Clear and beautiful was the dawn of morning on Monday, the 12th of September, betokening weather perfectly delightful for carrying into effect the deerstalking expedition to the forest of Glenartney, which Lord Willoughby de Eresby had planned for the amusement of his royal guest, Prince Albert.

Glenartney has been already alluded to when passing down Stratherne by Comrie, the river Ruchill there joining the Erne, having its origin in the forest. Let not the Cockney suppose that the word forest necessarily implies a district covered with noble oaks, chestnuts, or trees of any other description. The first meaning of the word may have been that of a wooded country, but in our old times it was applied to a large extent of surface, whether wooded or not, set apart by royal edict for the wild beasts and fowls of chase, certain laws being established within its precincts. A forest, as the word was strictly taken in early times, could not be in the hands of any one but the king ; but, in later periods, forests have become the property of subjects, or have been created by them, though without being protected by forest laws. The Royal forest in the Isle of Wight, in which there is not a tree, is not the only English example still remaining of the view here taken of this old meaning of the word. Where the soil was rich, such a tract of country, so appropriated, naturally became woodland, and in this way the original meaning of the word may have again become applicable. From this cause, the forests long appropriated in Scotland as a range for red-deer, may have some woods about their lower outskirts, as that of Braemar, and some others; but, in general, they are altogether devoid of trees, or even bushes, the defences of the stag consisting in the wild nature of the ground—its bareness, which allows him to see strange objects at the distance of several miles from the spot where he and his hinds may be feeding —and in the strongholds of the steep and lofty mountains, in the seamed parts of which are found those large hollows, sloping outwards, surrounded on three sides by high and frequently inaccessible, and often shivered precipices, called, in deer-stalking language, by their Gaelic name of corries, in which the deer delight to dwell, and from which they issue to bound upwards to the breezy ridges of the mountains for better outlook, or to follow the rills that issue from them downwards to better pasture below. He who in painting an ideal picture of a Highland forest, therefore, should select a portion of the noble oak scenery of the New Forest, or of Windsor, for his study from nature, would commit a most lamentable error.

The forest of Glenartney has on its north and western borders the high mountains of Stuck-a-chrom, Benvoirlich, and their associates, rising out of the southern side of Loclierne. The deer have it thus in their power to occupy some lofty positions, and the intricacies produced by the lower supports of these mountains are such as to give them great advantages. The forest abounds in streams, having rich vegetation on their banks, and its whole surface is naturally good deer pasture.1 In the words of old Donald Cameron, Lord Willoughby’s head forester, who has now been in Glenartney upwards of forty years, “The nature of the ground is good and healthy, interspersed with heath and rashes, and natural grass, and it is beautiful to the eye of a traveller,”—that is, to the eye of a traveller who, like Donald, has all his life been looking after deer— or to the eye of the enthusiastic traveller, who loves to look upon nature in some of her wildest forms ;—but for the eye that loves the deep repose of nature, beneath the giant limbs of oaks, whose thickset tops, spreading over roods of ground, produce an ever-enduring shade throughout the whole of the grand aisles of that leafy edifice, supported by their huge and knotted stems, save where a transient sunbeam may break through some accidental opening above to chequer the solemn ground—such a scene as Glenartney would be absolute barrenness. Like the greater part of Scotland, it was probably at one period covered with trees, as Sir Walter Scott, in his beautiful poem of Lord Eonald’s Coronach, supposes, from the simile he employs for the chieftain whose lament he is pouring out—

“Och-hone-a-rie’! Och-lione-a-rie’!
The pride of Albiu’s line is o’er,
And fall’n Glenartney’s stateliest tree—
We ne’er shall see Lord Ronald more!”

It had been announced by Lord Willoughby, that Mr. Campbell of Monzie, one of the most active deer-stalkers in Scotland, and one who is well acquainted with every foot of the forest of Glenartney, should accompany Prince Albert to the forest, for the purpose of taking him up to a deer. The Prince and Lord Willoughby set out in an open carnage and four for the lodge of Dalelathick, at six o’clock in the morning, attended by His Royal Highness’s jiiger. The distance to the lodge is ten miles, and on reaching it at seven o’clock, they found Mr. Campbell of Monzie, and Donald Cameron, faithful to tryst.

