favourite amusement was to read in the sylvan glades, while the others engaged in the chase. His resolution to withdraw from the world was formed when he found he had excited the love of a beautiful young lady, who presented him with a ring. Accordingly, he entered monastic life, and acquired a reputation for great sanctity. After a residence in some of the English houses, he was elected Abbot of Melrose. His reputation had then become very great, and innumerable miracles are attributed to him. Some were of a most useful character. On one occasion, during a severe famine, 4000 starving people resorted to the monastery in the hope of obtaining food, and for want of other shelter even built huts in adjacent fields. The benevolence of the monks was sorely tried, for their own stock of corn was barely sufficient till harvest. A conterence of the brethren was held, and Waltheof asked them to accompany him, proceeded to two different farms, and sticking his staff in the one case into a heap of wheat, and the other a heap of rye, prayed for a blessing on the heaps. Then he commanded daily rations should be given from the blessed heaps to the people, and the supply was not exhausted during the period of the famine. On other occasions when the monks agreed to share their loaves with the hungry, by the blessing of Waltheof the loaves were no sooner cut in two, than the half loaves became whole again. Waltheof is credited with actual personal conflicts with the Evil One. Upon one occasion, when the worthy Abbot was engaged in silent prayer after the others had retired from the church, the devil, for the pure purpose of disturbing his devotions, appeared to him in a variety of antic shapes, and finally becoming belligerent, assumed the form of a huge soldier in complete armour, brandishing a spear, and breathing fire. Finding the sign of the cross unavailing to rid himself of his oppressor, the Abbot, seizing the pix with the consecrated wafer, advanced boldly, exclaiming, "Behold, thou wicked soldier, thou base hireling, here is thy judge, who shall quickly send thee to the bottomless pit! Wait for him if thou darest!" At the words his adversary, baffled and overthrown, vanished amid blue flames.

One of the Abbots called Adam demanded a more equitable contribution of tithes from his flock, the rule of the Cistertians on this point having fallen into abeyance. On the people refusing the exaction, he resorted to the harsh revenge of pronouncing sentence of excommunication on them. Infuriated by this, at that period, dreadful doom, they surrounded his house and set fire to it, burning the Abbot

alive. The murderers afterwards suffered death for their crime when the story reached the ears of the King.

Melrose seems to have suffered much during the unsettled period of Border History. It was more than once pillaged and burnt. The beautiful pile which now stands, admirable even in its ruins, was begun in the reign of Robert the Bruce, and the revenues of the abbey were liberally augmented by him. It was fitting that the heart which had been so generous to the abbey should be deposited within its sacred

walls.

Nearer the Reformation time the monastic discipline had become considerably lax. Fasting gave place to feasting, and the jolly friars of Sir Walter's "Monastery," are very fair specimens of their class. Alas! the days of good cheer were drawing to a close. The new doctrines spread, and the revenues of the abbey were seized by the lords of the reformed party, in name of the government in 1559. The Abbey seems to have amassed considerable wealth, when the old strict rules of the Cistertians became a dead letter. The revenues gone, the unfortunate monks were driven from their home by the iconoclastic spirit of the times. Their beautiful abbey was soon in ruins. Vandalism of a later period led to portions of the ruins being put to such uses as furnishing materials for building the local tolbooth, and repairing mills and sluices.

Famous for its beauty, the abbey has then also considerable historical and legendary fame. Many more interesting facts that concern it are to be found in Border Annals and Border History. Jedburgh Abbey next month.

The Quarry Master.

A BORDER STORY.
BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK.

CHAP. VIII.

DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP.

'N our last chapter it was incidentally mentioned that an elderly gentleman and his two sons had arrived at the Black Bull on the outlook for a summer residence in the Border Country. Learning from the landlady, Mrs. Peacock, that Eildonlea was to sell or let, and that it might probably suit, a messenger was despatched to John Watson, the forester, desiring him to call at the Hotel next morning immediately after breakfast.

The visitors at the Black Bull turned out to be Mr. Maclellan, head of the great publishing house of Maclellan & Sons, publishers, Glasgow; while the two young gentlemen constituted the

remaining members of the firm. Conducted over the house and grounds of Eildonlea by John Watson, the party were so much pleased with all they saw that, before leaving St. Johns next day, they called on the agents, Messrs. Wilton & Wilson, writers, and arranged for a three years' lease.

