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tree-topped banks, and backed by the three One farmer alone lost seventy-two scores, and placid Eildons. The stream rolls on right many others in the same neighbourhood lost under the grassy slope above which Tom's from thirty to forty scores. Whole flocks were cottage stands, and sweeps grandly round the buried and never discovered until the thaw came, foot of the red sand-stone cliffs that rise to some after the snow had been on the ground for a height a little lower down.

week. On the farm of Thickside twelve score "You have a fine view, Tom," I remarked of ewes were then discovered all lying with their one late summer's afternoon as we chatted heads one way. outside the little shop door, our ears drinking Many hundreds of sheep and cattle were in the delicious murmur of the water.

driven into the lochs and streams by the violence “Eh, wumman, it's grand-it's ma denner of the storm and never seen again. mony a day," was the quiet answer, as his eyes When the floods, after the thaw had subsided, wandered thoughtfully up the river, and rested 1,840 sheep, 9 cattle, 3 horses, 2 men, i woman, long and lovingly on the purple-tinted hills 45 dogs, 180 hares, and a large number of lesser which the dipping sun was just then glorifying animals were found at a place known as the Tom's face of quiet content, his broad intelligent Beds of the Esk. . brow, from which the thick white hair was In the Moffat district, where the storm was thrown well back, his kindly eyes, and his very severe, a shepherd had been to see his well-formed, strongly-built figure, as he stood sweetheart on the night previous, and made all balancing himself in the doorway, remained arrangements for their wedding, but whilst the with me for many a day. That Tom may long banns of marriage were being proclaimed in the be able to enjoy the scene he loves so dearly Parish Church on the following Sunday his body, and which he is so well fitted to appreciate, stiff and cold in death, was being carried from must be the hearty wish of all who know him well, the hill. and of every habitué of Dryburgh and its Shepherds, when walking and talking toAbbey.

gether, were overcome with the cold and dropped H. C. W. down by the way, and slept the sleep of death.

One man was found who had evidently pre

pared his bed with some deliberation, having Tbe Gonial Blast.

carefully buttoned up his coat, folded his plaid

into a pillow, and laid himself down to sleep the YT is now fully a hundred years since this sleep of death.

famous storm swept over the south of In some glens the drifts were so deep that

Scotland with such disasterous effects. whole plantations were covered. Sheep were Those who witnessed it declared that there was underneath as much as fifty feet of snow. Dogs nothing on record, save the flood, to compare with unerring accuracy discovered where these with it, and there certainly has been nothing like lay. Hogg tells of one dog, on the farm where it since.

he was shepherd, which in this way saved conFor two days and nights snow fell heavily and siderably over two hundred sheep. drifted into great wreaths. When it abated Throughout the districts affected by the farmers and shepherds, guided by their dogs, “gonial blast," superstition regarding witches were kept constantly digging out their sheep and and other evil influences were very prevalent, cattle from Snow drifts. Many shepherds hence we find that the storm was attributed by perished, and a goodly number never recovered many to the “deil.” from the exposure, and in Eskdalemuir alone Men and women who were marked as being 4,000 sheep were destroyed.

in league with his satanic majesty were blamed Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, who had a for invoking his aid, and for many a long day terrible struggle for life, said that “ of all the these marked ones were afraid to show their faces storms that ever Scotland witnessed, or I hope at either kirk or market. will ever witness again, none of them can com- “Gonial blast” was applied to the storm pare with the memorable storm of 1794, which because of the large amount of dead mutton to fell with such peculiar violence on that division be had on all the farms. “Gonial” or “braxey" of the south of Scotland that lies between Craw. being the local names for the flesh of sheep, fit fordmuir and the Border. In these bounds for human food, though not killed with the seventeen shepherds perished and upwards of knife. The meat is smoked and dried, and thirty were carried home insensible, but the when properly cooked is by no means unpalatanumber of sheep that were lost far outwent any ble, and has been in use along the Borders for possibility of calculation."

many generations.