The moment the open carriage stopped, the Prince laid his hand on its side, and vaulted lightly out upon the ground. Advancing towards Monzie with the utmost affability, he said, “Mr. Campbell, I understand you are to show me the forest, and how to kill a deer.” Monzie replied, he had been informed that he was to have that honour. He trusted that the Prince would excuse that free-masonry which was essential in deer-stalking, as it was hopeless to attempt to succeed without it, and that for himself he was not one of the court, courtly, and would require the indulgence of His Royal Highness. The Prince assured him, that he would place himself entirely under his guidance, and that he would follow it implicitly. He then put some questions about the weather—asked whether it was favourable for the sport, and inquired whether his dress, which was a grey Glengarry bonnet, with a shooting-coat and trowsers of the same colour, would do for deer-stalking; and on Monzie assuring him that it was in all respects perfect, he proposed starting immediately for the mountains of the forest, which were seen rising in huge and lofty masses at some miles distance towards the north. A Highland pony was in readiness, which he mounted. Lord Willoughby and Mr. Campbell both offered to carry his rifle, but this he would by no means allow, and he instantly slung it over his own back, saying, “I am riding, and you are walking;” and from thenceforward the Prince continued to carry it himself during the whole day. Lord Willoughby had arranged that the party should include no one but the individuals already mentioned, as nothing is more destructive to deer-stalking than being followed by “a tail." It happened, from some accident, that Monzie did not bring any hounds with him.

The party now went rapidly up the side of the forest burn, and after a considerable walk Monzie discovered a large herd of deer on the brow of Coireangain, or the Hindsbackcorry. The Prince’s eye glistened with delight; and certainly never were deer beheld to greater advantage, for the morning sun now shone fully upon them; and there is no position in which those antlered denizens of the mountains appear so gloriously, as when thus seen on a breezy brow, high above the hunter’s eye, with their coats glistening under as bright a sun as then shone upon them, and with so clear a sky behind—all these circumstances tending to make them look as aerial as those not very deeply learned in the mysteries of deer-stalking frequently find them to be.

As it was manifestly impossible to stalk these deer directly from hence, they hastened up the march burn, with the intention of getting to a pass to the northward of the base of Coireangain, with the hope that they might move thither. But they were so wild, and the ground so smooth, that they changed their position, and went too high up the hill to enable the deer-stalkers to effect their object as at first planned. They were now, therefore, compelled to change their strategic, and to make a hasty detour by Leathad-na-Sgeith, or the Wing Brae, so as to endeavour to meet the herd as they were in the act of crossing from Coireangain into Coiregairian. To effect this, they had to go round the foot of Coir’-eangain, and then to climb to the summit of the highest ridge of mountains extending round the forest. This involved the necessity of a smart and arduous walk of an hour.

After they had gone about half-way up the mountain, the Prince dismounted for the day. The party then moved on in Indian files, and in deep silence, though at a very rapid pace, towards the brow of the hill above Coirecoinean (Coir’-coin-fhirm, White Hound Corry.) The deer made a slight check there, and appeared disposed to break at another part of the hill, but finally they set their heads straight for Coir’-coinean. It then became a race whether doer or deer-stalkers should get thither first—and after a great deal of toil and fatigue, it terminated considerably in favour of the deer; for just as the Prince got to the point whence the shot is usually obtained, the hindmost of the herd wore dropping out of sight into Coir’-coinean. But Prince Albert seized his rifle, and though the doer nearest to him could not have been at a less distance than 150 yards, and bounding at full speed, he fired, and wounded it. It was afterwards found within a few hundred yards of the place where the shot was fired; but at that moment circumstances wre too exciting to allow them to look for it, as they expected that some of those in advance would hear the report, and move. The Prince, indeed, not aware that his shot had been fatal, was doomed, whilst his rifle was reloading, to experience that feeling of mingled delight and regret to which every deer-stalker is exposed, when beholding the glorious spectacle of a noble herd sweeping rapidly into the gloomy shadow of the glen below, the serenity of his passing thoughts being at the same time disturbed by the consciousness that one of them “hath ta’en a hurtand that, after all, his hope of getting him is but small indeed; for every one who has followed this princely sport, must know full well, that nothing short of instant death, which is but rarely produced, can secure the immediate possession of a deer. The view from the summit above Leathad-na-Sgeith, is one of the grandest in the whole forest, for, at the foot of the deep Coir’-coinean, the yet more profound and much more rugged Glen-Coinean opens to the eye, and carries it on through a long perspective of barren wildness and magnificence, one huge form succeeding another, till the flight of human vision rests on the snow-clad summit of Benvoirlich. The contemplation of this wild Highland scene, with the dusky deer darting away far off in the glen, called forth a burst of admiration from the Prince worthy of the most enthusiastic mountaineer, and which would have gratified any true Highland heart.

