boxall Springs is only a
quarter of a mile before him, but he wonders how the farmer has
come to know all about it. But on reaching Boxall Springs he
finds that the farmer was right, and that Tom is already breaking
up the fox. "Very good thing, Mr. Jones," says the squire in good
humour. Our friend mutters something
between his teeth and rides away in dudgeon from the triumphant
master. On his road home he hears all about it from everybody. It
seems to him that he alone of all those who are anybody has
his flask to the last drop before one o'clock ? No one need know
the extent of his miseries. And no one does know how great is the
misery endured by those who hunt regularly, and who do not like it.
THE MAN WHO HUNTS AND DOES LIKE IT.
The man who hunts and does like it is an object of keen envy to
the man who hunts and doesn't; but he, too, has his own miseries,
and I am not prepared to say that they are always less
aggravating than those endured by his less ambitious brother in
the field. He, too, when he comes to make up his account, when
he brings his hunting to book and inquires whether his whistle
has been worth its price, is driven to declare that vanity and
vexation of spirit have been the prevailing characteristics of
his hunting life. On how many evenings has he returned contented
with his sport ? How many days has he declared to have been
utterly wasted ? How often have frost and snow, drought and rain,
wind and sunshine, impeded his plans ? for to a hunting man
frost, snow, drought, rain, wind and sunshine, will all come
amiss. Then, when the one run of the season comes, he is not
there! He has been idle and has taken a liberty with the day; or
he has followed other gods and gone with strange hounds. With
sore ears and bitter heart he hears the exaggerated boastings of
his comrades, and almost swears that he will have no more of it.
At the end of the season he tells himself that the season's
amusement has cost him five hundred pounds; that he has had one
good day, three days that were not bad, and that all the rest
have been vanity and vexation of spirit. After all, it may be a
question whether the man who hunts and doesn't like it does not
have the best of it.
When we consider what is endured by the hunting man the wonder is
that any man should like it. In the old days of Squire Western,
and in the old days too since the time of Squire Western, the
old days of thirty years since, the hunting man had his hunting
near to him. He was a country gentleman who considered himself to
be energetic if he went out twice a week, and in doing this he
rarely left his house earlier for that purpose than he would
leave it for others. At certain periods of the year he
if ho went out twice a he rarely left his house than he would
leave it periods of the year he would, perhaps, be out before
dawn; but then the general habits of his life conduced to early
rising; and his distances were short. If he kept a couple of
horses for the purpose he was well mounted, and these horses were
available for other uses. He rode out and home, jogging slowly
along the roads, and was a martyr to no ambition. All that has
been changed now. The man who hunts and likes it, either takes a
small hurting seat away from the comforts of his own home, or he
locates himself miserably at an inn, or he undergoes the
purgatory of daily journeys up and down from London, doing that
for his hunting which no consideration of money-making would
induce him to do for his business. His hunting requires from him
everything, his time, his money, his social hours, his rest, his
sweet morning sleep; nay, his very dinners have to be sacrificed
to this Moloch!
Let us follow him on an ordinary day. His groom comes to his bed-
chamber at seven o'clock, and tells him that it has frozen during
the night. If he be a London man, using the train for his
hunting, he knows nothing of the frost, and does not learn
whether the day be practicable or not till he finds himself down
in the country. But we will suppose our friend to be located in
some hunting district, and accordingly his groom visits him with
tidings. "Is it freezing now?" he asks from under the bedclothes.
And even the man who does like it at such moments almost wishes
that the answer should be plainly in the affirmative. Then
swiftly again to the arms of Morpheus he might take himself, and
ruffle his temper no further on that morning! He desires, at any
rate, a decisive answer. To be or not to be as regards that day's
hurting is what he now wants to know. But that is exactly what
the groom cannot tell him. " It's just a thin crust of frost,
sir, and the s'mometer is a standing at the pint." That is the
answer which the man makes, and on that he has to come to a
decision! For half an hour he lies doubting while his water is
getting cold, and then sends for his man again. The thermometer
is still standing at the point, but the man has tried the crust
with his heel and found it to be very thin. The man who hunts and
likes it scorns his ease, and resolves that he will at any rate
persevere. He tumbles into his tub, and a little before nine
comes out to his breakfast, still doubting sorely whether or no
the day "will do." There he, perhaps, meets one or two others
like himself, and learns that the men who hunt and don't like it
are still warm in their beds. On such mornings as these, and
such mornings are very many, the men who hunt and do not like it
certainly have the best of it. The man who hunts and does like it
takes himself out to some kitchen-garden or neighbouring paddock,
and kicks at the ground himself. Certainly there is a crust, a
very manifest crust. Though he puts up in the country, he has to
go sixteen miles to the meet, and has no means of knowing whether
or no the hounds will go out. " Jorrocks always goes if there's a
chance," says one fellow, speaking of the master. " I don't
know," says our friend; " he's a deal slower at it than he used
to be. For my part, I wish Jorrocks would go; he's getting too
old." Then he bolts a mutton chop and a couple of eggs hurriedly,
and submits himself to be carried off in the trap.