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Charles B. BALFOUR, Esq., of Newton Don (Portraits and Illustrations), • ..
Border BattleS AND Battlefields. By James Robson,
A New THEORY OF THE CATrail. By W., . . . . . .
Tom Fox (Illustration). By H. C. W., . . . . .
THE GONIAL BLAST, · · · · · · ·
Editorial Notes, . . . . . . . . . .
The QUARRY MASTER. By ALEXANDER SELKIRK, . ..
A Song of BORDERLAND. By Rev. W. S. CROCKETT,
William Heatlie: A BORDER Artist (Portrait and Illustration). By W. A. & R. C., •
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF THE Border COUNTRY (Illustrations). By The EDITOR,
EDINBURGH BORDER COUNTIES ASSOCIATION (Illustration),
CORRESPONDENCE, · · · · · · · · · · ..
Border NOTES AND Queries (Illustration), . . . . . .

.
.

Editorial Hotes.

George Douglas, Bart., entitled “ CAERLANRIG.” THE Editor of this Magazine would deserve The action of the story takes place upon the

to pass as a most ungrateful son of the Border, and is full of interest for all Border

Borders were he to neglect the present readers. “Caerlanrig” will appear from month opportunity of stating how profoundly pleased to month until completed. and encouraged he has been by the numerous In the present issue, the papers on “Personal letters which he has received during the last Recollections of the Border Country" are brought month by almost every post.

. to a close. These papers have treated of the Not only from the Border Country have these Editor's early reminiscences only : by and by letters been received, but they have also come he may resume the subject of his impressions of from the extremes of London and the Orkney a later date. Islands, “with many places in between.” The In the course of correspondence which interest which the Magazine has already editorship entails, the present writer has been awakened, promises well for its growing greatly gratified by the large number of letters prosperity and its ultimate success. Already and contributions which he has received from the issue of the first monthly part is wholly young and inexperienced writers. He says exhausted and out of print: while the second is much gratified advisedly: for many of these daily moving in the same direction. With the contributions show great promise. If they have present month's issue the circulation will be not been accepted, the Editor trusts that a first largely increased.

disappointment will not dishearten the writers, but The Editor has the honour to announce that that it will only lead to further study in the next month, in the number for May, there will direction of a broader development of life and appear the opening chapters of a new novel by Sir character.

The Quarry Master.

which would set the heather on fire, and no

mistake. A BORDER STORY.

Poor boys! They little knew the hard work BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK.

and the harder disappointment that lay before CHAP. V.

them ere The Border Beacon got the story.

They kept pegging away, however-night after COMMENCEMENT OF OPERATIONS.

night : penny dip after penny dip had lent its RIVEN, a tremendous mass of rock, circular light, but still the spade work was necessary, as

in form, several tons in weight, and the great trench was not deep enough to admit

deeply embedded in quarry debris : how the boulder. was this rock to be shifted out of its position by At last matters seemed nearing a crisis, for two boys who had neither machinery to move Tony began to lose heart, and became alarmed it, nor explosives to shatter it? That was the while working in the trench one night, lest the problem to be solved by the two expectant Putting Stone should by the force of its own millionaires.

weight break through the wall of debris, and Tony Wilky had no more idea of how the tumble into the trench on the top of himself task was to be accomplished than how com- and Tom. It was in vain that Tom endeavoured munication might be established between this to show his partner that his fears were groundearth and the planet Mars. Nevertheless, he less, as the walls of the trench were strong had faith in the budding engineering genius of enough to resist the lateral pressure of the his companion ; as much faith, surely, as would Putting Stone. By and bye, the walls would be remove a rock, if not a mountain.