Again the party proceeded with great expedition, in the hope of meeting some deer which they saw before them, near Stuc-na-cabaig, or the cheese cliff. "When they had almost reached the top of the Stron, it became necessary to advance more leisurely, and with some degree of caution, and having got to a place a little way from the brow of the hill, they began to move forward on their knees, as there was reason to hope that the deer were at no great distance. As it was absolutely essential that silence should be preserved, Monzie whispered to the old forester, “Hold the Prince back, Donald, whilst I creep to the brow, to see where the deer are.”—“Hoo am I to do that?” replied Donald Cameron. “Just lay hold of his arm, if the deer come forward, until it is time to fire.”—“haud the Prince!” said Donald, with a decree of astonishment which, forty years’ deer-stalker as he was, had nearly deprived him of his presence of mind,—“Haud the Prince! I’ll no do that. Ye maun just grip him yoursel, Monzie, and I'll look ower the broo.” Monzie was obliged to consent to old Donald’s arrangement, and, to ensure success, was compelled to take the necessary .liberty with the Prince’s arm. The herd did not come forward, but turned back round the hill. Indeed, the wind was so unsteady, and shifted so often during that day, that the deer were wilder, and much more difficult to approach than Monzie, or even old Donald himself, had ever before seen them. But throughout all the vicissitudes of the sport to which the Prince was exposed, whilst lie was quite as eager as am other young deer-stalker, he exhibited a patience and good humour under disappointment which few old ones have ever possessed—and well indeed were these qualities tried during that day. Shortly after this, they descried a single deer standing by himself on a brow, considerably in advance, and somewhat below them. The Prince had by this time shown so much promptly-acquired knowledge of the work, that his conductor was anxious he should stalk this deer by himself, and His Royal Highness was equally desirous to make the attempt. Of he set, therefore, entirely alone, creeping and wading on his hands and knees through a long succession of wet moss hags—sinking deep into their black chaos— now unseen, and then again appearing—until at length, when he had been for some time out of sight, the smoke of his rifle curled up from behind a knoll—its smart crack was heard—and although it turned out that the deer had gone off, it was afterwards retrieved.

The party then proceeded to the Stron-nam-breidhleag, or Cranberry Snout. Just before reaching it, the Prince fired at a deer, and broke its leg. It has already been said that they had no deer-hounds with them, but one of the under foresters having joined them a little before this, they left him to look after and watch the movements of the wounded animal, and hurried forward to the brow of a hill at the back of the Stron, as they saw a herd making for a pass in a small rocky burn before them. They were pushing on in Indian files, and in double quiek time, through some deep moss hags, the Prince walking as if he had been a native of these mountains, when Monzie suddenly descried the points of a horn appearing over a brow below. Thus immediately perceiving that the herd had changed its course, he had just time to seize the Prince’s arm with his left hand, and to reach the nearest part of old Donald’s ancient person with the toe of his right foot—such liberties being considered as quite complimentary in deer-stalking, and at all times extremely gratifying, as conveying the pleasing intelligence that there are deer in sight. The Prince and Monzie squatted like hares in their forms, and down went Donald on his hack, partly from the kick, and partly from instinctive feeling; but it was this last that twitched up his features into that exquisite grin of happiness with which his countenance was moved, as he lay on his back among the heather. All three were thus concealed from the deer, and the herd continued to draw slowly over the brow where they first appeared, and passed round the hill. Now came that glorious and exciting moment in deer-stalking, when the prospect of having your most sanguine hopes crowned with success is immediate, and where, at the same time, the smallest untoward accident may altogether blast them. The Prince eagerly demanded_

