NIMRO&S NORTHERN TOUR. 187 



Tom Thumb ; is upwards of sixteen hands high ; goes in a plain 

 snaffle bridle, and as light in hand as a pony. I rode him twice 

 during my visit to Scotland, and therefore can -vouch for what I 

 have said. 



By-the-by, I must add one word more to the credit of this 

 lady as a horsewoman ; but if I were to relate all her feats, and 

 the number of miles she has ridden to and from hounds, and with 

 hounds, in one day, I should require second wind. Mr. Dalyell 

 told me that towards the end of the capital run I have alluded 

 to, when (as the Duke of Orleans said to me) " the field had 

 become select," he rode over a stile at which the ground at the 

 rising side was very rotten and bad. On looking back to see how 

 his lady managed it, he saw Tom Thumb who slipped, for 

 timber-jumping is not his forte on his head on the landing side, 

 having broken every bar. And where was his lady ? a la Snob 

 in the mud ? Not a bit of it : she was in her saddle, and rose, a 

 la Musters, with her horse. 



Burnside is a convenient house for a sportsman, sufficiently 

 large for a family of moderate pretensions, and pleasantly 

 situated three miles from Forfar, a good market town. It was 

 the residence of Lord Kintore when he hunted the country, and 

 no doubt has been the arena of many a jovial night. My first 

 evening under its roof could not fail to be a pleasant one, for in- 

 dependently of my host and hostess, a more amusing companion 

 than Major Wemyss is very rarely met with. His good nature 

 is proverbial ; there is no subject on which he cannot, at all 

 events on which he will not, discourse ; he has been everywhere 

 and seen everything ; and all who have seen him have seen a 

 devilish good-looking Scotchman, a fit mate or the finest young 

 woman in the land. Moreover he is very fond of hunting, and 

 is a coachman certainly of the first class ; and as Ascanius in 

 the field was Cupid in disguise, how is it that no female captive, 

 no Venus venatrix, has as yet fallen into the toils of this venator 

 Apollo ? 



The late Lord Forester used to say, that the best music to his 

 ears in the month of December, was the clatter of pattens in the 

 streets of Melton about ten o'clock at night, as he was then sure 

 of a hunting day on the morrow. The morrow of this day told 

 a different tale ; there was every appearance of a shut- up for 

 some time to come ; and as I was, by invitation, engaged to 

 spend my Christmas at Keith Hall, the seat of the Earl of Kin- 

 tore, and as all brother-huntsman have a carte-blanche there, 

 Mr. Dalyell agreed to accompany me to Aberdeen, on our road 

 thither. I will give a short account of our start. 



It is impossible that some of my readers may not have heard 



