364 ' NIMROD^S NORTHERN TOUR. 



mention in my note-book ; but it occurs to my recollection from two or 

 three circumstances connected with it. First, I rode that capital hunter 

 Tom Thumb, since sold by Mr. Dalyell, to the Duke of Beaufort; 

 secondly, that we ran one fox over part of the Grampian hills; and, 

 lastly, that we had the usual luck of this part of Scotland, in running- 

 two foxes to ground, one of which, being close to a farm house, was dug 

 to and killed soon after he was bolted. The scent was wretchedly bad, 

 and a bitch called Goneril, was the only hound in the pack, that at one 

 particular check would own it, on a dry path, in a lane, and on very light 

 ground. *' Oh, Goneril," says Albany, in Lear, *'you are not worth 

 the dust which the rude wind blows in your face." Mr. Dalyell must 

 have been of a different opinion, when he cheered hh Goneril this day. 



A gentleman dined with us in the evening at Burnside, whose name 

 stands high in Scotland — Mr. Guthrie, of Guthrie ; and there was 

 another of Mr. Dalyell's guests, during this visit to him, especially 

 invited to meet me, and who is really worthy a niche in the gallery of 

 sporting characters. This was the celebrated Forfarshire Yeoman, of 

 whom I have before spoken, as having witnessed, and given an account 

 of the phenomenon of the " twa geese on one dish," at Captain Barclay's 

 annual-sale blowout at Ury. His name is Proctor, but generally known 

 as " Jock Proctor," to distinguish him from his brother — and brother 

 bachelor too — who resides in the same bouse with him, and assists in 

 the management of a large and fine farm'which lies contiguous to the great 

 road from Forfar to Edinburgh. But Jock has another farm, which he 

 took many years back on a long lease, from the late Duke of Gordon, 

 and he has so improved it by good management, that he receives from 

 the under-tenant the sum of 365/. per annum, over and above what he 



