Watty Boyd and Rob Hastie were respectively town drummer and town piper of Jedburgh. The “Piper’s House” in Jedburgh was No. 1 Duck Row, at the foot of the Canongate, and the fact that it was always known by this name goes to show that it was the house in which the town pipers resided. The Robin Hastie referred to by Sir Walter Scott is supposed to have occupied the house, which was altered in 1896 in order to meet modern requirements. The instrument with which, according to tradition, one of the Jedburgh pipers, John Hastie by name, played at Flodden, existed till very lately, perhaps still exists, in the keeping of some antiquarian. That burgh pipers were, on the Borders, where they rivalled in fame those of the Highlands, greatly respected, is shown by the _Elegy on John Hasty_, an excellent dirge which elucidates much of the manners of the Border pipers. The name of the author is unknown, but as the piece was out of print before 1730, the piper must have been dead before that time:— “O death! thou wreck of young and auld, How slie, and O how dreadfu’ bald! Thou came unlooked for, nor anes tald What was the crime; But Hastie at the mouth turned cald Just at his prime. “We mourn the loss o’ mensefu’ John, Yet greet in vain since he is gone; A blyther lad ne’er buir a drone, Nor touched a lill; Nor pipe inspir’d wi’ sweeter tone, Or better skill. “Not Orpheus auld, with lyric sound, Wha in a ring gard stanes dance round, Was ever half so much renown’d For jig and solo— Now he lies dum aneath the ground An’ we maun follow. “At brydels, whan his face we saw, Lads, lasses, bridegroom, bride and a’ Smiling, cry’d, Johnie come awa’, A welcome guest; The enchanting chanter out he’d draw— His pleas’d us best. “The spring that ilk are lik’d he kend; Auld wives at sixty years wad stend; New pith his pipes their limbs did lend, Bewitching reed! ‘Las that his winsome sell sou’d bend Sae soon his head. “When bagpipes newfangled lugs had tir’d, They’d sneer; then he, like are inspir’d, We’s fiddle their faggin’ spirits fir’d, Or e’er they wist; Gi’ every taste what they desir’d, He never mist.