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I came
across a reference to this title in an old book so did a
search and found several copies of it and so am making
them available for you to download and enjoy. I have
read a couple of the issues in full and found much in
them that was very informative and also found some
significant people where a biography of them were made
available. I certainly recommend them to you as an
enjoyable read.
The
Border Magazine - November, 1831, Volume 1
INTRODUCTION
To the
projectors of the present publication, the idea of
establishing in Berwick a periodical in the shape of a
Magazine is not of recent occurrence. It had been long
nurtured, and was only prevented from assuming a
tangible form by a mixed feeling of dread and delicacy,
although in many respects the circumstances were
favourable and the prospects flattering. Lately,
however, a fresh impulse was given to the undertaking by
a combination of fortuitous events, which recalled
former conceptions and reanimated former plans. In the
nature of these events toe public are not interested,
and besides, there is involved in their texture a story
too complicated and too personal to be unfolded. With
the results merely has the world to do. To the purposes
proposed, attention has been already called by a
preliminary paper, which, partly to preserve entire the
thread of the Editors* doings, and paray to accommodate
such readers as did not procure the original copy, is
here republished
PROSPECTUS.
To
contend for the utility of Periodical Publications would
be like attempting to prove the truth of a self-evident
proposition. While the names of Addison and Johnson are
remembered, the value of such works will be duly
appreciated.
The appearance of the Spectator formed a new era in the
history of mind:—-previously to this, philosophy was
excluded from the walks of common life, or, if she ever
ventured abroad in open day-light, like the ladies of
the East she was shrouded in a veil of mysticism, which
served to increase rather than dispel the general
ignorance. But no sooner did the Essayists of the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries give to the world
their inimitable productions than the grand barrier
between the learned and the unlearned was removed, and
the “goddess divinely bright” shone forth in her native
grandeur and simplicity. Wisdom issued from the
prison-house of the schools, and took up her residence
where formerly knowledge and virtue had been entire
strangers. The tonsequence was, that toe foibles of the
age were in a great measure discarded, a taste for
polite literature was extensively diffused, and morality
was introduced into those circles, where lately
profanity and profligacy held all but supreme sway.
It would be equally unseasonable and arrogant to apply
these remarks aa grounds for justifying the appearance
of the present publication. The fact is undisputed, that
those in the humblest situation of life can now boast of
acquirements and refinement, of which even the
enlightened among their forefathers possessed not the
slightest information. But in an age, which has been
properly denominated that of literary luxury, when
almost all have enjoyed the privilege of tasting of its
sweets, an effort to confer on the inhabitants of
Berwick and the Border towns, with their environs, a
similar and more immediate opportunity, may perhaps be
pardoned in the Editors of the proposed Magazine and
they thus pledge themselves, while their object is to
combine instruction with amusement, that nothing shall
find a place in the Border Magazine, which may tend in
the smallest degree to injure the purest precepts df
morality, or call the blush of ingenuous shame into the
countenance of the most delicate of their readers.
The work will be published on the 15th of every month,
in Numbers, Price One Shilling each, printed on a new
and beautiful Type, and shall consist of Original Essays
on subjects of Morals or Miscellaneous Literature,
Tales, Translations from valuable productions in Foreign
Languages, Reviews, &c. A proportionate space will also
be devoted to Poetry in its various departments.
In opening their pages to all classes of contributors,
whom their plan recognizes, the Editors declare their
firm resolve to submit every article to a careful and
candid examination; and at the same time that they are
determined to discountenance wilful stupidity and
presumption, they will exert every energy to call forth
the latent spark of genius, and nurture the hidden
blossomings of worth and intelligence. They are
encouraged to be thus decisive in their tone— and they
will assuredly act up to it—by the consideration of the
high and honourable names, who, they rejoice to state,
are guaranteed to lend their aid, and whose talents will
adorn and dignify the successive numbers of the Border
Magazine. As a redundancy of verse is anticipated,
intending correspondents are respectfully recommended to
prose compositions—not, however, to the entire or even
fastidious neglect of the muse:—indeed, the Editors
trust, that the spirit, which has been partially
slumbering by the banks of the Tweed and upon the hills
of Cheviot, will arouse itself, and strike with bolder
hand that lyre which in olden days kindled a brightly
burning flame in the breasts of the Douglases and the
Percys.
