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Early next morning, Douglas, perceiving that the enemy's forces were increasing around him, deemed it prudent to depart with his army in the direction of his own country. Marching north-westward along the road, nearly in a line with that presently traversed between Newcastle and Otterburn, after a little playful skirmishing on the way, the Scottish army reached the place, ever since memorable as the scene of a great battle shock.

"They lighted high on Otterbourne,
Upon the bent sae brown ;
They lighted high on Otterbourne,
And threw their pallions down."

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home at once. Other counsel, however, prevailed. Douglas himself, on personal grounds, elected to remain, and so afford Hotspur an opportunity of regaining his pennon. Such was the weight of the Scottish leader's influence that the other chiefs and their followers readily assented to stay where they then were. make their position safer they began to entrench themselves more securely, throwing up earthworks towards the north, and in other parts walling themselves in with felled trees. Their movements, from the time they left Newcastle till they arrived at Otterburn, had been observed

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On the following morning, Wednesday, the Scots were early astir. The trumpets sounded, and Douglas ordered an assault to be made on the tower of Otterburn, which occupied a commanding position on the east side of the brook. Their attack was unsuccessful, and they retired to the camp in the afternoon. A consultation was then held between Douglas and the principal men as to what course they should pursue. The majority, well aware of their inferior numbers compared with those which Percy would bring with him, should he choose to follow and overtake them, were in favour of proceeding

by the people living on the line of march, and intelligence was immediately conveyed to Percy detailing the movements of the Scottish army and the position of their camp. Accordingly Hotspur and his brother, with an army consisting of 600 knights, squires, and men-at-arms, with 8,000 infantry, immediately set out with a view to overtake the Scots and reclaim the trophy which Douglas had boasted he would carry into Scotland.

In these days the approaches to Otterburn from the Newcastle direction were mostly enveloped in dense wood, so that the English host

were able to approach almost within bow-shot of the Scottish army without their movements being observed, the more so that the Scots were entrenched behind their earthworks and partially surrounded with trees.

The site of the Scottish camp, of which some remains of the earthworks are still traceable, is a mile and a half north-west of the village of Otterburn. It is situated on the left bank of the river Rede, from which, and the main road close by, it is distant something like 600 yards. In their approach the English army would sweep round the north side of the Scottish camp at a safe distance, and cautiously approach from the north-west, ascending the higher ground, from which position they had a decided advantage over the enemy.

It was the evening of Wednesday, the 19th August, while the sun was setting and the shadows of night crept slowly over the vale of the Rede, that Sir Henry Percy came within sight of the Scottish host. It would appear that Douglas had no apprehension of the near approach of the enemy. His men were tired out with their day's work, assaulting the tower and otherwise completing their elaborate earthworks the day having been excessively warm. Some were partaking of supper, while others had already retired to sleep, when a horseman gave intimation that the English were upon them. Instantly the Scots flew to arms and prepared for defence. The cry of "Percy !-Percy!" rent the air, and the stillness of the night was broken by the tumult and frenzy of the combatants now facing each other and eager for the fray.

B

(To be continued).

The Quarry Master.

A BORDER STORY.

BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK.

CHAP. VI.

RIDICULE AND DISAPPOINTMENT.

ANTER, ridicule, and derisive laughter are,

perhaps, among the sorest trials that boyhood can be called upon to suffer. Physical pain can be endured unflinchingly by strong natures, but mental torture tries the stoutest. For some days after the secret of the quarry had oozed out, Tom Watson, and Tony Wilky, were subjected to the most unmerciful chaffing by their schoolfellows. The crowning indignity, however, culminated one Saturday afternoon when the whole boyhood and youth of St. Johns gathered in the Eildonlea Quarry, and freely criticised the adventures of Samson's Putting Stone. History is ever repeating herself. Just as a former generation had loosened the boulder when it

rested on the summit of the Quarry Hill, and set it bowling down the brae into the quarry workings, so the new generation conceived the idea of again dislodging the rock, and "couping" it into the hole that had been prepared for it. Eventually, this was accomplished by the united strength of young St. Johns, and the place where it had rested so long was now laid bare and exposed to view. But there was no money to be found-not the slightest trace of treasure of any description.

