NIMROUS NORTHERN TOUR. 27 



small loss Mr. Campbell was the only one of the party to whom 

 I was quite unknown. Mr. Hay I had visited when he hunted 

 Warwickshire. Lord Saltoun "the Hero of Hougomont," as 

 Lord Kintore calls him I had met at Melton just twenty-two 

 years before, being the last season of his hunting there ; and of 

 Mr. McDowal Grant's hospitality I had partaken when himself, 

 Captain Ross, and Mr. Francis Grant kept "a roaring house" 

 together, at Melton, in 1818. Our dinner was of the old fox- 

 hunter's stamp plain roast and boiled, but everything good of 

 its sort, and the claret such as might be expected Mr. George 

 Wauchope, of Leith, would send to his brother sportsmen at 

 Dunse ; or Messrs. Hope and Bruce, of the same place, to their 

 countrymen and friends. 



Monday, loth. This was a day of no small interest to me, as 

 it was the first of my seeing hounds in Scotland, and the second 

 of my seeing them anywhere else for nearly five years. The 

 fixture was Greenburn, about four miles from Dunse, in a hilly 

 and bad country. We had a pretty find with the first fox, and 

 a chance of a run, as he broke cover favourably ; but being 

 headed by a boy, he put his head down wind over light plough, 

 and was soon lost. We had two brace of foxes more on foot in 

 the course of the day, but could do nothing for want of the 

 needful. In fact it was not a hunting day ; and perhaps well 

 for me it was not, for I found the horse I rode had no preten- 

 sions to following hounds, and particularly in that country, 

 where wind and speed of which, he possessed neither were 

 wanted. One of the beauties of fox-hunting, however, consists 

 in the pleasure of the day not being entirely dependent on good 

 sport, which neither hounds nor country can command ; and 

 the agremens of society also make some amends. For example, 

 an excellent anecdote was this day told me of that celebrated 

 sportsman, the late Mr. Baird (father of Sir David), who for 

 many years kept hounds in Scotland. There is in the neigh- 

 bourhood of Greenburn or speaking more classically, as the 

 place is renowned in history there is in Lammermuir a very 

 high hill called Cockburn Law, which, however, foxes often face 

 before hounds. On one of these occasions, a smart young 

 writer from Edinburgh brought his horse to a standstill in at- 

 tempting to follow them over it, and being a tyro in the art, 

 thought he was dying on the spot. " Oh, Mr. Baird," exclaimed 

 he, as that gentleman gave him the go by, " what can be the 

 matter with my horse ?" " Nothing at all, sir," replied Mr. 

 Baird, "he has only got Cockburn Law in his throat" A better 

 definition of a blown horse, and an inexperienced horseman, 

 could not possibly have been given, and the readiness with 



