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and leinavked that he never perspired during the run. Poor 

 Aird ! he took to his bed shortly afterwards, and died of 

 cholera. Aird, although he did not say much, bad a great 

 deal of quiet humour about him, and was a great favourite. 

 He had a curious old horse called the " Pig." A story is told 

 of him, credat judceus, that in drawing some coverts in the 

 high country above Mains, they came to a wall that was 

 unjumpable, but that Aird got off and gave the Pig " a back," 

 and he got over the field, going round by Shuffler's bottom. 

 I was out that day, but I can't say I saw the occurrence. A 

 portrait of Mr. Aird, painted by subscription, and presented 

 to him, hangs in the smoking-room at Kilmardiuuy, the 

 residence of R Dalglish, Esq., who was always a great friend 

 of his. A likeness of the " Pig" also hangs not very far off 

 the old man. Peace be to his " manes." 



Mr. Pollock of Broom kept a pack of harriers in the Mearns 

 country for some time. He had some very fair sport. Mr. 

 George Stoddart being one of the best men with them, he was 

 very fond of making young uns, and many a cropper he got. 

 When Mr. Pollock went to Ireland, Mr. John Hamilton of 

 Greenbank took the hounds over, but owing to the great 

 increase of wire, he was obliged to give up the country. I 

 must not forget to mention that when Lord Eglinton hunted 

 the country during the interregnum, when the Colonel went 

 up to Lanarkshire for a season, he showed some excellent 

 sport. One extraordinary long run he once had. Finding 

 an afternoon fox at Trees gorse, he ran him on to the Brimmer, 

 and killed by moonlight. Another very sharp thing took 

 place from the Shaw wood. Found at once, he pointed as 

 for Gleniffer, went very near to Glenfield, but turning to the 

 left, along the face of the hills, went up past the Quarry, 

 where a good many of them were leading, away over a fine 

 grass country to the Game wood, going through which, he 

 then bent away up to the Duchielaw, and down to Graham's 

 gorse, round the face of the hill, nearly to Crofthead, where, 

 as it was getting dark, his Lordsliip whipped off. In this run 

 Mr. Taylor, " champion comique," killed his celebrated trotting 