Though he is half an hour late at the meet, no hounds have as yet
come, and he begins to curse his luck. A non-hunting day, a day
that turns out to be no day for hunting purposes, begun in this
way, is of all days the most melancholy. What is a man to do with
himself who has put himself into his boots and breeches, and who
then finds himself, by one o'clock, landed back at his starting-
point without employment ? Who under such circumstances can apply
himself to any salutary employment ? Cigars and stable-talk are
all that remain to him; and it is well for him if he can refrain
from the additionalexcitement of brandy and water.
But on the present occasion we will not presume that our friend
has fallen into so deep a bathos of misfortune. At twelve o'clock
Tom appears, with the hounds following slowly at his heels; and a
dozen men, angry with impatience, fly at him with assurances that
there has been no sign of frost since ten o'clock. " Ain't there
?" says Tom; " you look at the north sides of the banks, and see
how you'd like it." Some one makes an uncivil remark as to the
north sides of the banks, and wants to know when old Jorrocks is
coming. " The squire 'll be here time enough," says Tom. And then
there takes place that slow walking up and down of the hounds,
which on such mornings always continues for half an hour. Let him
who envies the condition of the man who hunts and likes it,
remember that a cold thaw is going on, that our friend is already
sulky with waiting, that to ride up and down for an hour and a
half at a walking pace on such a morning is not an exhilarating
pastime, and he will understand that the hunting man himself may
have doubts as to the wisdom of his course of action.
But at last Jorrocks is there, and the hounds trot off to cover.
So dull has been everything on this morning that even that is
something, and men begin to make themselves happier in the warmth
of the movement. The hounds go into covert, and a period of
excitement is commenced. Our friend who likes hunting remarks to
his neighbour that the ground is rideable. His neighbour who
doesn't like it quite so well says that he doesn't know. They
remain standing close together on a forest ride for twenty
minutes, but conversation doesn't go beyond that. The man who
doesn't like it has lit a cigar, but the man who does like it
never lights a cigar when hounds are drawing.
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" target="_blank" title="a.感到绝望的">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
quickly, dashing down a ride to the right, while a host of those
who know that he is one of them who like it, follow closely at
his heels, too closely, as he finds at the first fence out of
the woods, when one of his young admirers almost jumps on the top
of him. " Do you want to get into my pocket, sir?" he says,
angrily. The young admirer is snubbed, and, turning away,
attempts to make a line for himself.
But though he has been followed, he has great doubt as to his own
course. To hesitate is to be lost, so he goes on, on rapidly,
looking as he clears every fence for the spot at which he is to
clear the next; but he is by no means certain of his course.
Though he has admirers at his heels who credit him implicitly,
his mind is racked by an agony of ignorance. He has got badly
away, and the hounds are running well, and it is going to be a
good thing; and he will not see it. He has not been in for
anything good this year, and now this is his luck! His eye
travels round over the horizon as he is gallopping, and though he
sees men here and there, he can catch no sign of a hound; nor can
he catch the form of any man who would probably be with them. But
he perseveres, choosing his points as he goes, till the tail of
his followers becomes thinner and thinner. He comes out upon a
road, and makes the pace as good as he can along the soft edge of
it. He sniffs at the wind, knowing that the fox, going at such a
pace as this, must run with it. He tells himself from outward
signs where he is, and uses his dead knowledge to direct him. He
scorns to ask a question as he passes countrymen in his course,
but he would give five guineas to know exactly where the hounds
are at that moment. He has been at it now forty minutes, and is
in despair. His gallant nag rolls a little under him, and he
knows that he has been going too fast. And for what; for what ?
What good has it all done him ? What good will it do him, though
he should kill the beast ? He curses between his teeth, and
everything is vanity and vexation of spirit.
