ment the representative of law and order was in, went to his assistance. This was just what Ben wanted. He knew the Bailie had a grudge at him, and, letting go his hold of the town officer, seized the Magistrate, although a much larger man than himself, had him down in a twinkling, rolled him over several times in the gutter, and tore the new coat right up the back. Ben then got up and made off. When the Bailie rose he was a pitiful sight, covered with mud from head to heel, and his coat in two halves. The gibes and derisive laughter of the bystanders were more than he could stand, and he bolted home as fast as possible. Neither the Bailie nor his wife were at the party that evening. Ben was not apprehended, but he found it convenient to keep out of the way for a day or two. At a meeting of the Town Council, held a few days after this, the Bailie thought fit to charge the Corporation for the price of his new coat, which, he said, had been torn from his back while performing a public duty. The Pro

vost, douce man, told him that he had no occasion to interfere, and that it was very much out of place for a Magistrate to be rolling in the gutter with a drunk man, and so the matter dropped, very much to the chagrin of the Bailie, who lost his coat and was well laughed at into the bargain.

Ben soon got notice how matters stood, and was quickly again in evidence, as lively as ever.

I remember him becoming possessed of an old, wornout horse that someone had given him to take to the dogs. Before setting off with it he got drunk, and, having got hold of an old saddle and bridle, he mounted the poor old skeleton, which had been a large, powerful animal at one time, and swore that he would be a gentleman for once in his life. It is questionable if

Don Quixote cut a more ridiculous figure than Ben did upon this occasion. With a crowd of boys after him, he called at every public-house in the burgh, and ordered "half-a-gill for Mr Robinson," which he drank sitting on horseback. There was snow on the ground at the time, and in splendid condition for snowballs. The boys could not resist such a tempting target, and his progress was accompanied with a perfect fusilade. Ben did not much mind, and was more concerned for the animal under him than he was for himself. Hit me," he cried, "but don't hit my steed."

Poor Ben had no regular occupation; he did odd jobs for anyone who would employ him; and very careful he was of anything given into his charge. He was very fond of horses, and liked well to be employed for a few days driving a horse and cart; he was exceedingly attentive to any animal thus trusted to him, and fed and tended it like a child.

It is now about sixty years since Ben passed over to the great majority. His death was a melancholy one. He was in one of the upstairs rooms of the Commercial Inn, kept at that time by Mrs Gilmour, bargaining with a carrier about the skin of a horse he had to sell. During the negotiations, an altercation arose between him and a third party. Ben got angry at something that was said, and left the room in a hurry. Missing his footing at the top of the stairs, he fell with great force to the bottom, his head striking the stone wall opposite. He was raised in an unconscious state, the blood issuing from his mouth and ears, and taken home. But he never regained his senses, and died the next day. His untimely end was regretted by all, for, with all his failings, he was a great favourite.

Ben had one son, William Robinson, who in some

respects closely resembled his sire. Brought up in a hand-to-mouth fashion, he was left early pretty much to himself, and followed no regular employment, but made a living by doing odd jobs, driving cattle, or running errands. He liked well to have the job of hawking fruit or fish through the town, and it was a treat to hear his cries while trundling a barrow of herrings. Like his father, he dearly loved a dram, but living in different times, he could not carry on as his father had done. On more than one occasion he was

taken up for breach of the peace. It was no easy job to overpower him. He had a powerful grip, and had also his father's old trick of throwing himself on his back and playing grab at the clothes of his assailants. The last time he was in trouble he succeeded in completely rending in twain the tunic of Constable Kirk, who was taking him to the lock-up. Willie died in a house in the Newtown on the 9th October, 1885.

PAT M'CRIRICK OF THE CAIRN.

The feuds of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries which formed the most marked feature of Border history of that period were not so prominent in the upper parts of Nithsdale as elsewhere in the western marches; but owing to the rivalries of the more powerful barons, and the ceaseless jealousies of the smaller clans, bloody encounters and deeds of violence were nevertheless very frequent.

In the beautiful but wild upland parish of Kirkconnel, a small though strong sept had, owing to a marriage with one of the Crichtons of Sanquhar, obtained a firm footing, its head for many generations possessing, besides other lands, some six square miles of country on the west side of the river Nith, known as "The Cairn," or more commonly "M'Cririck's Cairn." In the latter half of the sixteenth century the most prominent member of the race was Patrick M'Cririck of Cairn, a man of the most lawless character. It appears from the Privy Council records that he possessed considerable property in Sanquhar, of which ancient burgh he was a burgess, and in that capacity his name is found in 1576 among the witnesses to the charter of Cluny by Robert Crichton of Eliock to his son James, generally known as the "Admirable Crichton." The refusal of Sheriff William Crichton to infeft Patrick M'Cririck