198 NIMROUS NORTHERN TOUR. 



must be a poor concern that can't afford to lose a hound or 

 two."* 



Somerville, in his poem on hunting, says on the air depends 

 the huntsman's hopes. Lord Kintore would add, " on the winds," 

 for nothing seems so much to blast his hopes of a good day's 

 sport as to hear " old Boreas," as he calls this restless deity, at 

 his work. That great preceptor of the art of fox-hunting, Mr. 

 Beckford, had, it seems, an equal aversion to high wind, for he 

 tells us that, on very windy days, the best place for hounds is 

 their kennel. Like all other masters of hounds, his Lordship is 

 a great admirer of Beckford, which is evident by the notes he 

 has made on his book, of which, indeed, it may be said, as of the 

 poems of Euripides, that every line contains a precept. 



To sum up all there is no conceit about Lord Kintore as a 

 huntsman ; on the contrary, he never fails to acknowledge the 

 benefit of experience in others, and candidly professes that he 

 lives to learn. Such is the path that leads towards perfection. 

 His personal appearance in that character is good and appro- 

 priate. Although he has not, k la Darlington, the straight cut 

 coat, the cap and the belt, yet his single-breasted bit of pink, the 

 striped toilanette waistcoat, with a step collar and gilt buttons, 

 and the double-knotted neckcloth, all look like business. The 

 boots would do for St. James's Street ; but there is something 

 particularly " varmint" about the breeches, very dark coloured 

 corduroys, and cut off the same piece with those of his two 

 whippers-in, of whom I shall speak hereafter. 



To the English reader it may scarcely be necessary to men- 

 tion, that, independently of his Scotch countries, Lord Kintore 

 hunted, for three seasons, what is called the Vale of White Horse 

 country, in Berkshire and Wiltshire. It is only his due to state 

 and surely no part of that due should be withheld from a 

 sportsman who, like himself, brought his hounds five hundred 

 miles to hunt it that he gave great satisfaction to his fields. in 

 the Vale of White Horse, and his retirement was much regretted. 

 Being, however, always anxious to produce proofs for assertions 

 of this nature, I have one ready at hand. " Kintore," said a very 

 old friend of mine, who resides in that country, but who never 

 hunted a dozen times in his life, " I am sorry to hear you are 

 about to leave us. Perhaps you do so from prudential motives, 



* Ecce signum. " I've lost a young bitch by old Governor, out of 

 Bounty, by the distemper, that I would not have taken twenty guineas 

 for. I never shall call you the * mighty and immortal Nimrod,' until 

 you find out a remedy for this dreadful malady in the canine race.'* 

 Extract of a letter from Lord Kintore to Nimrod, Jan. 27, 1835. 