In conclusion, the Editors are alive to the candour of
an enlightened Public, and as they are conscious that
their attempts must succeed or fall by the decision of
the Public obits, they confidently hope that, if
instruction and amusement form an agreeable visitor, the
Border Magazine will not be an unwelcome guest.
No sooner was the above printed and circulated, than
assurances of support poured in from all quarters; in a
short time the list of Subscribers was respectably
signed, and altogether the most sanguine expectations
have been fulfilled. And now, kind readers, we shall
henceforth throw aside the cold reserve and distant
greeting of the third person, and assume at once, as
well in the remainder of our present address as on all
future occasions, the more dignified and yet familiar
pronoun, which has been the prerogative of Kings and
Editors from tune immemorial. If, when our young hopes
outstepped the puny strength of our mental energies,
when overflowing spirits and puerile temerity had nearly
overbalanced the natural modesty of our mind and the
reflections of a cool hour—if then the lordly pedagogue
might, with a fair portion of justice on his side, have
opened the floodgates of quotation, and discharged upon
our blushing frontispiece, the Horatian adage,
The mountains laboured with prodigious throes,
And a small mouse ridiculous arose
or as the
celebrated author of the Rambler hath it in the garb of
sim-pie and classical prose—'Parturient mountains have
brought forth muscicular abortions f—we say, if in an
hour of boyhood's revelling we were exposed to such
assault, and merited a wholesome castigation, now, we
humbly think, the lash of satire will be inapplicable,
and ridicule may spare her shafts. We advance to the
duties that lie before us in full confidence, relying as
much on the strength of our domestic troops steeled and
marshalled for “the war of words," as on the valuable
co-operation of numerous veteran literati, whom we are
proud to number amongst our allies. Nor are we
insensible to the undisguised and gushing sympathies of
many a heart, that in a silent and emphatic language of
its own, bids our labours speed, teeming with kindly
wishes and friendly aspirations for our success. To
speak of enemies were premature:—ana yet we would not
shrink from the contemplation of human nature in its
most forbidding aspect—we would not "lay the flattering
unction to our soul," that the world is purified to the
entire exclusion of the baser Wnetals, and we remain
unsatisfied, that the melancholy proposition—'Envy
withers al another's joy*— has ever been confuted. Let
none suppose, however, we are disturbed : the best of
men have had their foes to meet and crosses to
encounter; and he has yet to see the light of day, who
shall succeed in alluring us from our self-complacency,
or in betraying us from our extreme good-nature. Nay, in
verity—we are
............. 'not altogether of each clay
As rota into the souls of those whom we survey.’
Dismissing, however, the distinction betwixt friends and
enemies—at all times an ungracious task, and
particularly so under existing circumstances—we beg to
observe to the many-headed public, that we entertain a
wish somewhat analogous to the famous one of a certain
tyrant, who wished the necks of all mankind were
conjoined, that he might satiate his blood-thirsty
despotism at a Mow: with a wish comprehensive as
his—though by no means allied to it in character — and
as a proof of our consummate benignity, we do most
faithfully revere, that if the sweet persons of our
present and future readers could by any singular
involution be embodied in one comely, discreet, and
manageable corporation, we should clasp the substantial
reality in our Editorial arms, and confer upon the
strange flaw nature aims artie, a sincere and cordial
embrace, not unworthy of Christopher North, Esquire,
himself.
But, excellent friends and gentle patrons, it were
ungenerous to trifle longer with your feelings, nor will
we disguise from you, that we suspect what thoughts do
now naturally occupy the uppermost place in your minds.
No doubt, the question is continually presenting itself
in ideal form and striving for utterance, if possibly it
may be answered—'Who are the Editors?’—Now, since we
neither wish to prolong your anxiety, nor mean to deny
to curiosity its reasonable gratification, and since
secrecy in matters of Editorship has been voted
unfashionable, we shall straightway make you acquainted
with the names, characteristics and respective duties of
those who are at the head of affairs.
