Wi’ his sleuth dog sits in his watch right sure.—­P 256. v. 1.

The centinels, who, by the march laws, were planted upon the border each night, had usually sleuth-dogs, or blood-hounds, along with them.—­See Nicolson’s Border Laws, and Lord Wharton’s Regulations, in the 6th of Edward VI.

Of the blood-hound we have said something in the notes on Hobbie Noble; but we may, in addition, refer to the following poetical description of the qualities and uses of that singular animal: 

  —­Upon the banks
  Of Tweed, slow winding thro’ the vale, the seat
  Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew
  The sweets of peace, or Anna’s dread commands
  To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awed,
  There dwelt a pilfering race; well trained and skill’d
  In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil
  Their only substance, feuds and war their sport. 
  Not more expert in every fraudful art
  The arch felon was of old, who by the tail
  Drew back his lowing prize:  in vain his wiles,
  In vain the shelter of the covering rock,
  In vain the sooty cloud, and ruddy flames,
  That issued from his mouth; for soon he paid
  His forfeit life:  a debt how justly due
  To wronged Alcides, and avenging Heaven! 
  Veil’d in the shades of night, they ford the stream;
  Then, prowling far and near, whate’er they seize
  Becomes their prey; nor flocks nor herds are safe,
  Nor stalls protect the steer, nor strong barr’d doors
  Secure the favourite horse.  Soon as the morn
  Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan
  The plunder’d owner stands, and from his lips
  A thousand thronging curses burst their way. 
  He calls his stout allies, and in a line
  His faithful hound he leads; then, with a voice
  That utters loud his rage, attentive cheers. 
  Soon the sagacious brute, his curling tail
  Flourish’d in air, low bending, plies around
  His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuffs
  Inquisitive, nor leaves one turf untried;

  Till, conscious of the recent stains, his heart
  Beats quick, his snuffling nose, his active tail,
  Attest his joy; then, with deep-opening mouth
  That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims
  The audacious felon; foot by foot he marks
  His winding way, while all the listening crowd
  Applaud his reasonings.  O’er the watery ford,
  Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hills,
  O’er beaten tracks, with men and beast distain’d,
  Unerring he pursues; till, at the cot
  Arrived, and seizing by his guilty throat
  The caitiff vile, redeems the captive prey: 
  So exquisitely delicate his sense!

SOMERVILLE’S Chase.

  Methinks it’s the Captain of Newcastle, &c. 
  Coming down by the foul steps of Catlowdie’s loan.—­P. 256. v. 2.

According to the late Glenriddell’s notes on this ballad, the office of captain of Bewcastle was held by the chief of the Nixons.