“What am I to do?”—“Up! Up!” cried Monzie. “Nothing for it now, but a rush down that moss hag—never mind the wet!” But he might have spared the latter advice; for before the words were well uttered, the Prince was deep in the mysteries of that sable compound of vegetable matter, to explain the nature of which so many large volumes have been written, both by philosophical and practical men. Down, down, they sped—sometimes running in that most painful of all positions, with the legs straight, and the back bent till the face almost touches the ground—and sometimes ploughing through the black bog on hands and knees, utterly regardless of future personal appearance, as well as of those awkward salutations which their limbs met with from knaggy roots of antediluvian trees deeply concealed in the soft and sinking matter. The deer was all they thought of. And they just succeeded; for by thus slanting the hill, they were enabled to arrive at a point precisely as the herd was crossing their line of advance at some little distance below them. The Prince had only time to discharge one barrel before the herd disappeared from his sight. By that peculiar sound, which is so gratifying to the ear of a deer-stalker, it was known that the hall had told, and some hair was observed to he dusted out of the point of the shoulder. His Royal Highness thought he had missed, and seemed somewhat incredulous when Monzie told him where he had seen the ball hit. But all doubt upon the question was speedily removed, for while they were reloading the rifle, Donald trotted onwards a few hundred yards, and came to a sudden stop, and, with his eyes fixed on the ground, like a pointer on game, began to fumble for his skian-dhu. “Ha!” exclaimed the Prince, “He stops!—He takes out his knife! —It is dead!” And dead indeed it was; for on going up to it, there it lay with a hole through the point of the shoulder, just as Monzie had said. “Ah!” exclaimed the Prince, “it is a hind. I am so sorry that it is not a stag; for I promised the teeth of the first I killed to the Queen!” The teeth, which are considered by the superstitious as a charm against the evil eye, are likewise preserved as trophies by deer-stalkers, and various little ornaments are made of them, such as beautiful studs or buttons. It must he observed, that this was the first deer that had dropped to hand, though those previously fired at were afterwards retrieved.

They now fell hack round the hill into Coir’-dhu, where much time was lost in waiting in vain for deer. Although every “dodge” was tried, there was no getting them to move towards the pass. “Have you killed many deer?” demanded the Prince of Monzie, “for I hear you are a great deer-stalker.” Monzie replied, that he had shot about forty last year. “Ah!” said the Prince, jocularly, “that is the reason they will not come to me; for they know you are with me.” They did come at last, however—but so irregularly, and they rattled so rapidly down a hill, that his chance was a vers poor one. He fired, notwithstanding, and again that short deafened sound, which it is as impossible for an experienced hunter to mistake, as it is to describe, announced that the deer was hit, and he was accordingly found some hundred yards below.

The day being considerably advanced, they now turned their faces homeward, as Prince Albert was most anxious to accompany Her Majesty in her drive. In their way they tried for another deer at the back of Leathad-na-Sgeith; but the herd having been previously disturbed, they found it impossible either to stalk or to drive them, as they are wont to do on such occasions, the animals kept continually wheeling round and round in a constant succession of evolutions, such as deer alone can accomplish. Every effort was made by the deer-stalkers, but without success, as, in spite of all their exertions, the herd broke away through a pass leading over the very summit of the mountain, and as the Prince was stationed at the bottom of the hill, he was disappointed of a shot;—and thus ended the chase.Prince Albert would not wait for the pony to be brought to him, but proceeded on foot to the lodge at Dalclathiek, where luncheon was prepared. His Royal Highness pressed Lord Willoughby and Mr. Campbell to sit down with him, and on their declining to do so, he filled three glasses of champagne, and presenting one to each, drank the third himself to their healths, thanking them at the same time for the excellent sport he had enjoyed. Though Lord Willoughby de Eresbv did not always go with the Prince directly up to the places where he expected to have shots, yet he followed His Royal Highness the whole day with a rifle in his hand. The Prince and Lord Willoughby got into the carriage, and drove off to Drummond Castle, which they reached by three o’clock. This day's slaughter produced two stags and three hinds, the trophies of which were all collected and sent to Windsor.

