THE CHACE. 
Several scrambles, but only one fall, occur at this 
"rasper," all having nearly enough of the killing pace ; 
and a mile and a half further, the second horses are 
fallen in with, just in the nick of time. A short check 
from the stain of sheep makes everything comfortable, 
and the Squire having hit off his fox like a workman, 
thirteen men, out of two hundred, are fresh mounted 
and with the hounds, which settle to the scent again at 
a truly killing pace. 
" Hold hard, Holyoake!" exclaims Mr. Osbaldeston 
(now mounted on Clasher) , knowing what double-quick 
time he would be marching to, with fresh pipes to play 
upon and the crowd well shaken off; "pray don't 
press 'em too hard, and we shall be sure to kill our 
fox.* Have at him there, Abigail and Fickle, good 
bitches ! see what a head they are carrying ! I '11 bet 
a thousand they kill him." The country appears better 
and better. " He 's taking a capital line," exclaims Sir 
Harry Goodricke, as he points out to Sir James Mus- 
grave two young Furrier hounds, who are particularly 
distinguishing themselves at the moment. "Worth a 
dozen Reform Bills," shouts Sir Francis Burdett, sitting 
erect upon Sampson f, and putting his head straight at 
a yawner. " We shall have the Whissendine brook," 
cries Mr. Maher, who knows every field in the country, 
"for he is making straight for Teigh." "And a bumper, 
* One peculiar excellence in Mr. Osbaldeston's hounds, was their 
steadiness under pressure by the crowd. 
+ A favourite hunter of the baronet's, which he once honoured by 
coming all the way from London to Melton to ride one day with hounds. 
