By wily turns, by desperate bounds, Had baffled Percy's best bloodhounds-Ver. 21, p. 25. The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Border-riders, were sometimes obliged to study how to evade the pursuit of bloodhounds. Barbour informs us that Robert Bruce was repeatedly tracked by sleuth dogs. On one occasion he escaped by wading a bowshot down a brook, and thus baffled the The pursuers came up : scent. Rdcht to the burn thai passyt ware, Perseuvit the hund the sleuth had lorne. The Bruce, Buke vii. A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill blood upon the track, which destroyed the discriminating fineness of his scent. A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such occasions. Henry the minstrel tells a romantic story of Wallace, founded on this circumstance. The hero's little band had been joined by an Irishman, named Fawdoun, or Fadzean, a dark, savage, and suspicious character. After a sharp skirmish at Black Erne side, Wallace was for ced to retreat with only sixteen followers. The English pursued with a Border sleuthbratch, or bloodhound. In Gelderland there was that bratchel bred, In the retreat, Fawdoun tired, or affecting to be so, would go no farther: Wallace having in vain argued with him, in hasty anger, struck off his head, and continued his retreat. When the English came up, their hound stayed upon the dead body. The sleuth stopped at Fawdoun, still she stood, The story concludes with a fine scene of Gothic terror. Wallace took refuge in the solitary tower of Gask. Here he was disturbed at midnight by the blast of a horn: he sent out his attendants by two and two, but no one returned with tidings. At length, when he was left alone, the sound was heard still louder. The champion descended sword in hand; and at the gate of the tower was encountered by the headless spectre of Fawdoun, whom he had slain so rashly. Wallace, in great terror, fed up into the tower, tore open the boards of a window, leaped down fifteen feet in height, and continued his flight up the river. Looking back to Gask, he discovered the tower on fire, and the form of Fawdoun upon the battlements, dilated to an immense size, and holding in his hand a blazing rafter. The minstrel concludes, Trust ryght wele, that all this be sooth indeed, Supposing it be no point of the creed. The Wallace Book fifth. Mr. Ellis has extracted this tale as a sample of Henry's poetry. Specimens of English poetry, vol. i, P. 351. Dimly he viewed the moathill's mound.-Ver. 25, p. 28. This is a round artificial mount near Hawick, which, from its name (Mor. Ang. Sax. Concilium, Conventus,) was probably anciently used as a place for assembling a national council of the adjacent tribes. There are many such mounds in Scotland, and they are sometimes, but rarely, of a square form. Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.-Ver. 25, p. 28. The estate of Hazeldean, corruptly Hassendean, belonged formerly to a family of Scotts thus com memorated by Satchells: "Hassendean came without a call, The ancientest house among them all." On Mintocrags the moonbeams glint.-Ver. 27, p. 29. A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise suddenly above the vale of Teviot, in the immediate vicinity of the family seat, from which lord Minto takes his title. A small platform, on a projecting erag, commanding a most beautiful prospect, is termed Barnhills' Bed. This Barnhills is said to have been a robber or outlaw. There are remains of a strong tower beneath the rocks, where he is supposed to have dwelt, and from which he derived his name. On the summit of the crags there are the fragments of another ancient tower, in a very picteresque situation. Among the houses cast down by the earl of Hertforde, in 1545, occur the towers of Easter Barnhills, and of Mintocrag, with Minto town and place. Sir Gilbert Elliot, father to the present lord Minto, was the author of a beautiful pastoral song, of which the following is a more correct copy than is usually published. The poetical mantle of Sir Gilbert Elliot has descended to his family. My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook, No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove; Through regions remote in vain do I rove, Alas! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine! Ancient Riddel's fair domain.-Ver. 28, p. 29. The family of Riddell have been very long in possession of the barony called Riddell, or Ryedale, part of which still bears the latter name. Tradition car f |