The Sport of Our (^Ancestors 



tion of the blackthorn, left uncut, leans outwards from 

 the hedge, somewhat about breast-high. This large fence 

 is taken by all now with the hounds — some to the right and 

 some to the left of the direct line ; but the little bay horse 

 would have no more of it. Snob puts him twice at it, and 

 manfully too, but the wind is out of him, and he has no 

 power to rise. 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 hardy 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 

 Musgrave two young Furrier hounds, who are particularly 

 distinguishing themselves at the moment. ' Worth a dozen 

 Reform Bills,' shouts Sir Francis Burdett, sitting erect upon 



^ One peculiar excellence in Mr. Osbaldeston's hounds was their steadi- 

 ness under pressure by the crowd. 



172 