First, then, we would recommend to Your regards our
Preses, Speaker, or Chairman—Nathaniel Nestor, Gent—who
has been raised to the aforesaid exalted and responsible
station by the unanimous suffrages of his colleagues.
Many things concurred to plead for this gentleman, and
secure his appointment to the chief place in the
councils of the Border Magazine. Furnished by nature
with a large measure of common sense—a desideratum, by
the by, in many a self-important and busy official of
our day—and endowed with intellectual powers of no mean
order, he traversed the curriculum of a University
education with an ardour and success seldom paralleled.
During that time, the whole of which was spent without
any fixed profession in view, and solely from a love of
literature and the sciences, besides performing the mere
tasks imposed on the academical ewes, he borrowed from
his hours of rest and relaxation, and made such progress
in the paths of classical criticism and belles lettres,
as to leave his compeers far behind. Forming one in a
select circle of kindred spirits—youths who acted from
the same motives, and owned the same enthusiasm—painful
was the hour that called him from his friends and
ordered him to other climes and other company. The
period of parting was deeply felt on both sides, but go
he must; assurances of continued amity, promises of
correspondence, and heartfelt benedictions were
exchanged—then Nat. Nestor bade adieu to early objects
of attachment and his native mountains. The sequel
proved the event to be for good. From being pent up
within a circumscribed space, and chained to an
unvarying train of thought and feeling, whence
prejudices were apt to spring, he was conducted to the
broad amphitheatre of the world, and soon breathed more
liberal sentiments. Men and things were substituted for
books; and, therefore, instead of gaining his knowledge
at second hand, and from often polluted channels, he
drew it now from pure streams and from prime sources.
Thus five years’ travel taught him humanity.
Subsequently, his intercourse with former
associates—whom, on his return, be found treading with
firmer step the track of life which each had selected
for himself, but never forgetful of by-gone days and
yttrauite—has been uninterrupted. Half a century of
winterŪ, in conjunctian with severe study, has had the
effect of robbing him to a coy&. adorable extent of a
glossy and luxuriant crop of hair, with which nature had
furnished him, and of displaying a forehead indicative
of intelligence, and strongly corroborative of the
craniological theory. The demise of a relative placed an
estate by no means contemptible at his disposal: happily
for the present undertaking, the majestic Tweed flowed
past the comfortable inheritance, and induced the new
owner of the domain to keep Nestor House in his own
hands as the chosen spot of his retreat. Business has
frequently brought him to the "Town and County by
itself," where in future he purposes to fix his winter
quarters; and where also a quantum suffice of his.
suninen will be spent for the discharge of the duties on
which he has entered. He may be distinguished from the
crowds that resort to the health-invigorating
promenades—the Pier, the New Road, the Magdalen fields,
and the Ramparts—by a broad-brimmed hat, black dress,
large silver shoe-buckles, and a gold-headed cane. He
possesses, moreover, a serious and rather sombre
countenance, a steady gait o' is militaire, and he is a
bachelor. Thus partially described, he will be
recognized without difficulty. His province is very
extensive, ini eunuch as his authority can allow or
forbid the insertion of any article, even though
contrary to the opinions of his co-operators. This,
indeed, is not likely to happen frequently, since all of
them are remarkable for a sound and discriminating
judgment, and dace the mind of the President himself is
always open to conviction.
The next personage, who takes his seat on the immediate
right of the chairman, is Dr. Ploddem, a retired
physician and an antiquary. His small piercing eyes and
sharp nose, a solitary tuft at the top of his cranium,
which serves as a set-off to a thinly-planted margin of
capillary teguments, terminating at either temple, and
especially a finger or two profusely adorned with
specimens of the antique, abundantly bespeak the nature
of his researches. At present, he is busied in
collecting' information of many ancient buildings, which
once were the pride of Berwick, and of which not a
vestige remains. His labours promise to be crowned with
success, and will, ere long, be handed over to the
printer.
