nine o'clock
From weakness in his forelegs , he had become a capital buck-jumper , as I think Cathcart called him , always alighting over a hedge on his hind legs , instead of his fore ones , which was as much easier for John Smith as for Hop o ' my Thumb -- that was the name of the old horse , he being sixteen hands , at least . But I beg my reader 's pardon for troubling him with all this about my horse , for , assuredly , neither he nor I will perform any deed of prowess in his presence . But I have the weakness of garrulity in regard to a predilection from the indulgence of which circumstances have debarred me . At nine o'clock my friend and I started upon hacks for the meet . Now , I am not going to describe the `` harrow and weal away ! '' with which the soul of poor Reynard is hunted out of the world -- if , indeed , such a clever wretch can have a soul . I daresay -- I hope , at least , that the argument of the fox-hunter is analogically just , who , being expostulated with on the cruelty of fox-hunting , replied -- `` Well , you know , the hounds like it ; and the horses like it ; and there 's no doubt the men like it -- and who knows whether the fox does n't like it too ? ''