f4 NIMRO&S NORTHERN TOUR. 



was sold." I was told to look out of the window through a 

 telescope, which would make me see every object double. " It 

 must be a treat," said I to myself, " to see two beautiful lakes, 

 with their finely timbered banks, adjoining each other ;' ? so 

 putting the instrument to my eye, I gravely looked out for dame 

 Nature's twins. Now, although I could see nothing, I could 

 hear something that soon convinced me I was " sold." It was, 

 in fact, not a telescope, but a silver tube resembling a telescope, 

 for the purpose of conveying brandy to the moors, and, no doubt, 

 if applied to the mouth in lieu of the eye, would soon make one 

 see everything double. 



" But if one power did not both hear and see, 

 Our sights and sounds would always double be." 



Monday, 17th. Lord Elcho met this day at Elmford-bank, in 

 a very wild country, and one apparently short of foxes. We 

 had, however, rather a good thing in the evening of seven or 

 eight miles an end,- from Cockburn-law to Dunse-wood, where, 

 landing amongst a host of foxes, nothing more could be done. 

 In the course of the ring our fox skirted Dunse-law, where once 

 upon a time twenty thousand men were in arms for the purpose 

 of murdering twenty thousand other men in arms, unless they 

 said their prayers after the same form that they themselves 

 said them ! No doubt they called this " religion," but I call it 

 by a very opposite name. 



Tuesday, i8th. This was a day big with great events. Im- 

 primis it was the one that was to usher me for the first time in 

 my life not only into the field with the Duke of Buccleuch's 

 hounds, but, what I thought still more of at the moment, into 

 the presence of their crack huntsman and " king of servants," as 

 Lord Kintore calls him the noted William Williamson alias 

 Will, alias the Laird of St. Boswell's ; of whom I had been led 

 to expect all that belongs to knowledge and experience on the 

 art of hunting fox-hounds the said William Williamson, alias 

 Will, alias the Laird of St. BoswelPs, having whipped-in to, and 

 hunted fox-hounds thirty-two seasons, with only one interruption 

 from a fall, in which he broke his arm ! How far these expecta- 

 tions were realized, will appear in due time* 



But this was a day memorable on another account. It pro- 

 duced, as allowed to be, one of the finest runs ever seen over 

 Scotland. The place of meeting was Stitchel, the fine seat of 

 Sir John Pringle, Bart, about ten miles from Dunse, where a 

 large field from all sides of the country were assembled, but un- 

 fortunately for himself, though fortunately for his horses, the 



