288 NIMROD'S NORTHERN TOUR. 



calling it only a " running thrush." Like the knight errants of old, who 

 would not complain of their wounds, though their very bones were drop- 

 ping through them, be suffers not such matters as this to keep him 

 away from his hounds, as I can here also bring proof. During my visit 

 to Dunse, I received a letter from him in which was the following" 

 notable passage: — " I had a bad fall on Tuesday (11th Nov.) and hurt 

 my chest and ribs, but forty ounces of blood and a ball (i. e. physick) 

 have reduced the inflammatory symptoms, and, Deo volente, 1 hope to be 

 with 'em again on Monday 1" This reminds me of Jack Stevens and 

 his broken blood-vessel, when he whipped in to the Quorn ; and shows 

 how difficult it is to check the predominant passion of man. 



It has been so often said, as to be generally believed, that the true 

 characters of men may be found in their letters. All those I have seen 

 from Lord Kintore, not only to myself but to others, exhibit— independ- 

 ently of general benevolence, or particular esteem — a zeal and passion 

 for fox-hunting that I cannot think is equalled by any human being. 

 His description of a good day's sport — (I wish I dared transcribe one, in 

 a letter to Mr. Dalyell, whilst I was at his house, commencing with the 

 words, " Hark, holloa," or one to myself, describing a run with a second 

 fox, in which a lot of young hounds had been at the head) — conveys the 

 justest idea of an overflow of soul that ever came under my observation, 

 and assures me that the writer, in the reality of what he is describing, 

 has himself experienced the very elixir of delight. But this is the pe- 

 culiar, the distinguishing, characteristic of fox-hunting ; other pastimes 

 please, this alone delights — unless we include music. 



But Lord Kintore inherited this passion for the chase. The late 

 Earl, his father, was equally as zealous in the field, and had the follow- 



