The number of slain on either side was heavy. That of the Scots amounted, in all, probably to from 10,000 to 12,000 men.

"Of Scots lay slayne full XII thousands, And XI earls, the soothe for to say; XIII lords, and three bishops, as I understand, With two abbots, which have learned a new play, They should have been at home for peace to pray, Wherefore they were this wise punished by right; So thy helpe, O Lord, preserved our prince his right." On the English side the number of slain has been estimated at considerably less than the Scots, although, considering the manner in which the Scots fought, especially during the latter part of the conflict, when the English must have

tions occurred between the time they left Edinburgh and the day of battle. 40,000 foot, and 4000, or, at most, 5000 horse soldiers would be the limit of James' force when brought into the field. The English would perhaps not quite equal that number, but would certainly not be far short of it.

In ballad, in song, and in story has Flodden been immortalized. It is said indeed that more poetry has been written about Flodden Field than any other battle since the days of Homer; and that the effect of the battle was felt for generations after; and even at this day in Scotland, Flodden cannot be mentioned without a sen

suffered much greater loss proportionately than their opponents, their total loss was probably very nearly, if not quite, equal to that of the Scots.

As to the number of men which composed the respective armies before the commencement of the battle, history does not enlighten us with any degree of precision. Although it has been estimated, and correctly so, that 100,000 men left the Borough Moor, it is certain that not half that number passed in battle array before the Large proud monarch on Branxton Ridge. numbers of these consisted of waggoners, sutlers, servants, and camp-followers; while many deser

Berwick.

Sir Walter has said Scottish family of

sation of terror and sorrow.
that there is scarcely a
eminence who does not number an ancestor
killed at Flodden.

"To town and tower, to town and dale,
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,

And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, time and song,
Shall many an age that wail prolong:
Still from the sire the son shall hear
Of stern strife, and carnage drear,
Of Flodden's fatal field,

Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear,
And broken was her shield."

Riddell, the great genealogist, says, "The

more I look into any Scottish charter-chest, the more I am sensibly struck; almost every distinguished Scottish family having then been prematurely deprived of an ancestor or member." Not only families suffered the loss of individual members but communities suffered in much larger measure. The shire of Selkirk was one of these. Out of a considerable force of stalwart yeomen, many of whom formed part of the king's body-guard, comparatively few returned; and the burgess roll of Selkirk was reduced to a mere fraction.

Of the dire results of this disaster, which plunged the nation into mourning and despair, no more telling or pathetic description can be given than that of Pinkerton, the gifted historian: "No event more immediately calamitous than the defeat of Flodden darkens Scottish annals. Shrieks of despair resounded through the kingdom. Wives, mothers, daughters, rushed into the streets, and highways; tearing their hair, indulging all the distraction of sorrow, while each invoked some favourite name, a husband, a son, a father, a brother, a lover, now blended in one bloody mass of destruction. While the pleasing labours of harvest were abandoned, while an awful silence reigned in the former scenes of rural mirth, the castle and the tower echoed to the lamentations of noble matrons and virgins; the churches and chapels were filled with melancholy processions, to deprecate the divine vengeance, and to chant with funereal music the masses of the slain. Nor amid the pangs of private distress was the monarch forgotten; the valiant, the affable, the great, the good; who in an evil hour, had sacrificed to precipitation a reign of virtues; who in the vigour of his life had fallen in a foreign land, and whose mangled body was the prey of his enemies. The national sorrow was heightened by terror at the scene which seemed ready to open, of servitude, and of ruin. France, itself endangered, could afford no aid; the English monarch might little regard the ties of blood, but might wrest from his infant nephew a kingdom left defenceless by the loss of its peers and best warriors. Even now the philosophers, and the historians, may regard this crisis as the most fatal which ever attacked the prosperity of Scotland. The reign of James IV. is allowed to have been the period of the highest national success, and a summit from which the public fortune was gradually to decline, till, in the present (18th) century, it again began to ascend. The defeat at Flodden, the death of the king, left the country a prey to foreign intrigues, which continued till Scotland ceased to form a separate kingdom; her finances were exhausted; her leaders corrupted; her dignity

degraded; her commerce and her agriculture neglected. Henceforth her historic page aspires little to glory; but still continues deeply to interest by the peculiarity, and variety, and even by the tragical nature of its events."

Flodden Hill, on which the Scots fixed their camp a few days before the battle, is now entirely covered with trees. It is approached from the main Wooler road by a carriage drive, which encircles nearly the whole of Flodden Hill, and on the west end approaches the rock, which is known by the name of "The King's Chair." Earthworks in the shape of irregular mounds are still traceable, indicating the position of the Scottish camp.

