‘What do you draw first?’ asked Jack.

‘Draw -- draw -- draw,’ replied Puffington. ‘Oh, we’ll draw Rabbitborough Gorse -- that’s a new cover I’ve enclosed on my pro--o--rperty.’

‘Sc-e-e-use me, sir,’ replied Bragg, with a smile, and another rap of the cap: ‘sc-e-e-use me, sir, but I’m going to Hollyburn Hanger first.’

‘Ah, well, Hollyburn Hanger,’ replied Puffington, complacently; ‘either will do very well.’

If Puff had proposed Hollyburn Hanger, Bragg would have said Rabbitborough Gorse.

The move of the hounds caused a rush of gentlemen to their horses, and there was the usual scramblings up, and fidgetings, and funkings, and who--o--hayings and drawing of girths, and taking up of curbs, and lengthening and shortening of stirrups.

Captain Guano couldn’t get his stirrups to his liking anyhow. ‘’Ord hang these leathers,’ roared he, clutching up a stirrup-iron; ‘who the devil would ever have sent one out a huntin’ with a pair of new stirrup-leathers?’

‘Hang you and the stirrup-leathers,’ growled the groom, as his master rode away; ‘you’re always wantin’ sumfin to find fault with. I’m blowed if it aren’t a disgrace to an oss to carry such a man,’ added he, eyeing the chestnut fidgeting and wincing as the captain worked away at the stirrups.

Mr Bragg trotted briskly on with the hounds, preceded by Joe Banks the first whip, and having Jack Swipes the second, and Tom Stot, riding together behind him, to keep off the crowd.

Thus the cavalcade swept down the avenue, crossed the Swillingford turnpike, and took through a well- kept field road, which speedily brought them to the cover -- rough, broomy, brushwood-covered banks, of about three acres in extent, lying on either side of the little Hollyburn Brook, one of the tiny streams that in angry times helped to swell the Swill into a river.

‘Dim all these foot people!’ exclaimed Mr Bragg, in well-feigned disgust, as he came in view, and found all the Swillingford snobs, all the tinkers, and tailors, and cobblers, and poachers, and sheep-stealers, all the scowling, rotten-fustianed, baggy-pocketed scamps of the country ranged round the cover, some with dogs, some with guns, some with snares, and all with sticks or staffs. ‘Well, I’m dimmed if ever I seed sich a --’ The rest of the speech being lost amidst the exclamations of -- ‘A! the hunds! the hunds! hoop! tally-o the hunds!’ and a general rush of the ruffians to meet them.

Captain Guano, who had now come up, joined in the denunciation, inwardly congratulating himself on the probability that the first cover, at least, would be drawn blank.

Tom Washball, who was riding a very troublesome tail-foremost grey, also censured the proceeding.

And Mr Puffington, still an ‘amaazin’ instance of a pop’lar man,’ exclaimed, as he rode among them, ‘Ah! my good fellows, I’d rather you’d come up and had some ale than disturbed the cover;’ a hint that the wily ones immediately took, rushing up to the house, and availing themselves of the absence of the butler, who had followed the hounds, to take a couple of dozen of his best fiddle-handled forks while the footman was drawing them the ale.

The whips being duly signalled by Bragg to their points -- Brick to the north corner, Swipes to the south -- and the field being at length drawn up to his liking, Mr Bragg looked at Mr Puffington for his signal (the only piece of interference he allowed him), at a nod Mr Bragg gave a waive of his cap, and the pack dashed into cover with a cry --

‘Yo-o-icks -- wind him! Yoi-o-icks -- pash him up!’ cheered Bragg, standing erect in his stirrups, eyeing the hounds spreading and sniffing about, now this way, now that -- now pushing through a thicket, now