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But the presence o the gigantic statue, constantly overshadowing the poet, reminded him that the acts and adventures of the Scottish hero required some chronicling surely. Accordingly he attempted the heroic in verse, and in the following stanzas we see the mode of

treatment:

The unicorn has but one horn,
On its forehead doth stand,
So Wallace with his pointed spear
Did save his native land.

And as the rainbow in the sky,

It is a sign of rain,

So William drew his mighty bow,

A sign that some was slain.

On one occasion, Sir Walter Scott and some friends called to see the Wallace statue. Great was the delight of Jamie Barrie who danced round and round the party in the excess of his excitement. "Sir Walter," said he, "I'm awfu' proud to see ye, for this day the greatest o' poets and the least o' poets ha'e met thegether!"

"Ah, Jamie," replied Scott," one half of that story's true at any rate."

James Barrie died in 1829, five months after the death of his patron, the Earl of Buchan, and was buried in Dryburgh. Whether or not the mantle of rhyming poetry alighted on the shoulders of his successors in office we have

never been able to learn. The probability is that Jamie had no successor, for the Dryburgh woods were subsequently thrown open to the public, and the fog house, at the base of the statue, was demolished. Sir William Wallace was henceforth allowed to remain unattended by warden or care-taker, and permitted to receive his visitors without restriction or introduction of any kind.

The Wood of Caledon. Tune -"Broom o' the Cowdenknowes."

O HIGH the hills on ilka hand,

Sae brown the bent to-day,

The breeze blaws thro' a tree-less land, In dolefu' melody.

CHORUS.

Oh the Wood, the auld Lowland Wood,
The Wood o' Caledon,

A' withered now ilk leaf an' bough,
Frae Tweed's fair river gone.

Nae longer wave the Forest boughs,
Or is heard the huntsman's horn,
Across the spreading heathered knowes,
The bleat of sheep is borne.

Oh the Wood, etc.

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The Wood of Caledon [Coit Celidon or Nemus Caledonis] in its wide stretch across the South and West of Scotland, embraced all the country now known as the Border Counties. Its centre was, in all probability, what is now called Tweedsmuir, a portion of which parish is styled Tweed Shaws. This ancient forest is full of legendary associations. Here Kentigern-St. Mungo-the great Apostle of Strathclyde, evangelised among the native tribes, and among other historic personages is said to have met and conversed with Merlin, the wild Welsh bard and romancist, who had made his home in these uplands after the decisive fight of Arderydd, in 573. The Wood of Caledon, in later years, came to be called the Forest of Ettrick. It was a favourite hunting resort of the Scottish kings down to the reign of James VI. To-day it is truly a "treeless land.” A few old "scrunts o' birk," here and there, are all that is left of the "fair and seemly" Wood.

Note II.

BERTHA O' BADLIEU.

One of the oldest Scottish legends is that of "bonnie Bertha of Badlieu" and her royal lover. Kenneth IV., king of Scotland, surnamed Grimus, or the Grim, who reigned towards the end of the tenth century, is said to have been

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THE faint half light of northern skies,
Light which has loved the light,
Yet stays to meet with tender kiss

The coming of the night;
Mysterious, strange, but soothing, calm,
The lovely æther floats;

Through it I watched this northern night
The passing of the boats.
Far in the quiet sky above

There shone the evening star,
And one long line of silver ran

Across the hidden bar.

"Twas like a dream in dream to see

The boats go out the bay;
The gliding sails, the sliding oars,
The mystic waters grey.

EYEMOUTH HARBOUR.

Berwick.

The bay was calm, so calm they scarce
Might put themselves to sea;
Like ghosts of human lives they left
Most mournfully their quay.

Each after each they wierdly went,

A solemn retinue,

Till in the harbour's mouth they massed
A black and cloudy crew.

Each after each from that black cloud
The silent boats went forth;
Into the mystic waters grey,
Dark spirits of the north.

