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THE MONASTERY.

ken silence, cried out aloud, "What, ho! my masters—are ye Border-riders, and sit as mute over your meal as a mess of monks and friars?—Some one sing, if no one list to speak. Meat eaten without either mirth or music, is ill of digestion.—Louis," he added, speaking to one of the youngest of his followers, "thou art ready enough to sing when no one bids thee."

The young man looked first at his master, then up to the arched roof of the hall, then drank off the horn of ale, or wine, which stood beside him, and with a rough, yet not unmelodious voice, sung the following ditty to the ancient air of "Blue Bonnets over the Border."

I.March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order;March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,All the blue bonnets are bound for the Border.Many a banner spread,Flutters above your head,
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