The sober manners and grave visages of the Preses and
the Doctor are strongly contrasted with the blazing and
good-humoured counte-mnce, and the boisterous deportment
of Lieutenant Siroc—a peramal representation of a
hurricane. The Lieutenant has seen real service sett off
a joke, but then, he indulges on occasions^ too
liberally, an art of which he is perfect master, and
hence, in thd embellishments of his tales, he is prone
to violate the laws of probability. According to his own
account, he has been nineteen times mortally
wounded!—notwithstanding the satisfactory evidence to
the contrary; and the adventures of Baron Munchausen are
trifles compared with the wonders he himself has seen,
and the deeds he has performed. Still he enjoys
intervals of a calm and prosaic existence, and
consequently though
...'little of this great world can he apeak.
More than pertains to feats of broils and battles'—
he is tolerably well fitted for his ofime, to-wit, the
superintendence of stories of sailors, soldiers, and
smugglers,—
'Of moving accidents by flood and Add;
Of hair-breadth escapes i* the imminent deadly breach;
* * * * *
......of antres vast, and deserts wild.
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads teach
heaven.'
Opposite the virtuoso, and operating as a light to
relieve the shadow of the Doctor, shines not the least
important personage amongst the dramatu penom—Mader
Mattkw Cmtrtlps or abbreviated, Beow Courtly. This model
of a modern gentleman, and living advertisement of oils
and perfumes, gentility and manners, fashion and
varieties—invariably subscribes himself jtfaater in
preference to which, he contends, is a common-place and
tradesman-like cognomen— and prides himself on the
off-hand appellation of Beau bestowed by his familiars,
which he reckons a merited eulogium on his taste,
talents and accomplishments. He boasts a thorough
knowledge of the poetic art, from tne puff-impudent of
blacking-manufacturers, up to the lofty epic and heroic
line, and keeps constantly in view a rather high
standard, by which he purposes to guide his decision on
all rhythmical contributions transmitted to 46, High
Street. To do the Beau justice, and to conciliate
towards him the objects whom, above all else, he is
anxious to please—the fair sex in geperal, we must not
fail to notify, that, in the course of an hour, he can
indite a dozen sonnets adapted to the numerous shades
and shapes of ladies’ eyebrows, and that his earnest
expostulations and entreaties succeeded in gaining a
place for a monthly register of births, marriages and
deaths. His reading has been extensive—so much so, that
he has the whole library of British Poets at command,
and his tongue is eternally distilling some honied
sweets gathered from the flower-gardens of the Muse.
The last member of the literary conclave obtains and
deserves the most profound regard by reason of his
amiable manners, gentle disposition and sterling
excellence. Intended by his friends for the clerical
profession, Mr. Placid completed, agreeably to their
wishes, the course of study prescribed by the
ecclesiastical courts of the Scottish Church. But
further he did not venture, except so far as he
attempted a solitary pulpit exhibition, which
effectually deterred him from again appearing before a
congregation. Extreme modesty and delicate health
rendered the embarrassment of his debut in that capacity
so exquisitely painful and distressing, that he could
never, muster courage or strength for a second
experiment. Fortunately for him, he enjoys a competency
of this world’s goods through a private channel, a
portion of which is dedicated to the cause of charity to
an extent by no means commensurate with the benevolence
of his heart. When he opens his mouth to deliver his
sentiments, which are valuable in proportion to their
rarity and appropriateness, every whisper is hushed, and
not a syllable escapes the ear of his audience; —even
the hardy and obstreperous veteran compresses his lips
into the expression of a mute and respectful listener,
and the tagpmrgai Courtly looks serious.
The aforesaid characters, having thus made their
introductory bow by proxy, felicitate themselves on*the
prospect of a more intimate acquaintance with each other
and with the public:--------We had nearly forgotten to
record an essential prop of the concern, being neither
better nor worse than James, otherwise Jemmy Dabble, who
officiates in the combined and complicate ensemble of
errand-boy, porter, et caetera, at a salary of Five
Shillings per week, exclusive of worn-out garments,
victuals to the content of a stomach which seems
insatiable, and many additional perquisites. He will not
permit us, depend on’t, to neglect the insertion of his
services along with those who feed him.
