THE CRITICS OF 191 



Thy wit ne'er wounded, yet the contest won, 

 For at thy jests the gravest dullard smiled, 

 Last scion of an ancient Scottish line, 

 Whose old folks live to mourn their only son." 



I have always contended that his riding and hunting 

 abihties were equal to his literary abilities. This opinion 

 has often been contradicted by people who do not 

 understand Whyte-Melville's system of hunting. His 

 motto was, " Do the thing handsomely, or let it alone"; 

 and so, not being able to afford to have three hundred 

 guineas beneath him, he was contented to see the fun 

 of the fair without evincing the jealousy of the so-called 

 first flight men. His horses were certainly not of the 

 confidential sort. On one occasion he was asked, 

 " How many animals are you master of this season ? " 

 and his reply was, " Not one, but I have four brutes in 

 the stable that are masters of me." With a fine temper, 

 nice hands, and a sympathy between himself and his 

 horse that rarely has been equalled, he never irritated 

 the animal he was riding, but would coax it into seemly 

 behaviour by the use of his tongue. He used to talk 

 to his horse, but one of his own lines can express his 

 feelings better than any words of mine, viz., " Are you 

 not a horse and a brother ? " 



Those who knew him will remember his favourite 



expression, " What d d fools men are ! " He had 



experienced the follies of youth, when as a subaltern he 

 gambled at Crockford's, and could sympathise in 

 late years with those who allowed the excitement of 

 gambling to gain the victory over discretion. Indeed, 

 it was his sympathy in every path of life which endeared 



