1 62 The Chase 



morning in the first week of February, and at least 

 two hundred well-mounted men by the cover's side. 

 Time being called — say a quarter past eleven, nearly 

 our great-grandfathers' dinner-hour — the hounds 

 approach the furze-brake, or the gorse, as it is called 

 in that region. " Hark hi^ hark ! " with a slight 

 cheer, and perhaps one wave of his cap, says Mr. 

 Osbaldeston, who long hunted his own pack, and in 

 an instant he has not a hound at his horse's heels. 

 In a very short time the gorse appears shaken in 

 various parts of the cover — apparently from an 

 unknown cause, not a single hound being for some 

 minutes visible. Presently one or two appear, leaping 

 over some old furze which they cannot push through, 

 and exhibit to the field their glossy skins and spotted 

 sides. " Oh, you beauties ! " exclaims some old Mel- 

 tonian, rapturously fond of the sport. Two minutes 

 more elapse ; another hound slips out of cover, and 

 takes a short turn outside, with his nose on the 

 ground and his stern lashing his side — thinking, no 

 doubt, he might touch on a drag, should Reynard 

 have been abroad in the night. Hounds have no 

 business to think^ thinks the whipper-in, who observes 

 him ; but one crack of his whip, with " Rasselas, 

 Rasselas, where are you going, Rasselas ? Get to 

 cover, Rasselas J " and Rasselas immediately disappears. 

 Five minutes more pass away. " No fox here," says 

 one. " Don't be in a hurry," cries Mr. Cradock ; 

 " they are drawing it beautifully, and there is rare 

 lying in it." These words are scarcely uttered, when 

 the cover shakes more than ever. Every stern appears 

 alive, and it reminds us of a corn-field waving in the 

 wind. In two minutes the sterns of some more 

 hounds are seen " flourishing " above the gorse. 

 " Have at him there,'^ holloas the Squire, — the gorse 

 still more alive, and hounds leaping over each other's 