Long before that lease had expired, the Glasgow publisher had taken a fancy for Tom Watson. "Would your son care to go to Glasgow?" asked Mr. Maclellan of the forester one day : "because if he would, there is a vacancy in the Counting-house department of our firm at present, and the lad may have it if he cares to go. I like his manner, I like his appearance, and I shall be delighted if I can be of any service to him.”

I'se

"I thank ye kindly, Mr. Maclellan. warrant Tom would like to gang to Glasgow. Puir man, he's sick tired o' gettin' the Quarry story cast up to him now and again. But ask him yoursel', Mr. Maclellan, and I'll lay my word on't, he'll snap at your offer like a cock at a gros set."

John Watson was right. His son Tom was delighted with the prospect of getting away, for a whide at least, from the scene of his mortification in the Quarry. The story had not been wholly forgotten it seemed to be, until some unlucky refere nce brought it back to life, and the whole business was gone over again with additions and illustrations.

Tom Watson's partner, Tony Wilky, was still more sick of the Quarry story. He could not bear to hear it repeated, and he wished that it would never again on earth be repeated. Tom was not so far gone as all that he had an idea that, some way or other, his future was to be associated with the Quarry. But he would go to Glasgow, and if he did not make his fortune as a publisher there, he would return to St. Johns and cut that fortune out of the Quarry at Eildonlea. There was strength of will for you! But Tony, poor fellow, had lost all faith in the Quarry. He was in the lowest spirits, "down among his boots," as he himself described the state he had got into. He had no Glasgow prospects like his friend: his visions of sitting in the editorial chair of The Border Beacon had all vanished into the thinnest of atmosphere. The Quarry partnership was finally dissolved, and there was nothing more to be said about it.

But there was "balm in Gilead" for the miserable Tony. About the same time as Tom Watson left for Glasgow, Tony got "a crib" in the office of Wilton & Wilson, writers, and bank agents, in St. Johns. His mother and sister remained in the Post Office, while boy

was employed to go round the subscribers with the morning newspapers. "For this relief much thanks," Tony found himself frequently quoting from Hamlet, his favourite study. Learning to smoke, and deriving much comfort and composure under the practice, Tony soon settled down into the easy-going, jog-trot, humdrum routine of life in St. Johns, and gradually ceased to trouble himself about "that infernal quarry," as he continued to designate the place whenever it came to be incidentally mentioned or referred to. CHAP. IX.

TOM'S LANDLADY.

MEANTIME Our story lies with Tom Watson, who went to Glasgow, and began life there as junior clerk in the counting-house of Maclellan and Sons, Limited, publishers. Brought up in the country and never before having set foot in a great city, everything was new and strange to Tom. After office hours in the summer evenings, he found his greatest delight in getting on the top of a tramway car, and studying the life of the streets from that elevated and advantageous point of observation. These open-air evening excursions were afterwards, in his lodgings or "diggings," all described in a series of weekly letters which he wrote to his father at Eildonlea, who read them with the most extravagant manifestations of delight at the cleverness of his son. Just as these sketches were-fresh, untouched, and graphic-the forester took them to the editor of The Border Beacon who at once accepted them and asked for more.

The mention of lodgings leads me to state that Tom Watson was fortunate in finding a landlady who treated him as one of her own family. Mrs. Hamilton, the lady referred to, was "a widow woman" who had "a sair fecht" to make ends meet. She cleaned the offices of Messrs. Maclellan, and lived hard by the scene of her labours. If anything, she was too effusive and talkative. She used to stand behind Tom's chair while he was busy with breakfast, and entertain him with the history of her own family, or with observations upon Tom's own observation on men and manners in Glasgow. Sometimes Mrs. Hamilton was inclined to be personal.

66

Eh, Mr. Watson," she observed to her young lodger one morning, "I envy the sound sleep that ye get every nicht."

"How do you know that I sleep so well?" asked Tom laughing. "I hope you don't come in to watch the process."

"No, no-there's no watching. It's a' from observation, Mr. Watson. Ye just make wan hole in the bed!"

"I must do you the credit of saying that your

observation is quite correct. There is no tumbling or tossing with me."

