History of Cumberland, p. 466, concerning the Graemes of Netherby, and others of that clan, runs thus:  “They were all stark moss-troopers and arrant thieves:  both to England and Scotland outlawed:  yet sometimes connived at, because they gave intelligence forth of Scotland, and would raise 400 horse at any time, upon a raid of the English into Scotland.”  A saying is recorded of a mother to her son (which is now become proverbial), “Ride Rouly (Rowland), hough’s i’ the pot;” that is, the last piece of beef was in the pot, and therefore it was high time for him to go and fetch more.  To such men might with justice be applied the poet’s description of the Cretan warrior; translated by my friend, Dr. Leyden.

  My sword, my spear, my shaggy shield,
  With these I till, with these I sow;
  With these I reap my harvest field,
  The only wealth the Gods bestow. 
  With these I plant the purple vine,
  With these I press the luscious wine.

  My sword, my spear, my shaggy shield,
  They make me lord of all below;
  For he who dreads the lance to wield,
  Before my shaggy shield must bow. 
  His lands, his vineyards, must resign;
  And all that cowards have is mine.

Hybrias (ap.  Athenaeum).]

This brings us to the more immediate subject of the present publication.

Lesley, who dedicates to the description of border manners a chapter, which we have already often quoted, notices particularly the taste of the marchmen for music and ballad poetry. “Placent admodum sibi sua musica, et rythmicis suis cantionibus, quas de majorum suorum gestis, aut ingeniosis predandi precandive stratagematis ipsi confingunt. “—­Leslaeus, in capitulo de moribus eorum, qui Scotiae limites Angliam versus incolunt.  The more rude and wild the state of society, the more general and violent is the impulse received from poetry and music.  The muse, whose effusions are the amusement of a very small part of a polished nation, records, in the lays of inspiration, the history the laws, the very religion, of savages.—­Where the pen and the press are wanting, the low of numbers impresses upon the memory of posterity, the deeds and sentiments of their forefathers.  Verse is naturally connected with music; and, among a rude people, the union is seldom broken.  By this natural alliance, the lays, “steeped in the stream of harmony,” are more easily retained by the reciter, and produce upon his audience a more impressive effect.  Hence, there has hardly been found to exist a nation so brutishly rude, as not to listen with enthusiasm to the songs of their bards, recounting the exploits of their forefathers, recording their laws and moral precepts, or hymning the praises of their deities.  But, where the feelings are frequently stretched to the highest pitch, by the vicissitudes of a life of danger and military adventure, this predisposition of a savage people, to admire their own rude poetry and music, is heightened, and its tone becomes peculiarly determined.  It is not the peaceful Hindu at his loom, it is not the timid Esquimaux in his canoe, whom we must expect to glow at the war song of Tyrtaeus.  The music and the poetry of each country must keep pace with their usual tone of mind, as well as with the state of society.