of "Percy!-Percy!" rang in their ears as something like a reproof of their tardiness. To the Scots, especially, it was a supreme moment, for delay meant gaps in their ranks, and this they could ill afford. It is said that Douglas was so much engaged in giving orders to his subordinates that he failed to be sufficiently armed. The Earl of Moray forgot to put on his helmet, and fought all night with his head unprotected.

"The Erle Jamys wes sa besy

For til ordane his company,
And on his Fays for to pas,

That rekles he of his armyng was.
The Erle of Murrawy's Bassenet,

Thai sayd, at that tyme wes foryhete."

It had been previously arranged amongst the Scottish chiefs that, when the English assailed them, Douglas, with a large number of his best warriors, should stealthily draw off northward, and take up his position on the higher ground, which was well shaded with trees. This he immediately did, and thus occupied a position considerably above where the main divisions were engaged.

Near the commencement of the battle, the Scots, being hardly pressed by the superior numbers of the English, were beginning to waver, when Douglas and his chosen company, with waving banners and wild slogan cries, issued from the thin forest in which they had been unobserved.

"Schyr Jamys than of Douglas

39

Wes passyd the Buskis, and suddanly He bolted up welle nere-hand thame by Wyth twelf displayid Banneris, or ma. This sudden advance being quite unexpected on the part of the English caused them to fall back in great disorder, and, for a time at least, it seemed as if they would scarcely be able to rally. By a desperate effort, however, they recovered from the shock. Their ranks were soon restored, and a compact front presented to the enemy. Profiting by this temporary confusion in the Southern ranks, the Scots were allowed a little breathing space, sufficient to enable them to march out and properly arrange their forces in order of battle.

By this time the shadows of night had fairly set in. The sky was clear, however, and a bright moon lit up the whole scene. All over the field the fight became general. Banners waved, advanced, and fell as their gallant bearers received the fatal thrust. The ground became slippery with blood. The groans of the dying mingled with the loud slogan cry of the knights and men-at-arms. Every foot of ground was obstinately contested. Every blow meant death or disablement, every spear-thrust a gap in the ranks.

Sir Thomas Umphreville who, at the com

mencement of the fight, as already stated, had swept round the rallying columns of the Scots in order to intercept them in their expected flight, found himself idle, with no fugitive Scot to be seen. Frustrated in this enterprise, he lingered a while uncertain how to proceed, and then advanced upon the enemy's camp, which he found almost deserted. Effecting an entrance on the north-east side by means of a breach in the entrenchment, he found a large quantity of booty. Leaving a body of men in charge, he, with the larger portion of his division, circled round and joined the main body of his own army. The succour he brought was not a moment too soon, for his countrymen were being borne back with great loss.

Thus under the clear starlit sky, and by the pale moonlight, the conflict raged with terrible severity until a heavy cloud overshadowed the scene and rendered it almost impossible to distinguish friend from foe. For a while the combatants rested on their arms, glad probably of a little breathing space. To the English, especially, this formed a welcome relief from the terrible

strain of a long march and severe fighting. When the moon again shone forth the charge they made on the Scottish ranks was almost irresistible. Led on by their gallant leader in person, they advanced in a compact body with such fierce and resolute determination that the Scots, already weakened, and with greatly inferior numbers, began to waver. The banner of

Douglas was in danger of being borne down or snatched from the grasp of its bearer. The Scottish leader, perceiving how matters stood, determined at all hazards to avert what seemed almost inevitable defeat. With reckless daring and consummate skill he seized his great twohanded battle axe, which only himself could wield, and, plunging madly into the enemy's ranks, cut a way for himself, dealing death and destruction on every hand. In this way he soon became isolated from the main body of his followers, and exposed on every side to fierce. and deadly onslaught. A score of weapons were raised against his single person. Still he pressed on, clearing a space before him. At length-for human skill and strength have their limits, and the courage of one availeth not against a host-he fell, pierced with several wounds. The crucial moment had arrived. Tremendous issues hung in the balance. From the fierce onslaught of Douglas the English had received a severe shock and fell back, while the Scottish knights pressed forward, encouraged and emboldened by the splendid example of their leader. Sir Patrick Hepburn, who led the other wing, so nobly seconded the efforts of

Douglas, and sustained the charge with such vigour and determination, that in his part of the field, also, the English showed signs of wavering.

At this juncture Sir Ralph Percy was taken prisoner, and the other Scottish chiefs, George Earl of Dunbar, and John Earl of Moray, pressed hard upon the English ranks Alas! no valour or deeds of fame on the part of these chiefs, could compensate for the terrible calamity which the Scots had already sustained in the loss of their leader. Douglas was fatally wounded. He was attended by his chaplain, Richard Lundie. "Cousin, how fares it with you?" inquired his relative, Sir John Sinclair.

from our enemies, and if I thought we were on this occasion to be victorious, I should die with more complacency. There is an old prophecy connected with my family, that a dead man shall gain a field; and to-night I trust it will be accomplished: so farewell."