Of the two disappointed millionaires, Tony Wilky's anguish was the keener and the more poignant: for he had shown the white feather, and had, consequently, lost the strength of mind which might have stood by him in the hour of trial. A thousand times he wished most heartily that he had never seen the quarry: or that, having seen it, he had held fast by the faith that once was in him. More deeply he felt than anything else, the fact that he had lost the friendship and the confidence of his companion, who was now a greater and a grander hero in Tony's estimation than Tom had ever been before.

Not a whit was Tom put out by all that had happened. He endured the ridicule with perfect composure; he never lost his good temper; he laughed with his tormentors instead of getting angry at them. Only once was he tempted to make an example of a bully who had gone beyond the bounds of legitimate banter. The insult was delivered amongst a group of school-boys one day on the playground. "Let me hear these words again!" said Tom, making his way through the group and looking sternly in the face of the offender. "Let me hear you repeat these words and I'll knock you into next week, or longer if you like."

Aha! not a word. Looking round upon the group of school-fellows, Tom Watson remarked, "It's time this nonsense was stopped-it has gone too far already."

"Quite true, Tom, you're a plucky chap, and no mistake. We'll stand by you." Chorus of sympathy.

From the date of that affair, the tide of insult and ridicule turned, and the incident of the quarry was gradually displaced by the thousand and one other matters which daily occupy the thoughts of strong and healthy country boys.

Tom Watson had often wondered whose voice it was that had created such a sensation in the quarry and brought matters to the close of the first act in the drama of this Border story. The owner of the voice turned up quite unexpectedly one day. The incident, however, must be narrated in the next chapter.

CHAP. VII.

JACOB KEEK.

COMING down the Market Place of St. Johns one afternoon, Tom Watson was met and accosted by a well-known "character" about the town-Jacob Keek.

"I was just daun'rin' back to the Black Bull the ither nicht," observed Jacob, "when I saw a licht in the quarry. Thinks I to mysel', I'll step aside an' see what's gaun on.”

Oh, it was you, Jacob?"

"Naebody else."

"And ye saw what we were busy with?"

"That I did, and heard as weel. 'Twas no' in human nature to hear you twa laddies gang owre the dividin' o' the siller, an' no put in a wee bit word for mysel', and bespeak a wheen shares in the concern."

"Only two partners in the concern, Jacob." "There's only yin now and that's yoursel', Tam, ma man. You'll get the siller out o' the quarry some day, but no' in the way you're

lookin' for't."

After delivering this prophetic utterance, Jacob went off and left Tom Watson standing alone.

"He's a strange beggar," soliloquised Tom, looking after the retreating figure. "Wonder if what he says will come true. I've an idea that it will, but not in the way Tony and I expected."

Nobody

Jacob Keek was a hanger-on about the Black Bull Hotel, and a relic of the old coaching times in the pre-railway days. Where Jacob had originally come from was as great a mystery as the place of his ultimate destination. knew anything about his family history, since he had no family-no relations of any kind: neither brother nor sister, neither uncle nor aunt. goes without saying that he at one time had a father and mother, but he had no remembrance of them. He was alone in the world, like the pelican of the wilderness, the owl of the desert, the sparrow on the house-top-companionless and relationless.

It

Neither rent to pay, nor wages to get, had Jacob Keek. He slept in the hay-loft over the stables at the Black Bull. In disposition he was kind and obliging, whilst his moist grey eyes indicated the presence of a considerable amount of humour. He was believed to have been an hostler in the old coaching days, and was probably among the few survivors in St. Johns of that historic period. Unable to do anything in his old age in the way of attending to horses, driving cabs, or guarding the railway 'bus, Jacob was employed by the landlady of the Black Bull

in going messages and doing odd jobs. So long as he was able to overtake these simple duties, Mrs. Peacock assured him of "a bite an' a sup," and that was all Jacob cared for except, perhaps, a dram.