The Queen went out with one of her ladies to walk in the flower garden this morning between ten and eleven o’clock. The sentry keeping the gate did not know Her Majesty, and refused to let her pass, saying, that his orders were to admit no one but the Queen or her suite. On his persisting in his refusal, Her Majesty is reported to have said to him with an air which was not to be mistaken—“But what if the Queen commands you to open the gate?” —Struck by Her Majesty’s appearance, words, and manner, the truth flashed upon the man at once, and the gate was immediately opened by him in reverential silence. The Queen also went into the park from the target gate, on the east side of the garden, and returned by the west gate, and, accompanied by the Duchess of Norfolk and Lady Willoughby, she inspected in the inner court-yard, the Highlanders of the Guard of Honour of the 42d regiment, and the Drummond Highland Guard, and after having gone through their ranks, and examined their dresses and accoutrements, and ancient arms, she declared herself much pleased with their martial appearance. Her Majesty was pleased graciously to notice a fine little boy, son of Major Drummond, one of the officers of the Drummond Guard, who was fully equipped, and the miniature Highlander was honoured by the Queen’s permission to salute her hand. The Queen amused herself for some time afterwards with Lord Willoughby’s Highland terriers, which are of a remarkably fine breed, making herself mistress of all their names, both in Gaelic and English.

Prince Albert having returned from the forest of Glenartney, and the afternoon being splendid, the royal equipages were ordered after luncheon at about four o’clock. The Queen and the Prince were accompanied in their carriage by the Duchess of Buccleuch and Lady Willoughby de Eresby, and it was followed by the Duke of Buccleuch, the Duchess of Norfolk, and the Hon. Miss Paget, in another carriage. The Master of Drummond, General Wemyss, Colonel Bouverie, and Sir James Clark, accompanied the Royal party on horseback. The people expected that the Queen would drive out today, and accordingly they had lined the road from the great gate of the park all the way to Crieff; and having waited most patiently, they were at length well rewarded by seeing their Sovereign to great advantage, the carriage being quite open, and they testified their joy by their loyal cheers. The inhabitants of Crieff were similarly gratified, the Queen having driven entirely through the town, as if to make up for the disappointment which many had experienced from the lateness of the hour at which Her Majesty had arrived on Saturday.

An old woman on one of Lady Baird’s estates, about nine miles from Crieff, was left a splendid gown by way of legacy, many years ao-o. She considered it as a treasure only to be worn on some very grand occasion, and during all that time none of sufficient importance in her eyes had ever occurred, and she could never be induced to put it on; but the moment she heard of Her Majesty’s approach, she brought forth the strange antiquated garment from the deep “lost,” in which it had so long lain immured—dressed herself in it—walked to Crieff, old as she was—and appeared there, to the wonder of all, like the ghost of Queen Elizabeth’s grand tirewoman. The gown is again laid up in lavender. But she vows, that if she is spared till Her Majesty returns to Scotland, as she hopes, next year, she will again incur the same expenditure of gown and person.

The Queen first proceeded from Crieff to Fern Tower, the seat of Lady Baird Preston, widow of the gallant Sir David Baird. The house is situated in a fine park, looking over the extensive plain of Stratherne, and hanging on the southern side of the isolated hill called the Knock of Crieff, with its thick woods forming the background to the building. The Royal standard had been floating from the top of the tower ever since Her Majesty’s arrival in Scotland. On the carriage drawing up at the door, the Queen looked her watch, and said to Prince Albert, “We have not time to go in.” Lady Baird came out, and whilst in conversation with her, the Queen said, “This is a delightful situation of yours, Lady Baird—and what a beautiful and extensive view!” Her Majesty’s stop at Fern Tower was about twelve or fifteen minutes, after which she drove off through the grounds towards Abercairney.