weakened when the trench was deep enough : The eventful Monday evening arrived when besides, the pieces of paling there, as Tom operations were to be commenced. The utmost pointed out, kept the mass of rock in its place secrecy had been observed, by Tom and Tony: until all was ready for the removal of these supin so far as they knew, not a soul in all the ports, when the big stone would roll into the Border Country had the least inkling of what trench by its own weight and almost of its own was about to take place in the quarry. Visions accord. of wealth and grandeur were still colouring and All argument, however, was lost upon Tony clothing their young and fervent imaginations. His courage and perseverance had failed him. The division of the profits, after deducting the The visions of wealth had faded, and the columns working expenditure and outlay, was to be a of The Border Beacon, which at one time were simple affair—so simple that the partners did destined to chronicle the great discovery in the not think it necessary to engage the services of quarry, were now probably soon to publish the a chartered accountant to draft the scheme of whole adventure as a dismal failure. partnership, or prepare a balance sheet when Not so did Tom Watson look upon the the profits were ready to be divided.

matter. "I'll die before I give in," he declared. Monday evening came, and a pitch dark night “Into this big hole I'll shove Samson's it turned out to be. But the darkness had been Putting Stone or perish in the attempt. Man anticipated by the outlay of “a penny dip,” alive, Tony! What's come owre ye? Nobody which was lighted and so disposed as to place knows but ourselves, an' nobody but ourselves one half of the mass of rock in shadow, and will ever share a - " the other half in light. The former, of course, “I'll take a wheen shares !” said a voice imwas next to the quarry entrance, while the other mediately behind the rock. was fronting the quarry workings. Casting their Consternation seized the two boys. In their jackets, both boys opened the ball by a vigorous simplicity they imagined that no human eye had use of the spade which each had surreptitiously seen their operations in the quarry: that no brought from home. Their plan of procedure, human ear had heard their castle-building on carefully drafted beforehand by Tom Watson, the buried treasure. Yet here was evidence was to dig a deep trench or hole into which that their secret was out ? they were to coax and wheedle the Putting In a moment after the first shock of consternaStone. When deposited there, like a huge egg tion had passed, Tom Watson threw down his lying in a bird's huger nest, the treasure lying spade, blew out the candle, and yelled aloud to below its former position was to be at once dug the retreating owner of the voice, “Who's there? out, removed, and divided in secret at home. Speak, or I'll rowe Samson's Putting Stone on That done, Tony was to draw up a report of the the top o' ye!" whole adventure, and arrange for its appearance But the intruder had gone, and the only in the columns of The Border Beacona report response to the threat was the mocking laughter

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I see the silver of thy streams

For keen is exile's ken,
And basking in the bright sunbeams
Are meadow, hill, and glen,

Of Borderland, sweet Borderland, etc.

III.

Thrice glorious names that lustre round

Each glamour-haunted spot,
An immortality has crowned
Our Leyden, Hogg, and Scott.

For Borderland, sweet Borderland, etc.

VI.

( winsome lad and lass at e'en

Along the banks of Tweed,
May love's pure altar flame as keen
At every hour of need.

For Borderland, sweet Borderland, etc.

vdilliam Heatlie—a Border Artist. BY WILLIAM ANDERSON AND ROBERT COCHRANE. -HE endeavour, however humble, to do

justice to the neglected genius and worth

of a departed friend is always a praiseworthy task. In the present instance, the duty is lifted far above the region of mere taskwork. It is an honour of the highest kind.

There can hardly be a doubt, that we Borderers did not, in any adequate degree, recognise Mr. Heatlie's genius as an artist, or his worth as a man. To Mr. Heatlie himself, this was of small consequence, he never courted fame or publicity. Ours was the loss, in not knowing more fully, and estimating more fairly, one of God's most precious gifts to us-a man of rare genius, and an honest christian.

Mr. Heatlie was an artist through and through. While on the earth, he was not of the e whole life was dominated by his richly poetical imagination, and imagination, Ruskin says, is but a pilgrim upon the earth with her home in Heaven.