"Exactly. Weel then-about your denner. What would you like for your denner the day?" "Oh, bother dinner, Mrs. Hamilton. Just make whatever you please. I'm easily pleased." "Easy pleased! I never had a lodger that was so easy pleased. But that only makes me the mair anxious to please ye. About the denner, however. The new tatties are comin' Will I try them alang wi' the bit

in, I see.

chop?"

"Yes, if you please."

"Wi' cheese as usual?"

"Yes, cheese to follow as usual."

"I see that your cheese is unco near the heel. I'd better no get ye sic a big bit as ye had last. A pund, I daursay, would be eneuch at a time?" 66 Yes, enough."

Now this heckling over the dinner question was getting to be too much for Tom Watson's patience and good-nature. Once or twice he could have endured it, and laughed over it, but when it came up for discussion every morning, his patience and good-nature (and Tom had a fair share of both) gave way, and he begged Mrs. Hamilton to say nothing more on the matter, but make ready for dinner anything she liked.

Discomfited on the question of what was to be for dinner, Mrs. Hamilton landed on the dinner itself. Scarcely had her lodger settled down to attack the "bit chop," when she launched out on the subject of vegetables-new potatoes, green peas, cabbage, etc.

"Oh, Lord, that'll do!" cried Tom Watson, springing up from his chair and throwing down his dining implements. "I must change my quarters, Mrs. Hamilton, if I'm not allowed to take dinner in peace and quietness."

Things did mend a little after this outbreak, but gradually they returned to questions and discussions on fish, butcher-meat, fruit, and provisions in general. The inevitable crisis came in consequence. Acting on the advice of "one of the fellows in the office," Tom removed his "diggings" to Crosshill, and subsequently dined at Turky's famous restaurant every day except Saturday and Sunday.

We observe that the author of A Mist from Yarrow refers, in the course of his story, to the "Gonial Blast"; but he spells it Gonyel.-ED. B.M.

"TAE." We cannot refrain from calling in question the statement made by "Leister" when he says that "in no part of Scotland is this word used to represent the preposition to." In support of our assertion, we produce the following, as evidence to prove that "Leister" is not correct in what he has stated. In a number of songs written by Robert Tannahill, and published in 1876, edited by David Semple, of Paisley, the author used "tae" instead of "to."

Janet Hamilton, the Langloan poetess, employed "tae" in various poems, and in such connection with other Scotch words that to have used "to" in place of "tae," would have spoilt the music of her rhythm. The readers of the Border Magazine who are true natives of the Borderland, born, let us say, in the homes of the Teris and the Souters, must often, in early years, have heard "tae" ringing from the lips of their parents. And from those who gathered on the street, and cracked in hamely Doric, the word never was awanting. As a proof of its use among the Souters, we would instance the "Poems and Songs," of the late James Currie, a native of Selkirk, in which "tae" frequently occurs in exactly the same sense as employed in the ordinary language of the town.

ETTRICK.

TAE.-I was glad to see that "Leister" pierced Ian Maclaren's Scotch. In reference to this word tae, however, "Leister" is not quite correct in saying that the only proper use of the word is instead of too. His example might be extended thus ;—“ If ye'r gaun to Melrose, I'm gaun tae, but Jock wadna gang the length o' his tae," which latter use of the word, I hold, is absolutely correct. As the use of tae is equivalent to toe, would not the spelling fu, with the old Scots pronunciation, as in gude, be more appropriate?

What is even more shocking in the Drumtochty Scots is the continual use of a' for the first personal pronoun. All the world-the Scots world, at anyrate, know that a' is the adjective all, as in "A man's a man for a' that." I quite agree with "Leister" that Scots is a most correct language. Indeed, I hold that the English of to-day is the offspring of the pure English spoken at one time from the Forth to the Thames: that what is called Scots is the true survival of that language, of which you may yet find many words in constant use in Northumberland, Durham, and in North Yorkshire. One enthusiastic Scots author who, by the way, writes it very correctly, is a scholar and an LL.D., said in my house lately, "I don't doubt that Shakespeare would have said his own words thus, in Portia's address on Mercy, 'It is michtiest in the michty."

QUERIES.

W. S.

The last Gipsy queen was crowned at Yetholm over thirty years ago. I have heard that they used a tin crown for the occasion. It would be interesting to know what has become of the Gipsy regalia. A. M.