On the brow of the hill, surrounded and protected by an elegantly-built, substantial wall, is the "Well of Sybil Grey," (erroneously so called, as the spring from which Marmion is said to have drunk is near the village of Branxton.)

The following words are engraved on the interior surface of the wall:

"Drink | weary | pilgrim | drink | and | stay Rest by the well of | Sybil | Grey." The sparkling stream issues from a huge mass of solid rock, and would doubtless be used by the Scots to quench their thirst previous to their encountering the Southern host on the plain below.

Seated by the well of Sybil Grey, and viewing the landscape to the east and north we behold a scene of surpassing beauty. On the east, flowing northward, are seen, though only at rare intervals, the glistening waters of the sluggish Till, meandering along the thickly wooded dell. The strong battlements of Ford Castle stand out in bold relief against a mass of thick wood which clothes the rising bank beyond the Till. Away to the north-east we see Barmoor Wood, where the English army encamped the night before the battle. Almost directly north is Sandyford on the Till, where the English vanguard crossed, and at once took up their position near the village of Branxton. Farther north, and within a mile of "Tweed's fair river," is Twizel Bridge, over which Surrey's rearguard passed.

The small village of Branxton stands about a mile directly south of the main road from Wooler to Cornhill, and four miles south east of Coldstream. "Piper's Hill," a conical-shaped rising ground stands a few hundred yards south-west of Branxton Church. Towards this point the armies gradually moved, and at its southern base is supposed to have been waged the keenest part of the conflict. It is said also that the king fell in the vicinity of "Piper's Hill," and this fact invests the particular spot with special interest to Scotchmen. Heaps of bones and

AN exile stands upon a foreign shore,
Where restless billows dash themselves to
spray;

Where wave on wave keep up incessant roar,-
But all unheeded and unseen are they ;
For swifter than the swallow southward flies

At Winter's near approach, his heart has sought

With yearning throb the town that snugly lies
Beneath the shadow of its auld green Moat.
"Ah me," he murmurs, "how my being thrills,
And longs to linger by the limpid streams;
To roam at random o'er the moors and hills,
That I, since youth, have only seen in dreams.
I long to tread each storied street and wynd,
Anon revisit every hallowed spot,
With fading phantoms of the past entwined,
Beneath the shadow of the auld green Moat."

Callants whom fate or fortune have allured,
And led beyond the range of "Drums and
Fifes,"

To new environments become inured,

And mingle with the world's ignoble strifes. Yet are there ever in their hearts enshrined,

Visions of Teri-land, with many a thought Of friends and friendships they have left behind, Beneath the shadow of the auld green Moat. Callants have wandered in a roving quest

To every land 'neath Heaven's almighty dome, And far and near, in north, south, east and west, Some gutter-bluid has made itself a home. And thus from all the earth where man resides, Fond hearts are ever turning to the spot Where, into Silvery Teviot, Slitrig glides Beneath the shadow of the auld green Moat.

ΤΕΕΚΑΝ.

Discovery of an Ancient Cist near bawick.

N 12th November last, an interesting discovery was made at Belvidere on the Cavers Estate about three miles from Hawick. Belvidere is a small wood on Cavers Mains farm on the south side of the river Teviot, and forms a small plateau jutting out somewhat from the general slope of the dale. As its name implies, it commands magnificent views in every direction, embracing nearly the whole of Teviotdale. A mound marked on the Ordnance Map as an Ancient Fort, and hitherto regarded as a British or Roman Camp, has long occasioned speculation among the few who were aware of its existence. Situated some distance from the public road, and concealed by the trees, planted probably by a former proprietor for its protection, the tumulus has hitherto attracted little attention among archæologists. On the occasion of their visit to the neighbourhood last summer, the subject was brought under the notice of the Berwickshire Naturalists' Club, but want of time prevented their visiting it. The attention of Mrs. Palmer Douglas, proprietor of Cavers, and her cousin, Captain Hamilton Anderson, having recently been directed to it, an investigation was made. It was found that the whole of the central mound was composed of stones, forming a cairn about 6 feet deep, over a covered tomb or cist. The cist itself was 3 ft. 8 in. long by 2 ft. 4 in. wide, and about 3 ft. deep. The upper stone covering, estimated to weigh about a ton, was 7 ft. long, 2 ft. 9 in. wide, and from 16 to 18 inches thick. Below this was a thinner slab, 6 ft. by 2 ft. 6 in. Inside the cist was found a wonderfully perfect skeleton (in a sort of sitting posture with legs crossed) of a highly developed man, apparently of great brain power. The teeth, especially the under ones, were well preserved. In addition to the skeleton, there were a number of calcined bones and two bone or horn pins shewing evident traces of manufacture. The whole were carefully removed for examination by Dr. Christison, Edinburgh (who was present at the opening), and the stones were replaced. In the course of the proceedings a number of photographs were taken by Mr. J. E. D. Murray, photographer, Hawick, and these should prove of great interest to archæologists. Among others present besides Dr. Christison were Captain and Mrs. Palmer Douglas, Mr. Walter Haddon, factor, Cavers, Mrs. Craig, Rev. W. A. Johnman, Ex-Provost Watson and Mr. Robert Murray, Hawick, Dr. Haddon, Denholm, Mr. Robert Elliot, farmer, Cavers Mains, &c. The tomb is believed to be one of