Where do these floating spirits stray?
When shall they find surcease?

They bend through the wonderful night, they sway,
To come to their rest with the new-born day
In a dawn of sun-gold peace.

CHRISTIE DEAS.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

All communications relating to Literary and Business matters should be addressed to the Editor, Mr. NICHOLAS DICKSON, 19 Waverley Gardens, Crossmyloof, Glasgow.

TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION.

THE BORDER MAGAZINE will be sent post free to any part of the United Kingdom, Canada, the United States, and all Countries included in the Postal Union for one year, 45.

We desire to explain here that the Rev. Mr. Crockett's second paper on The Tweed had unfortunately to go to press without the author's corrections. It was his intention to have considerably extended the article, but circumstances prevented this extension being sent in time for publication in last month's number. ED., B.M.

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THE BOATS EYEMOUTH. BY CHRISTIE DEAS. (Illustration),
EDITORIAL NOTICES AND LIST OF CONTENTS,

CAERLANRIG: A NOVEL BY SIR GEORGE DOUGLAS, BART.,

BORDER BATTLES AND BATTLEFIELDS: FLODDEN. BY JAMES ROBSON. (Plans),
AN INTERESTING OLD BURGH. (With Illustrations),

OLD AIRHOUSE WOOD. By A. T. G.,

JOHN VEITCH. (With Portrait),

BORDER BOOKS,

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Caerlanrig, A Novel.

BY SIR GEORGE DOUGLAS, BART.,
Author of "The New Border Tales," "The Fireside Tragedy"

CHAP. VIII.

'HE death of Ambrose produced a profound sensation. Unfortunately this did not mend matters on the vessel, but rather the reverse; for accusations and threats of exposure in connection with it, which were continually being bandied about among the crew, tended but to inflame their frequent quarrels. Whilst the Captain, drinking deeper even than before, perhaps to drown the recollection of his crime, was seized with an attack of the horrors, which made him more formidable than ever. Meantime for several days past the sea had been running high, and the wind had blown steadily from the nor'-east. At this juncture it freshened, and we gathered from unmistakable signs that we were in for a gale.

In these circumstances, quite sufficiently late in the day, the hands were preparing to shorten sail, when the Captain-whom I had not seen for a week-suddenly presented himself on deck. He was primed with brandy, and grasped a loaded revolver; and declaring with a frightful oath that he would have none command upon the smack except himself, he swore to shoot the

first man who touched a rope without his orders. But our position was now literally between the devil and the deep sea. The second mate saw that there was no time to lose; and disregarding the threat, sprang into the rigging. It was perhaps the first time that he had ever acted for himself, and he paid dearly for doing so. For the Captain instantly let fly at him, and he plumped from aloft upon the deck, shot clean through the head. A scuffle now ensuedhaving for its object to deprive the murderous villain of his weapon. Tregarthen, who was steering at the time, shouted to me to take the helm, and himself rushed forward to lend a hand. But before he could reach the spot, and almost in less time than it takes to tell, we beheld a threefold tragedy enacted before our eyes. The Herculean Captain, desperate with drink, and perhaps dimly conscious that a double ply of hangman's rope was already as good as round his neck, had grappled powerfully with his assailants, clasping one of them round the body with each arm and lifting them from the ground. The vessel was rolling heavily at the time. He lost his balance, and seeking to steady himself by clinging to his adversaries, the three men

reeled like one towards the bulwark, and the smack lurching at the moment, pitched headlong into the sea. It is probable that the Captain retained a madman's hold of his victims even after they were in the water; for not one of the three returned to the surface. Almost at the same moment, the storm struck our craft with such violence as to snap the mizzen mast short off within a couple of feet of the deck, whence a heavy sea carried it overboard. There then were Tregaithen and I left to navigate without assistance a disabled vessel through the midst of a raging ocean.