An illustration of his humour comes out in connection with this dram. Some one had been advising him to forego the use of whisky and clinching the advice by stating that she, the adviser, had known of a relative of her own who had lived to a great age but who had never in his life "lifted whisky to his lips."

"Ay, ay," replied Jacob, "if that friend o' yours had ta'en my advice, he would hae tasted the whisky and lived for ever!"

Every man has his failing, and one of the failings of Jacob Keek was that he could never take care of money. He never had much to take care of, poor man, but when he got a shilling or two he had it transmuted into whisky. He was his own worst enemy-a mere waif on the tide of life. Much had not been committed to him and, consequently, of him. much would not be required. He went about his messages quietly, delivered them faithfully, got his "bite and sup" at the Black Bull and that was all he wanted except the supplemental dram occasionally.

It was while delivering one of these messages that Jacob accidentally brought matters to a crisis in the quarry, and the occasion of it was simply this. Sojourning at the Black Bull for a day or two were an elderly gentleman and his two sons who had come out to the Border Country to look for a summer residence. Mrs. Peacock incidentally mentioned to her guests that maybe Eildonlea might suit them. After hearing all that she had to communicate, the elderly gentleman expressed a wish to see the house and grounds: whereupon Jacob was despatched with a message to John Watson, the forester, desiring him to call at the Black Bull on the following day immediately after breakfast.

It was on the way homeward that Jacob caught a gleam of light in the old quarry. Turning aside to see what that might mean, and scrambling up behind the boulder where the boys were at work, Jacob had both seen what was going forward and learned the subject of conversation between the two expectant millionaires. Hazarding the remark that he would be glad to get "a wheen shares," Jacob disappeared in the darkness, went straight home to his bed in the hay-loft, and forgot all about the adventure in the quarry until reminded of it by meeting Tom Watson in the Market Place one afternoon.

(To be continued).

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.

The Editor has much pleasure in directing attention to Sir George Douglas's new novel, CAERLANRIG, the first portion of which appears in the present number.

Several articles in type are unavoidably held over till next month.

PART I. IS NOW ENTIRELY OUT OF PRINT.

THE BORDER MAGAZINE.

MAY, 1896.

LIST OF CONTENTS.

THOMAS USHER, Esq. By STUART DOUGLAS ELLIOT, S.S.C. (Portrait and Illustrations),
THE AULD KIRK BELL. By JOHN HALLIDAY,

BORDER BATTLES AND BATTLEFIELDS. OTTERBURN. BY JAMES ROBSON (Illustration),
THE QUARRY MASTER. BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK,
EDITORIAL NOTICES AND LIST OF CONTENTS,

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ON the 10th April last, the eldest son of the Hon. Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell Scott of Abbotsford came of age. Lieut. Walter Joseph Maxwell Scott is the great-great-grandson of Sir Walter.

ON Sunday, April 19th, Mrs. Mitchell, the last surviving daughter of Tibbie Shiel, died at Hawick in the 75th year of her age. Possessed of a good memory, she could relate many interesting reminiscences of the famous men who used to visit her mother's cottage at St. Mary's Loch.

MACNIVEN AND WALLACE of Edinburgh will shortly publish "The Story of Sir Walter Scott's First Love," with illustrative passages from his life and works and portraits of Sir Walter and Lady Scott, and of his successful rival Sir William Forbes and Lady Forbes. This is the first time that this interesting part of Sir Walter's life, and one that so largely influenced his after career, will be told as a connected story with names and all details that are now known.

QUERIES.

TAE. As there seems to be a great deal of uncertainty among Scottish writers of the present day

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about this word, can any reader inform me if there is any part of Scotland where it is used for the preposition to?

REPLIES.

CLEIK.

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Caerlanrig, A Novel.

