132 NIM ROD'S NORTHERN TOUR. 



Frank was not so fortunate. His young thorough-bred one 

 rolled over him once, and then knocked him down with his head r 

 making so complete a pie-ball of his exterior as to have an irre- 

 sistibly ludicrous effect. This, added to the coolness with which 

 this fine old sportsman endured all the buffeting and besmearing 

 he received from the impetuosity of his nag (for he kept up a sort 

 of conversation with him all the time, such as " What are you 

 about, man ? you are in a devil of a hurry this morning") so pro- 

 voked my risible faculties that when I got upon sound ground 

 nearly a minute elapsed ere I could mount my horse. Frank, 

 however, was in his saddle in the twinkling of an eye, and putting 

 the young one at a wall rather a queerish place, by-the-by, in 

 a corner soon piloted me to the hounds, which we got up to 

 just in time to witness the destruction to our sport, by the cours- 

 ing of our fox by the " collie," as a sheep-dog is called in Scot- 

 land. Neither did we gain much by the straight cut we had 

 taken through the turbary, for a few of those who had gone round 

 to avoid this bog got to the hounds rather before we did, thus 

 verifying the adage, that the farthest way about is often the 

 nearest way home. This run lasted forty-five minutes, but there 

 was nothing like pace after the first ten minutes. This was a 

 very great disappointment to me, for had the fox not been coursed 

 by the dog, but taken over the fine country that was before him-, 

 there would have" been a fine display of horsemanship, as all the 

 best men in the country were in the field. We found a second 

 fox, but he was so hard pressed by the pack, who appeared to 

 have a burning scent, that he had not courage to break cover 

 until he was so blown that he crept into the first little drain he 

 could find a conduit across a road from whence he was bolted 

 and killed after having been not more than fifteen minutes on 

 his legs but they were fifteen minutes of peril to him, for the 

 pack were never many yards from his brush. This was a capital 

 scenting day. 



The duke rode to Edinburgh after the first run nearer fifty 

 than forty miles having a relay of hacks on the road, one of 

 which I saw at the inn at Carfrae-mill. 



Williamson did not please me by his operations at this drain. 

 In the first place, why bolt his fox at all ? Surely his hounds 

 could not have wanted blood, and this fox might have shown 

 him a clipper on some future day. " Murdering foxes/' says Mr. 

 Meynell, " is a most absurd prodigality seasoned foxes are as 

 necessary to sport as experienced hounds ;" and I am decidedly 

 of his opinion. Then again, he neither gave his fox a chance 

 for his life, nor, consequently, his field a chance of a gallop, as 

 almost every hound was within ten yar4s of the drain when he 



