1 34 Saddle and Sirloin. 



was " the marvellous exposition of the fine arts of the 

 dairy" in a tent, where butter temples were built to 

 the sylvan gods, and rare skinned eggs were arranged 

 in plates. Of course we drank to the fair designers of 

 such architecture ; and Mr. Donkin, who had recently 

 told us, with his wonted wealth of expression, of a 

 villa near Corbridge, " an embellished abode fit for 

 Juno and her peacocks," and "the splendour of whose 

 floral and arbiferous productions might tempt an 

 angel down," eulogised the ladies generally to their 

 faces as " the roses and the lilies" of the day. 



There is gladness too at the board when Sir 

 Matthew (the chairman) tells that the Privy Council 

 have withdrawn their edict, and that the Irish ram 

 buyers will be at Kelso that year. As we travel 

 towards Chillingham next day, " the Barmshires" 

 seem to be everywhere, save in Chevington Wood, 

 that reclaimed fox cover, where the shaggy stots from 

 Falkirk are up to their knees amid the young oaks 

 and heather. We have them in the foreground, as we 

 sweep past Chrisp's, of Hawkhill, whose bulls Manfred 

 and Phoenix are not the least in the annals of the 

 " Herd Book" and the show-yard. Mr. Bosanquet, of 

 The Rock, has another century of rams coming for- 

 ward for Kelso, with rare size and skins, on those fine 

 undulating slopes not far from Howick Hall. The 

 Coquet, so renowned for its fishing songs, flows over 

 its rocky bed from the moors, and we connect to its 

 name, not with trout merely, but with many a good 

 coursing day, Dr. Richardson and King Death. A 

 peep at Falloden as our train hurries past reveals Sir 

 George Grey " slaking the thirst of battle" in St. 

 Stephens, with a quiet book on his drive ; and now we 

 are bowling into the little town of Belford, to whose 

 Old Bell, with those comfortable red curtains, Lord 

 Wemyss comes thrice a season for a fortnight at a 

 time. The way from there to Chillingham is over a 

 fine, wild moor, of which Will Williamson might say 