Mr. Heatlie was a genuine Porderer-as his father had been before him—and had all a Borderer's love for the Borders. He was born at Ettrick Bridge-End in Selkirkshire, and removed at an early age to Eildon Hall, Roxburghshire, where his father was gardener.

On the death of his father, the widow with her family of son and daughter removed to “The Cloisters," Melrose, a quaint old cottage under the shadow of the Abbey. Subsequently, on the death of Mrs. Heatlie, the brother and sister

Come, gallants sons, and daughters fair,

Join in a patriot band, A wreath of worth to weave, and wear For Scotia's Borderland. O Borderland, sweet Borderland, etc.

vi. And we, too, dream of long-gone days,

Though oft through sorrow's tears Since boyhood clomb the broomy braes In those fast-fleeting years,

On Borderland, sweet Borderland, etc.

removed to Newstead, where William Heatlie died. It was a quiet uneventful life, lived in unobtrusive honesty and godliness.

After studying for a few years in Edinburgh, Mr. Heatlie returned to Melrose and devoted himself assiduously to his art, and it is as an artist that he is best known to outsiders. His intimate friends, however, could hardly fail to come to the conclusion, that as an artist, he was one of “the inheritors of unfulfilled renown." He never did justice to his undoubted abilities. Various causes tended to produce this undesirable result, but principally these two. First, his teaching engagements, which, by encroach

Border Abbeys, down to the meanest cottage of a Border hind or ploughman, his brush and pencil were equally at home. Perhaps his best works were several water-colour sketches of bits of Melrose Abbey. He loved the old fabric with an almost religious enthusiasm. As Jerusalem was to the ancient Jews, so was Melrose Abbey to William Heatlie. He took pleasure in its stones, its very dust was dear to him. He knew it thoroughly by heart. Every moulding and bit of tracery, every carved boss and capital, and every coat of arms and inscription were engraved within his memory. His drawing of architecture was faultless. It was careful, painstaking, accurate, thorough. He never painted impossible construction, as artists often do. The work might have been restored from some of his sketches, had such been necessary. The jointing of the stones was all shewn with thorough accuracy, every idiosyncracy of the workman as revealed by his work was lovingly portrayed. The local colouring of the stones, their mode of dressing, and the character of the carvings and the mouldings were faithfully reproduced.

In all his work there was the same loving fidelity to nature, the same accuracy of representation.

He had sketches of the Abbey, or bits of it, from all points, and under very varying atmospheric conditions. He had even a sketch of the East-end by moonlight—that witching time for viewing “fair Melrose aright.”

Within certain limits Mr. Heatlie was a considerable traveller. There was hardly a place in all the Borderland where he had not visited and sketched. Nearly every year he visited England ; he knew Weardale, and Durham, and Cumberland well, and always returned laden with artistic spoil. Mr. Heatlie's best work was done in water-colour. He painted a few pictures in oils, but he never seemed to care much to work in this medium. He did excellent work, however, in pen and ink, and pencil. Some of these latter drawings were prepared specially for book illustration, and a number of them may be seen in a small periodical called The Illustrated Scottish Borders, which ran its short course just previous to Mr. Heatlie's death. Among other books illustrated by him are “The Monks of Melrose,” by his intimate friend and pastor, the Rev. Mr. Allan; and some works on Free Masonry.

Shortly before his death he had begun to do work in another medium-pen and ink and colour--and had produced some little things which are perfect gems in their way.

As will be inferred from Mr. Heatlie's natural temperament and disposition, his work is not

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ing so seriously upon his time, for he never scamped any work which he undertook, left him little leisure for serious and sustained effort ; and secondly-his innate modesty and self depreciation which led him to underestimate his own abilities.

The art of Mr. Heatlie is solely represented by small pictures and sketches, but though small in size, they are all excellent in quality. He delighted in landscape and architectural subjects, more especially the latter. Indeed, he seldom painted a picture without introducing a building of some sort or other, and from our grand old

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