Fox Hunting in Scotland 275 



ually lessens as you ascend to the clouds where the bleak winds 

 keep it shingled short. Long or short, its purple blossoms lend 

 colour to its own dark brown shrubbery, so that this wonderful 

 carpet is seen in all the varying shades between brown and pur- 

 ple, depending on the light and shadows or the angle of the 

 hills and undulations as they meet the eye. Who can resist 

 falling in love with Bonnie Scotland! 



Of course we were wet to the skin and twenty-one miles 

 from home; but in all Scotland there were not two happier 

 men than rode the distance through repeated rain storms, los- 

 ing our waj% but finally by climbing a sign post and striking 

 matches to illuminate the arms, we were put right. Reaching 

 the main road, King Arthur gave a neigh of delight, for he 

 knew where he was. ISIr. McDougal mistaking the meaning, 

 remarked, "dinna ye be greeting (crying) laddie, yon are 

 the lights o' Kilmarnock." 



We reached our destination quite fit for supper and the 

 rather long night cap which Madam had in pickle for us. This 

 we saw at a glance by the tea kettle simmering by the open 

 grate fire. "Is it to your liking?" inquired the good housewife. 

 "Splendid," we replied, but McDougal in characteristic Scotch 

 replied, "It's na too bad, it's a wee mite sweet, perhaps, but 

 a'm thinking t'will do." Then looking slyly over the top of his 

 steaming glass he adds, "A dinna ken but a'm thinking it 

 might ha' been worse." 



We offered a toast to the health of all the McDougals — 

 may their shadows never grow less ; to all the late comers at the 

 meet — may they never lose heart ; to the foxes of the fells and 

 the moor — may they ever continue to show hounds the way; 

 and the Kilmarnock hunt — may it always have sport ; and last 

 to mention, but first in our hearts, Bonnie Scotland forever. 