the bronze age, and is probably the burying place of a great chief or prince. The "find," which has been described as one of the most remarkable associated with the Borders, has created much interest in the district, and Dr. Christison's report is looked for with great expectation by local archæologists.

NEW MUSIC: The Cornets Lancers' Quadrille, is a new piece of music just published by the well-known Border firm, Messrs. W.& J.Kennedy, Hawick. The feature of the piece, which is well harmonized and not too difficult, is the weaving in of the airs which have been played at the Hawick Common Riding for hundreds of years. The portrait group of "Callants" who have carried the "Colour" includes two fathers, two sons, and two cornets who have celebrated their jubilee as cornets, and the pictorial representation alone, apart from the music, makes the piece of considerable value to all interested in the ancient Common Riding celebrations. We feel sure that these Lancers will make a welcome addition to the dance programmes of many Border gatherings at hame and awa'.

Harrow Braes.

POETS have sung the silence of thy hills,

And how the air in Yarrow-land hangs mute O'er scenes, where fierce with savage hate, Men strove in blood to end dispute.

Whence came, sweet vale, the sadness on thy face,

Art thou still broodiug o'er the brave in sleep, Hath life no anodyne for grief,

Stirring the quiet's unplumbed deep.

With memories of a race dead ages since, Their passions and their woes, with what high mood

They wrought their deeds in Border-war,

And with what reckless speed they wooed. Across the placid pools, and up the slopes,

With swift and silent step, the shadows chase, Nor "note" the birds, with folded wings, How quickly noon-tide steals apace.

Alack thy rounded hills are but grave mounds, This valley but a city of the dead,

A mystic glamour clings around,

And makes us pace with stealthy tread. By lone historic haughs and fields and streams, Where nodding in the sun the hare-bell dips To every wind, the ripening corn Singeth its joy from golden lips.

GEO. ORD-SCOTT.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

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

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Title page and Index are given with the present part.

CHIEFSWOOD. (Illustration),

ア

CHAPTER IX.

LEASED as at first I had been with the freedom and constantly changing scenery of the gipsy-life, its petty dishonesty and its desœuvrement ended by wearying and disgusting me; and as time went on I saw more and more clearly that I had no true sympathy with my associates. "After all," said I to my myself, "it is intelligence that makes us human, and surely intelligence was meant to serve some better purpose than that of getting the better of our neighbours!" So, in quest of change, at Brough horse-fair, I joined a company of strolling-players, who had erected their booth near our tents, and whose performances had interested me exceedingly.

I suppose that in themselves the ruck of the performers differed little from the generality of such vagabonds as are to be met with upholding the art of Thespis under difficulties in out of the way corners of the country. But at that time, of course, I thought otherwise. The men possessed in common an addiction to dissipation; whilst the women, though plucky and good comrades, were mostly of somewhat

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draggled appearance, and amid the shifts with which their hard life made them acquainted, had lost much of the instinctive refinement proper to their sex. Both men and women were alike as vain as peacocks-positively subsisting upon applause, and forever talking of themselves; but on the other hand, to do them justice, one and all were animated by a genuine enthusiasm for their art. This enthusiasm received a powerful stimulus from the central figure of the group; and, indeed, I believe that if ever genius struggled against adverse surroundings it was in the person of Alonzo Montacute, as our manager chose professionally to style himself. He was, in truth, a man of extraordinary parts; and, but for his unfortunate failing of intemperance, and the drag of a large family and an ill-suited yoke-fellow, must, I believe, have written his name large across the annals of the English stage. At the time when we became acquainted, he was already somewhat advanced in life; and his corpulence unfitting him to appear in the character of a hero or a lover, he was generally seen in the part of a king or of the the "heavy father" of the play-in which he excelled any actor I have