The approach to Abercairney leads from the gate down the edge of a pretty wooded ravine, and in proceeding through the park, the wide extent of Strathcrno expands from beneath the higher ground on which the house is situated. The edifice is on a magnificent scale, ot the Tudor style of architecture, richly decorated, and it exhibits a fine bold irregular outline. It stands on an elevated terrace, well backed by woods. The principal entrance is on the east side, under a lofty porte cochere, conducting through a vestibule into a magnificent hall, and thence by the eastern gallery into the great gallery. This is a truly noble part of the interior, which extends almost the whole length of the house from east to west, lighted by stained glass windows, with rich armorial bearings, and having a groined ceiling, and an inlaid floor of mahogany and wainscoat. It is superbly furnished, and contains a great variety of fine marbles, vases, statuary, and antique bronzes. This gallery affords access to the public rooms and great staircase. The drawing-rooms and library are of large dimensions, and have folding doors of communication, and these, as well as the dining-room, billiard-room, entrance-hall, and great staircase, are finished in the richest florid Gothic. The lawn in front slopes down to a piece of artificial water, and the park is very large, finely varied in surface, and adorned with stately trees. The view from the house commands a wide and well wooded extent of rich country, including Fern Tower to the westward, and Drummond Castle, some miles farther off, with the picturesque village and tower of Muthil—the plain being bounded on the south by the beautiful green Ochil range, and to the west by the Grampians, amongst which the lofty summit of Benvoirlich is the most conspicuous.

As it was understood that the Queen would probably visit Abercairney, the Royal standard was hoisted on the highest tower. As the principal entrance was obstructed at the time by the building of the porte cochere, the centre window of the library was used as an entrance for the occasion. This window opens on a platform and flight of steps leading down to the terrace in front, whence a temporary passage of wood was laid to the outer terrace wall, with steps up to it from the approach. These, and the wooden platform, were covered with crimson cloth, reaching all the way to the library. The numerous, tenantry on the estate, on horseback and on foot, along with thousands from the adjacent country, assembled before the house, and the Royal carriage drove up amidst their loud and joyous cheers. Major Moray Stirling, proprietor of the mansion, and the Hon. Mrs. Douglas of Strathendry, in the absence of the Hon. Mrs. Moray Stirling, then in England on account of her health, received the Queen and Prince Albert, and conducted them from the carriage to the house. The Queen went through the principal apartments, with which she was highly pleased. She admired some beautiful furniture from the palazzo of Cardinal Fesch—particularly noticed some of the antique bronzes—and expressed herself much delighted with the whole appearance of the house, grounds, and extensive prospect they command. Her Majesty spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Home Drummond, and inquired kindly for their son, an officer .of the Life Guards, who had been at some of her parties, and who was now in bad health. The Queen did not sit down, being in haste to return to Drummond Castle to dinner, this being the night of the ball. The Royal party resumed their carriages, and Her Majesty departed amidst loud cheering.

Soon after leaving the grounds of Abercairney, tbe Queen entered the grounds of Monzie by the eastern gate. She then drove down by the winding approach, through the sloping park, which fills a wide and extensive valley, bounded on its southern side by the wooded front of the Knock of Crieff, and having the Monzie hills rising to the north, the tout ensemble being in itself extremely grand and striking. On minuter inspection, it is found to contain ten thousand minor beauties, every turn of the lively little stream by which it is watered producing some lovely or interesting local composition of wood and water, and picturesque bank, calculated to fix down the artist who can be contented with studying nature when dressed in wild though simple attire. The mansion is spacious, and immediately behind it a few of the oldest and largest larches in Scotland stand in a line. It is gratifying to think, that this valuable tree, about a century ago viewed in Great Britain as a greenhouse plant, and at first planted singly as extremely rare, is now spread over our Scottish hills, and that in many parts of the country it has become so domesticated and naturalised, as to have ripened its seed, and covered great extents of waste ground with its selfsown progeny. The Queen sent to inquire whether Monzie was at home; and finding that he had not yet returned, she drove down through the valley, following the beautiful windings of the stream to the western gate, and thence towards the Bridge of Turret.

There the Royal carriage entered the eastern gate of Ochtertyre, and from the hill in the park, its lovely grounds, sloping everywhere towards the artificial lake—the house standing on a terrace amidst the groves of the northern hills—with the distant mountains of the Glenartney forest happily closing in the view,— opened at once before the royal eyes. The Queen drove through the park, and by the southern lodge, and Crieflf, to Drummond Castle, which she reached about seven o’clock.

