the hunters are out, the only piece of sport I have seen this month; and you lie here, Master, on a bed that has little to recommend it, except that it may be something softer than the stone floor of your ancestors' vault."
"I wish," said Ravenswood, raising his head peevishly, "you had forborne so early a jest, Mr Hayston—it is really no pleasure to lose the very short repose which I had just begun to enjoy, after a night spent in thoughts upon fortune far harder than my couch, Bucklaw."
"Pshaw! pshaw!" replied his guest, "get up—get up—the hounds are abroad—I have saddled the horses myself, for old Caleb was calling for grooms and lacqueys, and would never have proceeded without two hour's apology, for the absence of men that were a hundred miles off—get up, Master—I say the hounds are out—get up, I say—the hunt is up." And off ran Bucklaw.
"And I say," said the Master, rising
