e
gallant Graeme, slain by her brothers, is lying.

In the neighbourhood of these desolate Fells are to be found many traces
of ancient British Camps.

The little mountain streams which here help to swell the stream of the
North Tyne are, on the south side, the Lewis and Whickhope Burns, and on
the north, the Plashetts and Hawkhope Burns. On both sides of the Tyne,
near the Whickhope and the Hawkhope Burns are many remains of an ancient
pre-historic forest, the largest being near the Whickhope Burn where the
abnormally thick stems of trees may be seen.

The little village of Falstone is set amongst trees, in the midst of
pleasant meadows, a welcome relief from the bare fells and moorlands
around it; yet this wild scenery has a distinct fascination of its own,
and adds not a little to the charm of the varied landscape within the
bounds of our northern county. At Falstone a fragment of an ancient
cross was discovered, with an inscription carved upon it--in Roman
letters on one side and in the Runes of the Anglo-Saxons on the other.
The inscription states that a certain Eamer set up the cross in memory
of his uncle Hroethbert, and asks for prayers for his soul. The
existence of a similarly inscribed cross is not known, so that the
Society of Antiquaries, in whose keeping this cross rests, has in it
probably a unique treasure.

The Tarset Burn, upon which stands the village of Thorneyburn, runs into
the Tyne not far from Falstone, and reminds us of the old Border-riding
days, when the rallying-cry of the men of the district in many a feud
with neighbouring clans was--"Tarset and Tarret Burn, Hard and
heather-bred, yet-yet-yet." Near the spot where the Tarset Burn joins the
Tyne is a grassy hill on which once stood Tarset Castle, a stronghold of
that Red Comyn whom Bruce slew in the little chapel at Dumfries, and of
whose death Bruce's friend Kirkpatrick said he would "mak' siccar"!

The village of Charlton, on the north bank of the Tyne, and the mansion
of Hesleyside on the other, carry the mind back to the old reiving
plundering days, for it was at Hesleyside that the incident of the
ancient spur of the Charlton's took place, doubtless many a time and
oft, when the good lady of Hesleyside served up the spur at dinner as a
gentle hint that the larder was empty, and it behoved her lord to mount
and away to replenish the same, preferably with stock from the Scottish
side of the border, or if not, a neighbour's cattle wou