vain pursuit; the life of the bird was gone, and its mangled body was brought in by the unfortunate owner in such dismay, accompanied by such looks and language, as must have awakened pity in a misanthrope. He spread himself half-length over the table, and mourned his canary-bird with the most undissembled

sorrow.

"Well may I grieve for thee, my poor little thing!-well may I grieve! More than four years hast thou fed from my hand, drunk from my lip, and slept in my bosom! I owe to thee my support, my health, my strength, and my happiness! Without thee, what will become of me? Thou it was that didst insure my welcome in the best companies! It was thy genius only made me welcome! Thy death is a just punishment for my vanity: had I relied on thy happy powers, all had been well, and thou hadst been perched on my finger, or lulled on my breast, at this moment! But trusting to my own talents, and glorifying myself in them, a judgment has fallen upon me, and thou art dead and mangled on this table! Accursed be the hour I entered this house! and more accursed the detestable monster that killed thee! Accursed be myself, for I contributed! I ought not to have taken away my eyes when thine were closed in frolic! Oh, Bijou! my dearest, only Bijou! would I were dead also!"

As near as the spirit of his disordered mind can be transfused, such was the language and sentiment of the forlorn bird-catcher, whose despairing motion and frantic air no words can paint. He took from his pocket a little green bag of faded velvet, and drawing from out of it some wool and cotton, that were the wrapping of whistles, bird-calls, and other instruments of his trade, all of which he threw on the table, "as in scorn," and making a couch, placed the mutilated limbs and ravaged feathers of his canary upon it, and renewed his lamentations. These were now much softened, as is ever the case when the rage of grief yields to its tenderness-when it is too much overpowered by the effect to advert to the cause.

It is needless to observe that every one of the company sympathised with him; but none more so than the band of musicians, who, being engaged in a profession that naturally keeps the sensibilities more or less in exercise, felt the distress of the poor bird-man with peculiar force. It was really a banquet to see these people gathering themselves into a knot, and, after whispering, wiping their eyes, and blowing their noses, depute one from amongst them to be the medium of conveying into the pocket of the bird-man, the very contribution they had just before received for their own efforts.

Having wrapped up their contribution, they contrived to put it into the poor man's pocket. As soon as he became aware of what they had done, he took from his pocket the little parcel they had rolled up, and brought with it, by an unlucky accident,

another little bag, at the sight of which he was extremely agitated, for it contained the canary-seed, the food of the "dear lost companion of his heart."

There is no giving language to the effect of this trifling circumstance upon the poor fellow; he threw down the contribution-money that he brought from his pocket along with it, not with an ungrateful, but a desperate hand. He opened the bag, which was fastened with red tape, and taking out some of the seed, put it to the very bill of the lifeless bird, exclaiming, No, poor Bijou! no; thou canst not peck any more out of this hand that has been thy feeding-place so many years-thou canst not remember how happy we both were when I bought this bag full for thee! Had it been filled with gold, thou hadst deserved it!"

"It shall be filled-and with gold," said the master of the house, "if I could afford it."

The good man rose from his seat, which had been long uneasy to him, and gently taking the bag, put into it some silver, saying, as he handed it to his nearest neighbour, "Who will refuse to follow my example? It is not a subscription for mere charity; it is a tribute to one of the rarest things in the whole world; namely, to real feeling, in this sophistical, pretending, parading age. If ever the passion of love and gratitude was in the heart of man, it is in the heart of that unhappy fellow; and whether the object that calls out such feelings be bird, beast, fish, or man, it is alike virtue, and-ought to be rewarded."

T an early period, the boundaries of England differed considerably from their present limits. The southeastern provinces of Lothian and Berwickshire belonged to England, while the south-western frontier of Scotland was enlarged beyond its present bounds by the possession of the ancient British kingdom of Cumberland. In the year 1018, Eadulf, Earl of Northumberland, ceded to Malcolm II. the whole district of Lothian and Berwickshire to the Tweed. But this extension of territory on the eastern frontier was balanced by the loss of Cumberland, which was wrested from Malcolm Canmore by William the Conqueror. After this period no permanent change took place on the boundaries of the two kingdoms; and the Borders, with the exception of Berwick on the east, and the "Debateable Land" on the west, which were constant subjects of dispute, might be considered as finally settled according to the present limits.

