_In liquid murmurs Yarrow sings_ _Her reminiscent tune_ _Of bygone Autumn, bygone Springs,_ _And many a leafy June._ _No more the morning beacons gleam_ _Upon the silent hills;_ _The far back years are years of dream—_ _Now peace the valley fills._ _No more the reivers down the vale_ _On raid and foray ride;_ _No more is heard the widow’s wail_ _O’er those who fighting died._ _When morning damns with all its joys_ _Then from the meadows rise_ _A hundred throbbing hearts to voice_ _Their anthems to the skies._ _When noontide sleeps where brackens wave,_ _Ere shadows yet grow long,_ _No sound awakes the echoes save_ _The Yarrow’s pensive song._ _And when the eve, with calm delight,_ _Betokens night is nigh,_ _Beneath the first star’s tender light_ _Is heard the owlet’s cry._ _While Yarrow’s liquid cadence swells_ _By meadow, moor, and hill,_ _At morn or noon or eve there dwells_ _A mournful memory still._ W. CUTHBERTSON. *Stories of The Scottish Border* *Introduction* *I.—THE CHARACTER OF THE BORDERS* The district called the Border is one of the most interesting in Great Britain. It consists of that part of England that is nearest Scotland, and that part of Scotland that is nearest England, mainly the counties of Northumberland, Cumberland, Berwickshire, Roxburghshire, and Dumfriesshire. The country is very picturesque and highly romantic. It abounds in great rolling, breezy hills, with swift streamlets or "burns" running down their sides to swell the rushing rivers. No part of our island has more beautiful valleys than those of the Border. This bold, rough district, well adapted to defence, and situated also just where the island of Great Britain is almost at its narrowest, became, after many a struggle, the boundary between England and Scotland. The character of the country was suited to the rearing of hardy Moorland sheep and cattle; its inhabitants therefore were a tough, open-air race of men, strong, strapping fellows, fearless riders, always ready for an adventure, especially if it meant a fight. In those days of Border strife there was hardly such a thing as international justice, that is to say, the people of one nation were not very particular as to what they did to people of another nation; therefore these bold, hardy Border men, Englishmen and Scot alike, were fond of creeping across the boundary to steal the cattle of their neighbours. Men devoted to such raids were called "Freebooters" or "Mosstroopers," the name "Moss" being given in the North Country to boggy tracts that lie about the hill-sides.