Our prospects seemed almost hopeless. For, to give you an idea of the violence of the storm, I may tell you that in an instant it had grown almost pitch-dark around us, so that we could distinguish nothing but whirling snowflakes and the towering seas which threatened to swamp us. But our courage did not desert us. Tom had faith in Providence, and I had faith in him ---which assuredly he justified. For never once during the night that followed did his nerve or judgment fail him. Hitherto we had kept the smack's head to windward; but now, though we had small hope of making any harbour, we saw that our only chance of living in such a sea lay in running before the wind, and this accordingly we proceeded to do, under a close-reefed main-sail, reefed fore-sail, and storm jib, having eased off sheets so as to let the vessel run free. And thus, through the whole of that historic night, which strewed the shore with wrecks and corpses, and the land with debris of uprooted forests, did Tregarthen measure his courage and seamanship against the fury of the convulsed elements. He himself believed that he was directly sustained by a Higher Power, and that our escape was due to a special intervention of Providence; and many times since have I heard him tell how, when wearied with sitting all night at the helm, he at last beheld a wave bigger and more awful than any we had yet encountered sweeping on towards us and prepared to engulf us bodily. Escape seemed impossible; but when the sea was almost upon us, there appeared in it a gateway-like a slap in a hedge, as he would describe it. turned the nose of the vessel towards the opening, and we passed through unharmed. This escape he attributed to miracle, nor can I see that I am necessarily wiser than he because I do not share his belief. At any rate I shall never forget the effect produced upon me when, towards daybreak, the gale moderating, the first use made of the lull by the simple-minded and heroic fellow was to lift up his voice amid the weltering waves and sing the Twenty-third Psalm.

Tom

Returning daylight showed us broken cloud flying swiftly across the sky, the hull of a vessel tossing bottom upward on the waves, and to the south-west a promontory of low-lying land which Tom declared to be Dungeness. The gale still raged, though with somewhat abated fury; but we ourselves were exhausted, and, hopeless of saving the smack, we determined to run the risk of beaching her on the shingle flats of the point. This we accomplished by turning her broadside on to the land, and ourselves succeeded, not without difficulty, in getting ashore. The smack became a total wreck, having her back broken and being soon half buried in shingle by the waves. The beach-folk received us humanely, and after rest and much-needed refreshment (for our provisions had been spoiled by the sea) we set out to trudge across the waste of shingle to the town of Lydd. There we reported ourselves to the authorities, and pending a legal enquiry were hospitably entertained by sympathetic inhabitants.

When we were dismissed, Tom proposed to me to visit his father's house, which I readily consented to do; and his frost-bite being by this time healed, we decided to make the journey on foot. The old gentleman lived in Devonshire, so that in journeying to his domicile we may be said to have traversed the entire breadth of the kingdom. This gave me a taste for wandering; and, as just then I felt that I had had enough of the sea to last me for some time to come, I resolved to change my mode of life. Of course this decision obliged me to bid farewell to Tregarthen, who was a born sailor, and one whom nothing could possibly disgust with his native element; and I need not tell you that I did this with sincere regret, and not without promises that we would meet again and in the interval would write to each other, yet on the whole no doubt the more easily that he was at that time engaged in courting a modest and comely young maiden, the daughter of a pastor in the sect of the Bible Christians.

In accompanying Tom on one of his missionary expeditions, I had made the acquaintance of a family of gipsies at Barum, and in love with wandering as I then was, it appeared to me that the life they led would suit me exactly. With the return of spring, they were now on the point of leaving the quarters in which they spent the cold weather, to join others of their race, and rove through the country, tinkering pots and kettles as they went, and hawking basket-work; and as I had become very friendly with some of them, they permitted me to accompany them. This was, no doubt, an unusual privilege; but perhaps the sole advantage of my peculiar

lot in life-detached as I am alike from family, race, and class-is this, that whilst I am readily at home with all sorts and conditions of men, the waifs of the world seem especially to acknowledge kinship in me.