After the Queen’s arrival, Her Majesty asked Lady Willoughby where Monzie was. To which her Ladyship replied, that he had not yet returned. “But I am sure,” replied Her Majesty, “that I saw Monzie in the Castle-yard.” Lady Willoughby herself went to inquire—found Monzie accordingly, and introduced him to the Royal presence. The Prince inquired whether a certain wounded deer had been found, and again thanked Monzie for the exertion he had made to give him sport, Her Majesty at the same time graciously bowing her acknowledgments.

The Royal dinner party consisted of—

The Queen and Prince Albert,
Duke aud Duchess of Buccleuch,
Duchess of Norfolk,
Due de Richelieu,
Marquess and Marchioness of Abercorn,
Earl and Countess of Sefton,
Earl and Countess of Craven,
Earl and Countess of Kinuoull,
Lady Louisa Hay,
Earl of Morton,
Earl of Liverpool,
Earl of Aberdeen,
Earl of Mansfield,
Lord and Lady Willoughby de Ereshy,
Hon. Miss Willoughby,
Hon. Albcric Drummond Willoughby,
Lord and Lady Carington,
Lord and Lady Kinnaird,
Lord and Lady Belhaven,
Lord Ossulston,
Hon. Miss Paget,
Mr. and Hon. Mrs. Ileathcote,
Sir Robert Peel,
General Wemyss, and Colonel Bouverie,
Sir James Clark, and Mr. Anson,
Mr. Campbell of Monzie,
Mr. Gilmour,
Captain Dunsmure, 42d Regiment, and The Hon. Capt. Jocelyn of the Carabineers.

The band of the Carabineers attended during dinner, and played some fine pieces of music.

After the party had retired from the banquetting hall, the table was cleared away, and a magnificent dancing-room was at once produced—though, from its limited dimensions, the number invited to the ball was necessarily select. In addition to those forming the dinner party, the following were present:—

Lord and Lady Ruthven,
Sir David and Lady Dundas,
Viscount Strathallan,
The Master of Strathallan, Sir George Murray,
Miss Murray,
Miss Preston,
Major Moray Stirling,
Mr. and Mrs. Graham,
Mr. Graham Stirling,
Major Graiue,
Mr. C. Gramme,
The Hon. John Stuart,
The Hon. Mr. and Mrs. Drummond,
Major Drummond, Strageath,
Sir William and Lady Keith Murray,
Admiral Sir Adam Drummond,
Miss Drummond,
Lieutenant Campbell,
Mr. Douglas Abercromby, and Mr. Barnett,
Officers of the 42d Regiment,
Mr. Walker Drummond.

The greater number of the gentlemen appeared in the Highland costume, and the Master of Drummond wore a dress of the clan tartan, the splendour of which was peculiarly admired. The Queen was attired in a pale pink dress of rich Spittalfields silk, trimmed en tablier with magnificent Brussels lace, and quillings of ribbon, with a splendid coronet of diamonds and white flowers. Her Majesty wore the Order of St. Andrew. The ball opened with a reel, by the Duchess of Buccleuch, Lady Abereorn, the Master of Drummond, and Monzie, which delighted the Queen and Prince Albert. After it was over, His Royal Highness beckoned Monzie to come to him, and said, “Are you not tired?” To which Monzie replied, “No—not at all, your Highness.” Upon which the Prince turned to the Queen, and said—“There,—you have seen him dance,— you see how he dances, — and yet he has been with me all day on those wild hills—and he says he is not tired.—It is wonderful!” A country-dance was then commanded by the Queen, who honoured the Master of Drummond by standing up with him; her graceful dancing was admired by every one, and her scrupulous attention to the strict rules of the dance, charmed all present. As at Taymouth, the Queen, after dancing to the bottom, continued to stand up till she had again reached her proper place at the top, showing the utmost courtesy to every one. The ball went on with much spirit, and several people were presented during the course of the evening. The Queen and the Prince retired about eleven o’clock, and here, too, the grace with which Her Majesty bowed to every one as she passed through the company in retiring, was the general theme of admiration. After the ball there was a splendid supper.