Some thirty years ago, in conversation with an old sea captain who had visited or voyaged to all quarters of the globe, he was denouncing fiercely the degeneracy of these costermonger times. He said there was a book in our town library which was a tissue of falsehood from beginning to end, and that there never existed such a man as Gordon Cumming, the Lion Hunter. I told the old gentleman that I had seen the Lion Hunter hundreds of times and conversed with him in the woods of Aylter, and that be was a descendant of the Royal Comyn, one of whom was killed by King Robert the Bruce, and that I had seen the magnificent person of Gordon Cumming in the garb of old Gaul, successfully punish a huge prize fighter who kept grossly insulting him during the excitement of a general election—when Cumming’s uncle, Major Cumming Bruce, was running for member, this Major being father-in-law to Lord Elgin, formerly Governor of Canada. I also told him that Hugh Millar was a warm friend of the Lion Hunter’s mother, as she was distinguished both as a geologist and a botanist, and that Livingstone, the great traveller, was a great admirer and intimate friend of the Hunter. After his return to Britain he exhibited himself and his magnificent trophies throughout all the cities and towns of Britain and Ireland. His own noble figure in full Highland costume was perhaps no insignificant part of the exhibition. Barnum afterwards secured the noble specimens of hides and horns and monstrous tusks for his New York museum. 23
Now the youth in fertile Moray
Do in Gordon Cumming glory,
Bold lion hunter-first who made
With Africa tribes successful trade;
First in those wilds to fire a gun,
While he the mighty trophies won.