We question, if our readers will here rest satisfied,
since a thousand particulars remain explanatory of the
origin, rise, and probable consummation of the Magazine.
We shall, therefore, without ceremony, introduce them
to...
Download
Volume 1 in pdf format here
The
volumes which I was able to find are...
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 5
Volume 6
Volume 7
Volume 8
Volume 9
Volume 10
Volume 11
Volume 12
Volume 13
From Volume 3...
Thomas Gray of Earlston
By Robert Anderson, Edinburgh
FOURTEEN years have sped
since this remarkable man and grand old Borderer passed
away, and no record of him has appeared other than a few
short paragraphs in local newspapers at the time of his
death.
He was the very kind of man Robert Burns would have been
delighted to have made a companion and comrade; but he
only came on the stage two and a-half years after the
poet’s death. He, however, appears to have been nursed
in Border
poetry and ballad lore, and grew up a thorough
representative of the famous Thomas of Ercildoune, whose
poetry he admired, and whose memory he fondly
worshipped. Had the late Dr. John Brown chanced to have
met him and become acquainted with him, the genial
author of "Rab and his Friends,” might have left a
literary portrait of him, which would have been a fit
companion to the matchless sketch of his “Uncle
Johnston” in his exquisite letter to Dr. Cairns. The two
men had a great deal in common, though, in many
respects, they were very unlike.
Robert Johnston spent almost the whole of his long life
in the remote little town of Biggar in the upper ward of
Lanarkshire, and, although a humble shopkeeper, “he not
only intermeddled fearlessly with all knowledge but
mastered more than many practised, and University men do
in their own lines.”
His minister, John Brown,
D.D., father of "Rab", used to say with deep feeling,
"that one thing put him always on his mettle, the
knowledge that yonder in that corner, under the gallery,
sat, Sabbath after Sabbath, a man who knew his Greek
Testament better than I did.”
Thomas Gray was born in the Border town of Earlston, and
never left it unless to go on his regular rounds with
his pack and his fiddle, to dispose of his “ginghams"
the quality of which was proverbial, and concerning
which he could have honestly said, “I counsel thee to
buy of me.” He was born early in the year 1794, and died
from the result of an accident while on a visit to
friends in 1884, at the age of ninety. With only the
early education which the parish school of the day
afforded, he managed by diligent application to
cultivate his intellect to such an extent that he became
in his own neighbourhood and far remote, famous for his
learning and intimate knowledge of the leaders in
literature. He possessed upwards of 2,000 books—many of
them standard works, scarce bibles, dictionaries and
commentaries—and not only possessed them but he knew and
had mastered the contents of most of them. It is
interesting to know that the sale of this library after
his death brought many "bidders" from distant parts of
the country, and some boasted that they had got prizes
they had been unable to find elsewhere.
It was his great delight to
rattle off screeds from his favourite authors. Indeed it
may be freely asserted that he was more familiar with
the great Puritan divines, such as Howe, Flavel,
Charnock, Bunyan and Samuel Rutherford, than most of the
clergy of his day, and nothing gave him greater pleasure
than to meet a kindred spirit who could patiently listen
to him, or give him in exchange other “bits” from his
favourite or other like authors.
He was one of the last survivors of a race of gingham
manufacturers—famous in their day— and his chosen part
of the business was to traverse the country distributing
his wares. For three score years and ten he travelled
over the three Lothians, as well as the counties on both
sides of the Border, from the Cheviots well up into
Liddesdale. During his later years, however, he confined
himself chiefly to Berwickshire and East Lothian.
Most of these journeys he made on foot, though, as
railway facilities offered, and as declining years
advanced, he took a lift in the train as he felt
disposed. It may be safely affirmed that during his long
lifetime he walked many thousands of miles; for it was
to places to which no hired conveyance reached that many
of his pilgrimages extended.
“A Pedlar of many
Excursions,” quite equal to Wordsworth’s in intensity
and quaint variety of character, he rather resented the
name of rackman; for, as he said, it was only to
customers he delivered previously ordered goods. He
pressed none to buy, assured that the ginghams would
recommend themselves, and so they did; for many a frugal
housewife has been known to wear for long years as her
best gown his exquisite stuffs, and after that make them
down to her daughters.