"They've just run into him at Boxall Springs, Mr. Jones," says a
farmer whom he passes on the road. Boxall Springs is only a
quarter of a mile before him, but he wonders how the farmer has
come to know all about it. But on reaching Boxall Springs he
finds that the farmer was right, and that Tom is already breaking
up the fox. "Very good thing, Mr. Jones," says the squire in good
humour. Our friend mutters something
between his teeth and rides away in dudgeon from the triumphant
master. On his road home he hears all about it from everybody. It
seems to him that he alone of all those who are anybody has
- extent [ik´stent]
n.长度；程度；范围 (初中英语单词) - ambitious [æm´biʃəs] a.有雄心的；热望的 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- vanity [´væniti] n.虚荣；自负；空虚 (初中英语单词)
- sunshine [´sʌnʃain] n.日光，阳光 (初中英语单词)
- squire [skwaiə] n.护卫，侍从；乡绅 (初中英语单词)
- western [´westən] a.西的；西方的 (初中英语单词)
- rarely [´reəli] ad.难得；非凡地 (初中英语单词)
- ambition [æm´biʃən] n.雄心，野心；企图 (初中英语单词)
- consideration [kən,sidə´reiʃən] n.考虑；原因；体谅 (初中英语单词)
- frozen [´frəuzn] freeze 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- accordingly [ə´kɔ:diŋli] ad.因此；从而；依照 (初中英语单词)
- plainly [´pleinli] ad.平坦地；简单地 (初中英语单词)
- temper [´tempə] n.韧度 v.锻炼；调和 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- knowing [´nəuiŋ] a.会意的，心照不宣的 (初中英语单词)
- employment [im´plɔimənt] n.工作；职业；雇用 (初中英语单词)
- additional [ə´diʃənəl] a.附加的，额外的 (初中英语单词)
- excitement [ik´saitmənt] n.兴奋；骚动；煽动 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- wisdom [´wizdəm] n.智慧，聪明，才智 (初中英语单词)
- movement [´mu:vmənt] n.活动；运动；动作 (初中英语单词)
- welcome [´welkəm] a.受欢迎的；可喜的 (初中英语单词)
- puzzle [´pʌzl] n.迷(惑) v.(使)迷惑 (初中英语单词)
- hesitate [´heziteit] vi.犹豫，踌躇 (初中英语单词)
- ignorance [´ignərəns] n.无知，愚昧 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- horizon [hə´raizən] n.地平线；范围；视野 (初中英语单词)
- despair [di´speə] vi.&n.绝望 (初中英语单词)
- gallant [´gælənt, gə´lænt] a.英勇的；华丽的 (初中英语单词)
- regularly [´regjuləli] ad.有规律地；经常地 (高中英语单词)
- martyr [´mɑ:tə] n.烈士；殉难者 (高中英语单词)
- manifest [´mænifest] a.明显的 v.表明 (高中英语单词)
- mutton [´mʌtn] n.羊肉 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- presume [pri´zju:m] v.假定；推测；以为 (高中英语单词)
- misfortune [mis´fɔ:tʃən] n.不幸；灾祸 (高中英语单词)
- finding [´faindiŋ] n.发现物；判断；结果 (高中英语单词)
- drought [draut] n.旱灾；干旱 (英语四级单词)
- energetic [,enə´dʒetik] a.精力旺盛的；有力的 (英语四级单词)
- decisive [di´saisiv] a.决定性的，确定的 (英语四级单词)
- breeches [´britʃiz] n.裤子；马裤 (英语四级单词)
- brandy [´brændi] n.白兰地酒 (英语四级单词)
- impatience [im´peiʃəns] n.不耐烦，急躁 (英语四级单词)
- admirer [əd´maiərə] n.赞美者，羡慕者 (英语四级单词)
- hunting [´hʌntiŋ] n.打猎 (英语六级单词)
- prevailing [pri´veiliŋ] a.占优势的；主要的 (英语六级单词)
- vexation [vek´seiʃən] n.烦恼(的原因) (英语六级单词)
- miserably [´mizərəbli] ad.悲惨地；糟糕地 (英语六级单词)
- practicable [´præktikəbəl] a.可实行的；适用的 (英语六级单词)
- sorely [´sɔ:li] ad.痛苦地；剧烈地 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- covert [kʌvət] a.隐藏的 n.隐藏处 (英语六级单词)
- surmise [´sə:maiz] n.&a.推测(的)；猜疑(的) (英语六级单词)
- despairing [di´speəriŋ] a.感到绝望的 (英语六级单词)
- backwards [´bækwədz] ad.向后 a.向后的 (英语六级单词)
- dashing [´dæʃiŋ] a.勇猛的；生气勃勃的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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