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

CHAP. I.

"Like driftwood spars which meet and pass

Upon the boundless ocean-plain,

So on the sea of life, alas!

Man meets man-meets, and quits again." Na gloomy afternoon in March of the year 18-, William Jeffrey, landlord of the solitary wayside inn known as Rest-andbe-Thankful in the district of Caerlanrig, broke off some work among his liquor-supplies to remark to his wife that there was "every appearance of a fall of snow before night." The old inn of Rest-and-be-Thankful stood midway on the highroad between two Border towns-about ten miles from each of them-and so exactly at the boundary between two counties that whilst the house stood in one county, the adjoining stables were in another. It is a number of years since the house was used as an inn, and it has recently been dismantled and allowed to fall into ruin; but there must be many still living who remember the grey pile of buildings, with the cluster of martins' nests under its eaves, when it stood intact, and who will recall the welcome break which it afforded in that lonesome and monotonous road which leads through a long pass of the hills from Teviothead into Ewes Water.

Soon after the landlord had spoken, two shepherds made their appearance before the inndoor, and stood there for a few minutes, loitering before going in. They were both tall men, as spare of flesh as the collie dogs which followed them, and they wore the blue bonnet and were happed in the traditional grey shepherd's plaid. In expression their faces inclined to the austere, whilst their discourse was consistently laconic, being restricted to a prediction of " on-come, with gloomy comments thereupon. It was reserved for Jeffrey's whisky to liberate the thoughts which at present each one kept locked up within his breast.

In that thinly-peopled district, shepherds and travellers constituted the landlord's principalalmost his only-customers; yet it could scarcely be said that his trade languished upon their custom. If travellers were comparatively few, many of the shepherds-working for a wage paid largely in kind-had grown to be men of substance; and though for the most part frugal and sober men, yet they had their nights of jollification too. And on these occasions banknotes would be changed freely across the inn table. Yet it is only fair to add that, when the jollification was over and they had left the inn and parted company, every man of them would

take a line of his own, finding his way as straight as a die through the dark, across the pathless hills and dales, to his own distant cottage door.

Whilst the two shepherds lingered before the inn, they were from time to time joined by newcomers, until the group assembled there numbered some seven or eight. Of these, some were shepherds like the first comers, some ale-house hangers-on, some nondescripts; but presently a young man joined the group whose appearance did not rank him under any of these categories. He was tall, of good appearance, and apparently about two or three and twenty years of age; but what differentiated him from the other loungers was the fact that, whilst they were obviously natives of the soil-men whose longest journeys were droving expeditions-he seemed a stranger and one who had seen the world. The style of his costume—which, though rough, was of good material and unworn-suggested in some respects that he led a seafaring life, and his frank address and easy bearing were in keeping with the character of a sailor, though a sailor so far from salt-water seemed rather an anomaly. He accosted the loiterers, and though their manner in reply was not particularly encouraging for as Scotchmen and hill-dwellers they had a treble share of caution and reserve— he was not easily rebuffed but continued his remarks in the same friendly tone as before.

In the meantime the landlord, from his post at the window, had joyfully announced the last arrival to his wife, describing him as the

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stranger who had kept them all so lively" the night before. But Mrs. Jeffrey, whose warm complexion supplied a hint that she could be cross at times, did not participate in her husband's satisfaction. On the contrary, she began by delivering herself energetically on the subject of "a disturbance in the house," and concluded by saying that she had hoped that he (the stranger) was far enough away by this time.

Her husband, however, explained that the farmer of Kittlenakit, having foregathered with the traveller, had been so pleased with his company that he had insisted on providing him with lodgings for the night. To which the landlady replied sarcastically that that would amply account for the fellow's reappearance, for you might trust him to know on which side his bread was buttered. But Jeffrey shook his head.

"He's not that kind either," said he meditatively, and speaking out of the fullness of knowledge acquired in many years' experience. "He's none o' your sorners anyway-you don't see

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