Covering his body with a cloak, Sir John Sinclair seized the banner, which he bore during the remainder of the battle, and, advancing with the cry of "A Douglas!-a Douglas!" drove the enemy back from where the dying man lay. Soon after this he expired.

For several hours the strife continued with no signs of abatement. By degrees the two armies

"Only indifferently," replied the expiring chief; "I think I am dying; yet I thank God that I meet death as my ancestors have done, on a field of battle, and not on a sick bed. I have, however, some requests to make, and I trust you will see them performed. In the first place, do not tell of my death to either friend or foe; for such tidings would dishearten our own party, or afford great encouragement to the English. Again, raise up my standard as if I were still fighting like a brave knight, and continue to shout Douglas!' that the cry may be heard over the whole field. Thirdly, exert yourselves to avenge my death. We have suffered much

got more mixed, and separate detachments engaged each other with deadly effect. Numerous hand-to-hand encounters took place in different parts of the field. Hotspur and Sir John Montgomery met and engaged in single combat, which they maintained for a considerable time, till at length the prowess of Montgomery prevailed, and Sir Henry Percy was taken prisoner. The two brothers were now captives, and though the contest was waged with great vigour on both sides for several hours, the Scots gradually gained the mastery.

(To be continued.)

Butto many the volume will be highly treasured for one reason above all others, viz., its association with the name of Robert Mathison, for the book is in the main a tribute to his memory. Mr. Mathison was one of the originators of the club and its moving spirit while he lived. Accordingly, a portrait of him fitly forms the frontispiece of the volume, and within it are preserved several notices of him which appeared in the local press at the time of his death.

It will be five years now in the middle of this summer since Mr. Mathison died. His death was the result of an accident which occurred at the station of Walkerburn on the Peebles branch of the North British Railway. The news as it spread was felt as a great shock by all classes in the neighbourhood. From most readers the newspaper notices of the accident would draw perhaps more than the usual passing glance, because there had a few words been added drawing attention to Mr. Mathison's exceptional character, but from the many also who thus learned for the first time of his death, and had enjoyed the priviledge of his personal friendship, the news must have drawn a sigh of deep regret. Those words of Hamlet which have long been a somewhat stale compliment we often pay to our dead had a new force and truth to many who thought rather than uttered them over the memory of Mr. Mathison, "Take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again." It is not our intention here to attempt anything like a biography, but we have thought that it might interest and gratify many readers of the Border Magazine to find in its pages some appreciation, however slight, of one who was a devoted child of the Borderland, and, in a rare sense, a true son of nature.

Robert Mathison belonged by birth and residence to the Borders, and the genius of that country-side had entered into, and possessed, his soul. Nor was his love of his native countryside that kind of vague patriotic passion merely

which would seem to come to Bordermen at their birth, but while it had all the enthusiasm of this general passion, it had pierced also to the depths of particulars with all the candour of an exact scientist. It is hardly an exaggeration to say of him that he knew every hill and glen, every wood and stream of the Border country and all their many associations with that deep and true knowledge which is the, as if spontaneous, outcome of a pure concentrated love of its object. It was this, indeed, which distinguished the culture of Mr. Mathison from much of the culture of the present day, that no ulterior motives entered into his pursuit of knowledge, only the one highest motive, a love of his subject. The joy of the companionship of nature was the only reward he ever sought, or indeed ever got. He never published a line-which means much in these days—although he was often pressed to do so, and no doubt had much that he might have said.

We have a fear that by those who did not know him personally we may hardly be believed when we state the truth about Mr. Mathison, or that what we say of him will be set down to "the exaggeration of love." The " The "mute, inglorious Milton" or "village Hampden" theory gets little sympathy among men generally nowadays. We are like a crowd shut up in some black hole," where each is struggling to get his head above the general level to catch a moment's breath. In an age like the present, therefore, where everyone seems more eager than another elbowing past his neighbour to the front, it will be difficult for many to believe that a man of such native powers of mind and such attainments lived and died so comparatively unknown.

Mr. Mathison was by trade a stone-mason, and this along with his scientific acquirements, led some to speak of him after his death as the Hugh Miller of the South of Scotland. He had indeed in many ways a wonderful resemblance to Hugh Miller, and not least in this that he was of a deeply religious character, one who, notwithstanding his researches in science, ever held firmly to the evangelical faith of his fathers. Reverence was a strong quality of his nature, and his studies seemed to feed it because he brought to them a large human heart as well as a large mind. He was not one "who would peep and botanise over his mother's grave." Nature was not to him a field merely wherein to pick up specimens and to classify. He could do that, too, and loved such work, but he never forgot whence he had taken them, that they were little bits lifted out of God's great universe and reverenced them as such.