However, besides the fascination exercised by the free wandering life, I had another motive for remaining on shore and for moving constantly from place to place. In all the years In all the years which had elapsed since my cruel separation from my mother, I had never entirely abandoned the hope of meeting her again. It is true that, at times, for months together her image would be effaced from my mind; but, sooner or later, with haunting persistency it never failed to reappear there. And I may add that to this day it has never failed; for only to-night, before your arrival, I had dwelt long upon it, some association I know not what -having seemed to evoke it. Very probably you will characterize this affection as a mere crank or weakness, bred of my lonely life; or perhaps even as some abnormal form of that distemper of the blood which sometimes leads other young men to fancy themselves in love. Such it may be, and there have been times when I myself have believed it SO. But then, again, there have been other times when it has appeared as the very inspiration and guiding-star of my existence --the one thing which has availed, amid the world's roughness, to keep humanity alive and warm within me. I have led a wild and careless life, I know; but I at least believe in something better. And I have often thought it strange that, in the region of the heart and mind, fluctuation seems to be the law. For what changes do not our religion, love, aspiration, undergo from day to day! Yet surely we do well to cherish them, and to believe that when they are brightest and strongest, then we are most ourselves!

Well, at the time I allude to-fanciful as it may appear I still nursed a hope that chance might bring me face to face with my mother once again. Whilst I remained at sea, this desired event was of course out of the question; but it seemed that in strolling at random through all parts of the kingdom I had the best hopeif even then a slender one-of bringing it about. Then, as ever, imagination figured far too largely among the springs of my actions, as I am well aware; but after all I am stating matters as they happened, and not what should have been.

With my new friends, the gipsies, I travelled through the counties of Somerset and Glos'ter, into Warwickshire. We moved by easy stages; and our carts and caravans, laden with the women and their offspring, followed by led

horses, and preceded by dogs, formed an imposing cavalcade upon the road. Towards evening we would carefully select some sheltered unenclosed piece of ground whereon to spend the night; and having done so, would tether our horses, set up our tilts, light fires, and proceed to make ourselves comfortable. In most places the country people received us civilly-an effect, however, which I judge to have been generally due at least as much to apprehension as to goodwill. We enjoyed a long spell of fine weather after the hard winter, and for a time my new life pleased me well enough.

From the midlands, we passed on into the green pastoral country of the Yorkshire dales. This was a true gipsies' paradise, and throughout the summer months we continued to hover round and about it, frequenting fairs and racemeetings held in the neighbourhood. These occasions, as well as our journeys, gave me opportunities of prosecuting the search-I fear you would call it the wild-goose chase—which I had so much at heart; and I may truly say that never did I pass upon the road an elegantly attired female in middle life but I looked eagerly in her face, conning her features, and endeavouring to trace in them some resemblance to a countenance which it pained me to feel that I but half remembered. On race courses, I would station myself near the smart phaetons and coaches, and stare so long, in self-forgetfulness, at the beautiful ladies who rode in them, that at last my habits were remarked by the gipsies, who wholly mistaking my motive, gave me a nickname in their own lingo equivalent to "Ladies' Man." And it puzzled them much that, with all my interest in the fair sex, I had yet no sweetheart among the girls of the tribe.

My gipsy friend, whose name was Daniel Lee, was in his way a character. He was no pureblooded Romany, for already an alien strain had begun to mingle with the stream so long kept pure. In colour he was fair, and in shape the very model of what a man of his size and weight should be-square-built, with bones well covered and a fist that would fell an ox, and hard as nails. But, notwithstanding his strength, there was nothing in the world that he liked less than a day's work. Like all his fellows, he was lazy, preferred chaffering to labour, and would only condescend to put his shoulder to the wheel when necessity left him no choice. But he had an eye for a horse, and a power with horse-flesh, such as I have never seen equalled; and, as he devoted himself to horse-couping and had a good connection among farmers and others, he throve well, and could afford to take his ease-"like a gentleman," as he phrased it. Although but a

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