seven o'clock
The steam crawled out of the dank turf , and reeked off the flanks and nostrils of the shivering horses , and clung with clammy paws to frosted hats and dripping boughs . A soulless , skyless , catarrhal day , as if that bustling dowager , old mother Earth -- what with match-making in spring , and fetes champetres in summer , and dinner-giving in autumn -- was fairly worn out , and put to bed with the influenza , under wet blankets and the cold-water cure . There sat Lancelot by the cover-side , his knees aching with cold and wet , thanking his stars that he was not one of the whippers-in who were lashing about in the dripping cover , laying up for themselves , in catering for the amusement of their betters , a probable old age of bed-ridden torture , in the form of rheumatic gout . Not that he was at all happy -- indeed , he had no reason to be so ; for , first , the hounds would not find ; next , he had left half-finished at home a review article on the Silurian System , which he had solemnly promised an abject and beseeching editor to send to post that night ; next , he was on the windward side of the cover , and dare not light a cigar ; and lastly , his mucous membrane in general was not in the happiest condition , seeing that he had been dining the evening before with Mr. Vaurien of Rottenpalings , a young gentleman of a convivial and melodious turn of mind , who sang -- and played also -- as singing men are wont -- in more senses than one , and had ` ladies and gentlemen ' down from town to stay with him ; and they sang and played too ; and so somehow between vingt-un and champagne-punch , Lancelot had not arrived at home till seven o'clock that morning , and was in a fit state to appreciate the feelings of our grandfathers , when , after the third bottle of port , they used to put the black silk tights into their pockets , slip on the leathers and boots , and ride the crop-tailed hack thirty miles on a winter 's night , to meet the hounds in the next county by ten in the morning . They are ` gone down to Hades , even many stalwart souls of heroes , ' with John Warde of Squerries at their head -- the fathers of the men who conquered at Waterloo ; and we their degenerate grandsons are left instead , with puny arms , and polished leather boots , and a considerable taint of hereditary disease , to sit in club-houses , and celebrate the progress of the species . Whether Lancelot or his horse , under these depressing circumstances , fell asleep ; or whether thoughts pertaining to such a life , and its fitness for a clever and ardent young fellow in the nineteenth century , became gradually too painful , and had to be peremptorily shaken off , this deponent sayeth not ; but certainly , after five-and - thirty minutes of idleness and shivering , Lancelot opened his eyes with a sudden start , and struck spurs into his hunter without due cause shown ; whereat Shiver-the-timbers , who was no Griselda in temper -- -LRB- Lancelot had bought him out of the Pytchley for half his value , as unrideably vicious , when he had killed a groom , and fallen backwards on a rough-rider , the first season after he came up from Horncastle -RRB- -- responded by a furious kick or two , threw his head up , put his foot into a drain , and sprawled down all but on his nose , pitching Lancelot unawares shamefully on the pommel of his saddle . A certain fatality , by the bye , had lately attended all Lancelot 's efforts to shine ; he never bought a new coat without tearing it mysteriously next day , or tried to make a joke without bursting out coughing in the middle ... and now the whole field were looking on at his mishap ; between disgust and the start he turned almost sick , and felt the blood rush into his cheeks and forehead as he heard a shout of coarse jovial laughter burst out close to him , and the old master of the hounds , Squire Lavington , roared aloud -- ` A pretty sportsman you are , Mr. Smith , to fall asleep by the cover - side and let your horse down -- and your pockets , too !