For many years he carried on business as a

means, contained many rare specimens of plants and flowers. He had thrice ascended Ben Nevis, and not very long before his death he led a search party of botanists up Wyvis, Nevis, or some other one of the Bens, we forget at the moment exactly which, and himself picked up a plant which was not generally supposed to grow

The sciences which he most preferred were geology, astronomy, and botany. He was a noted horticulturist of the county, and his garden, whereon he had spent much of his time and

in this country, but which he had been led to think was to be found there. Of astronomy also his knowledge was extensive, and a leading astronomer who knew him said no less of him than that

he might have filled with credit the place of

astronomer

royal. But geology might be said to be his favourite study, or rather a sort of primus inter pares, and the geological formations of Scotland, especially of the southern part, were as a picture before him of which he knew every line. The club to which we have referred was formed by him

a year or two before his death, for the study of natural science and antiquities. The main feature of the club was its summer excursions to

places of interest in the country around, reports of which appeared from time to time in the Scotsman and the now defunct Scottish Leader, as well as in the local papers. Among favourite leaders in these excursions, besides Mr. Mathison himself, may be mentioned the late Professor

Veitch, "John Strathesk," and Professor Hunter of Edinburgh.

We have said so much of Mr. Mathison, and though we fear that we may have said more than, without further knowledge, the general reader might be inclined entirely to accept, we know at the same time that we have not said as much as could altogether satisfy his many friends. Among these, we are well aware, are some better qualified than we to do justice to his memory, but still we trust that, even in this brief notice, we may have given some general idea of his character. And, while this knowledge of him may help to confirm or restore the faith of some in humanity, it may also perhaps recall to many friends his tall and handsome form, his fine head and refined intellectual face, and somewhat "brusque" but kindly manner. Or they may in imagination see him again, as he was so often to be seen, driving along the country-roads about Innerleithen that he loved so well, superintending his various "jobs," his coat perhaps off, and his clothes all muddy, wearing that half abstracted, half-observant look upon his face which was usually so peculiar to him.

Through the kindness of Mr. Thos. Young, the Secretary of the Innerleithen Alpine Club, we are enabled to reproduce a speaking likeness of the subject of our sketch.

Puir Auld bhawick.

FOLK may praise the tranquil Tweed
As it rows by muir and mead;
Aw'll allow withoot regret
They have no ower-praised it yet,
But aw hope they'll no forget
Teeviotdale.

There are banks on bonnie Jed
Where the Fairies weel micht tread.

There are braes on Ettrick side
Where the broom and bracken bide;
But the're charmin' spots that hide
Roond auld Hawick.

Yarrow's dowie dens may be
Graced wi' elfish fantasy.

Tho' the Esk has pearly sprays,
And the Gala windin' ways;

The're some bonnie banks and braes
Aboot Hawick.

The're some beauty-spots, aw trow,
Where the Slitrig wimples throw
(Mossy haughs where "Wutchies" flit,
Primrose glades where artists sit,)
'Mang saugh and willow, slae and nit,
By tui Hawick.

There's a feck o' braw bit nuiks
Where the silvery Teeviot cruiks,

Doon by mony a knowe and knoll,
Branksholme, Martin's Brig, the Toll,
Doon tui famous Horn's Hole ;
Braw auld Hawick.

There is scenery galore
Dressed wi' Nature's choicest store,
Glens and glades and rushin' rills,
That the heart wi' rapture thrills:
There's a walth o' heathery hills
A' roond Hawick.

Oo've a pairk in Wulton Ludge
That e'en Fairyland micht grudge,
Decked wi' gems o' Nature's growin'
Cosy corners lovers vow in,
Shady walks by Teeviot rowin'
Doon tui Hawick.

Oo've a flag that's a' oor ain,
"After Flodden" it was ta'en.

Oo've a hist'ry thrae the Fluid,
Oo've a Moat where Druids stuid,
Oo've a sang that stirs the bluid
O' a' Hawick.

Teri-Bus was yince the cry
That led "Callants" on tui die.

But wherever Scotsmen swarm
Teri-Bus is now a charm

That keeps heart and freendship warm
For auld Hawick.

But in a' oor Teri-land

(Where some sic-like things should stand) No a statue has been built

Tui the men whaes bluid was spilt,
Or whae sang their sweetest lilt
For auld Hawick.

Hawick can boast a name or twae
Micht be honoured in that way :
There's Drumlanrig first av'a,
Jamie Thamson ("Auld Mid Raw "),
Balbirnie, Inglis, Hogg an' a',
Hab o' Hawick.

Henry Riddell is a name

Puir auld Hawick micht fairly claim,
"Scotland Yet," a nation's pride
Was inspired by scenes that bide
'Mang the hills o' Teeviotside,
Rich auld Hawick.

Sae oor gaunna, some fine day
When there's noucht tui bar the way,
Build a Statue, Cairn, or Pen
Tui that group o' famous men,
(Yins-apiece of coorse ee' ken)
In auld Hawick.

"TEEKAY,"