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hich draws the pilgrim's feet to Branxholme's Tower, but the memory of events which the imagination of the Minstrel has conjured up, and which have made for themselves a local habitation and a name. For here Scott placed the leading incidents of the "Lay,"--the first and finest of his Border efforts: "Nine-and-twenty knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome Hall, Nine-and-twenty squires of name Brought them their steeds to bower from stall." From Branxholme to the russet-grey Peel of Goldielands is scarcely two miles. Minus gables or parapet now, and standing among the haystacks and buildings of a farm, it is still in tolerable preservation. Here dwelt amongst others of its old heroes, "the Laird's Wat, that worthie man," who led the Scots at the Reidswire in 1575. Not improbably is Goldielands the peel associated with Willie of Westburnflat's operations in the "Black Dwarf." At Goldielands Gate one gets a fine view to the right of the Borthwick valley, "Where Bortha hoarse that loads the meads with sand, Rolls her red tide to Teviot's western stand." And up the Borthwick, a mile or two, on its steep bank sits Harden, a place of more than ordinary note to the Scott student. Here Auld Wat, Sir Walter's grandsire seven times removed, reigned a king among Border reivers, whose deeds of derring-do have been long shrined by the balladists, and graven deep on the tablets of memory. Hawick, the Glasgow of the Borders, comes next in sight,--where Slitrig and Teviot meet. An ancient town, but possessing few relics of antiquity, except St. Mary's Church, and the Tower Inn, a dwelling of the Drumlanrig Douglases, with the mysterious Moat "where Druid shades still flitted round." The modernity of the place is, however, lost sight of annually in the "riding of the marches," a custom which prevails also in Selkirk and Langholm. It is the great public festival of the year, and dates from time immemorial. Its memories are mostly of Flodden, and the brave stand at Hornshole in the neighbourhood, the year after. The Flodden flag, splendidly "bussed," is carried in civic and cornetal procession with crowds continually singing--as only Teridom can--the rousing martial air of "Teribus," the Hawick slogan, which expresses more than any other the wild and defiant strain of the war-trump and the battle-shout. Hawick, including Wilton, has several elegantly architectured buildings, over a score of Tweed m
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