At the eastern extremity of the boundary line between England and Scotland stands the town of Berwick, on the north bank of the Tweed. This ancient town was the key of the kingdom on this side, and was therefore the object of perpetual strife for several centuries. It was finally left in possession of the English about the close of the fifteenth century. And in 1551 the town, and a small district adjoining to it, called Berwick Bounds in all about eight miles-were made independent of both England and Scotland. By a charter granted by King James I., the town and its liberties enjoy many valuable privileges of a peculiar nature; which, however, have been greatly

modified by the English reform and municipal corporation acts. In consequence of this circumstance, the boundary line between the two countries at its eastern extremity leaves the German Ocean about three miles to the north of the Tweed, and proceeding in a south-westerly direction, strikes the river about three miles from the sea. From this point the Tweed forms the line of demarcation as far as Carham, four miles west from Coldstream, when the boundary proceeds southward, inclining to the east for a distance of fifteen or sixteen miles; it afterwards turns towards the south-west, in which direction it continues nearly the whole of the remaining distance. For forty or fifty miles the dividing line runs through a wild and mountainous country, and along the highest ridges of the Cheviot Hills—the waterbreak, as it is called, being understood as the proper boundary. A large extent of the district through which this part of the line runs was formerly in the condition of a forest, and now consists of extensive sheep-walks. On leaving the mountain ridges which divide. Northumberland from Roxburghshire, the line takes the bottom of a valley, along by a stream called the Kershope (a branch of the Liddel), and afterwards along the river Liddel, till about four miles north of Longtown, when it strikes off abruptly from the course of this stream in a direction due west, being marked by an old ditch and embankment called the Scots Dike. This dike is four miles in length, and terminates on the banks of a stream called the Sark, which flows in a southerly direction towards the Solway, and forms the boundary of the two countries between the place where the Scots Dike touches it, and its efflux into the Solway. The Solway Firth, which separates Cumberland from the Scottish counties of Dumfries and Kirkcudbright, may be considered as forming the remaining portion of the boundary between the two kingdoms. In ordinary conversation, it is customary to speak of the Tweed as the great dividing line of England and Scotland; but it will be observed from the above that the Tweed really forms a comparatively small part of the boundary, by far the larger portion being an ill-marked track across a mountainous country.

From the indistinctness of the line in many parts of its course, there are, in different places, disputed or debateable lands, claimed by opposite jurisdictions; but these being desolate pastoral tracts, no practical inconvenience ensues.

In consequence of the mutual discord which long unhappily subsisted between England and Scotland, as well as from the feebleness of the administrative law on both sides, the tract of country along the Borders, extending to a length of seventy of eighty miles, by an irregular breadth of from ten to thirty or forty, was distinguished as the scene of almost perpetual disturbance. Apart from that of England and Scotland, the Borders may be said to have a history of their own; for while the two conterminous nations were at peace, this central district was

often engaged in its own family wars and predatory forays, over which the monarchs on either side had no vigorous control.

To remedy this state of things as far as possible, the Borders were divided into east, west, and middle marches, which were placed under the charge of officers of high rank, holding special commissions from the crown, and entitled wardens or guardians of the marches. The persons who filled this important office were usually noblemen or chiefs, possessed of great personal influence in the districts committed to their jurisdiction. The duties intrusted to their charge were of a very extensive nature, comprehending the maintenance of law and good order among the inhabitants of their own districts; the control and administration of all the crown manors within their jurisdiction; and the power of apprehending and inflicting summary punishment on those who had been guilty of march treason and felony, or of violating any of the ancient rules and customs of the marches. In time of war, the warden was captain-general within his district, with full powers to call out all the fencible men," for the purpose either of defending their own territory, or of invading that of the enemy. In time of peace, he had the difficult duty committed to him of maintaining the amicable relations between the two countries, and of redressing the various grievances arising out of the continual incursions of the mosstroopers on both sides.

The weakness of the Scottish monarchs usually compelled them to confer the office of warden on some of the chiefs of the great Border clans, who appear, without any scruple, to have employed their authority to crush their private enemies, rather than to preserve the public peace, or to secure the impartial administration of justice. The extensive power of these turbulent chieftains made it almost equally dangerous to withhold or to grant whatever boons they chose to exact. Their numerous and devoted clansmen and allies were ever ready to obey their commands, even in opposition to the royal authority; and a combination of these formidable barons, on more than one occasion, proved too strong for the reigning sovereign.

BORDER CLANS AND FEUDS.

The system of clanship existed at a very early period on the Borders, and continued to flourish there until the union of the crowns. The frontier provinces of England and Scotland were inhabited in ancient times by several tribes of Britons or Celts, and the patriarchal form of government-a leading feature of Celtic manners-remained on the Borders long after the abrogation of the other peculiar usages of the ancient inhabitants, and in despite of the feudal system, with which it was often at variance. According to this simple mode of government, which was universal among the ancient Celtic nations, the chief of the clan was supposed to be the immediate representative of the