But it was not only clothing for the body he carried;
his capacious pockets used to hold at least two or three
favourite volumes on which he might be seen poring while
resting by the way; and many an odd book did he pick
from the old stalls in Edinburgh that he judged would be
appreciated by some young inquiring mind far removed
from the chance of purchasing them; for it was a perfect
joy to him to direct an inquiring spirit into the paths
of pleasantness and peace, or give strength and solace
to the weary traveller far advanced in the journey of
life.
It was not only to the humble cottage or the shepherd’s
shieling far up in the hills where he was a welcome
visitor and honoured guest. He had also access to the
halls of the noble, and many “a lady of high degree” did
not think it beneath her to purchase a dress piece from
the old worthy, and to get in return his blessing and a
tune on his fiddle.
This instrument he invariably carried about with him,
his pack on his back, and it slung in front; and his
appearance never failed to excite interest in those
chosen haunts in which his long experience made him feel
most at home. When playing the favourite Scotch tunes,
of which he was passionately fond, the tears were often
seen running down his cheeks, and he had been heard to
say that he would rather live on brose with his music,
than be a nobleman with all his luxury without it.
The decadence of Scottish song was to him a matter of
deep lamentation. With all his heart he re-echoed the
appeal of Robert Ferguson:—
“O Scotland! that could yince afford
To bang the pith of Roman sword,
Winna your sons, in joint accord,
To battle speed,
And fight till music be restor’d,
Which now lies dead?"
A glance at his portrait shows the delicate and
sensitive fingers so well fitted to bring out the tender
strains from his loved instrument; and no father ever
fondled his infant son more tenderly than did the old
bachelor his treasured fiddle.
He was admitted into terms of intimacy and friendship
with many gentleman farmers, such as the late Douglas
Murray of Longyester, a man of highly cultivated tastes,
and possessing a library and collection of
paintings—including three or four of Sam Bough’s at his
best—which means a nobleman might have amused. Mr Murray
welcomed Thomas to his house, and many a time they sat
on to the small hours of the morning, holding high
converse with each other.
One who knew him well says,
"His communings with Nature in his solitary wanderings
had brought him into sympathy with the dumb animals of
God’s creation, and nothing so let loose the fire of his
wrath as to see or hear of any cruelty to them; then his
small twinkling eyes would be set in a fierce glare, and
he would denounce the wrong doers with hot indignation.”
The writer of this short and imperfect sketch will never
forget the happy hours he spent with the old man. He was
wont to give expression to his feelings of admiration,
on a favourite piece being recalled to him by saying
with true pathos and deep feeling, “Eh, man, isna that
graund.”
Once he had the pleasure of introducing to him—and
spending the evening with both—the late Miss Jeanie
Watson, the author of “Bygone Days in our Village”; and
it was something to hear the old veteran describing
scenes and places he had visited, and telling of “old
times changed, old manners gone.” It was astonishing the
alertness and vivacity he still possessed in his old
age. His friends used to tell him—what he was quite
convinced of himself—that he would break down in some of
his rounds; but the wandering spirit was too strong in
him to permit him resting at home, where domestic ties
he had none; and so he was on the road to the last. It
is sad to think that his end was hastened by accident at
last; for while staying with friends in Eyemouth, he had
in passing from one house to another, missed his way in
the darkness and stepped over the pier into the harbour,
and, though rescued at once, the shock had been too much
for the old man, and he passed away — not far from his
beloved Borderland —within twenty-four hours after.
Peace be to his memory. He was one who could say and
sing with Burns:
“For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Our toil’s obscure, an’ a’ that;
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.
What tho’ on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin gray, an’ a’ that,
Gie fools their silks, an’ knaves their wine,
A man’s a man for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that,
The honest man, though e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a’ that,
That sense an’ worth, o’er a’ the earth
May bear the gree, an’ a’ that ;
For af that, an’ a’ that,
It’s coming yet, for a’ that,
That man to man, the warld o’er
Shall brothers be lor a’ that.” |
