Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-11-16
A NOVEL, DEALING WITH COTEMPORARY LIFE
WRITTEN FOR THE DISPATCH.
BY WILLIAM BL A @ K
of of Thue' "Sunrse and Many Other
Stories of the Highest Reputation TtUo Continents.

the old man. Many's the time he has an
nounced himself coming up these very stairs
with that
"Did Maisrie ever come with him?''
Vincent asked-with his heart going bit
quicker.
"His granddaughter? Oh, yes, 10 be sure
sometimes. He was fond of coming down
the night before we went to press, and look
ing over the columns of Scotch news, and
having a chat. You see we have to boil
down the smaller Scotch papers for local
news-news that the bigger papers don't
touch; and very often you notice name
that is familiar to you, or something OF that
kind. Well, now, wish the old man was
here this very minutel l do indeed-most
heartily. We'd let bygones be bygones--
no doubt 1 was mistaken-1'H back
George Bethune for a true and loyal
Scot. All, say, man." continued Mr.. An
struther, pulling out his big silver watch
and now all his assumption of the reserved
American manner was gone, and he was
talking with enthusiastic emphasis
There's a countryman of mine-a most
worthy fellow-close by here, who would be
glad to see any friend OF old George
Bethnne's. It's Just about his lunch time;
and he'll no grudge We farl Of oatcake and
bit o. Dunlop cheese; in fact, nothing
pleases him better than keeping open house
for his cronies. A man of sterling worth;
and man of substance, too; sooner or later,
1 expect, he'll be going away back to the
old country and buying bit of place for
himself in his native county of Aberdeen.
Well, WE'LL" said the editor, as he locked
his desk and put on his hat. and opened the
door for his visitor, "and to think it was but
the other day We were walking along
Princes street in Edinburgh! Did We go out
t1a Ill
grand sight, wasn't lt-nothing like it in
the worldI Ye must tell honest John-John
MacVittie, that is-that we've Just come
straight from the land OF brown heath and
shaggy wood, and yell no want for well
comep'
And indeed it was a very frank and
friendly welcome he received when they at
length reached Mr.. MacVittie's place of
business, and were shown into the mer-
chants private room. Here they found
himself and his two partners (all Scotch
men) about to sit down at table; and places
were Immediately prepared for the new
comers. The meal was a much more varied
affair than the editor had foreshadowed; its
remarkable feature being, as Vincent was
informed, that nearly everything placed on
the board had been sent over from Scotland.
Mr.. MacVittie made a little apology.
"It's kind of hobby OF mine" said he,
"and even with perishable things it's not SO
difficult nowadays, the icehouses of the big
steamers being so convenient What would
you like to drink, sir? 1 can give We a
choice of Talisker. GlenlIvet, Long John
and Lagavulin, but perhaps We would prefer
something lighter in the middle of the oay.
1 hope you don't object to the smell of the
peats; we Scotch folk are rather fond of it;
1 think our good friend here. Anstruther,
would rather have sniff of the peat than
the smell of the best canvas-back duck that
was ever carried through kitchen. l get
those peats sent over from Islay; you see, 1
try TO have Scotland-or some fragments of
it-brought to me, since l cannot go to it. !"
"But why don't you go to Scotland, sir?"
said Vincent-knowing he was speaking to
a man OF wealth.
''At my time of life," Mr.. MacVittie
answered, zone tails into certain ways and
grooves, and it's an i'll job getting out of
them. No, do not think shall ever be in
Scotland again until I'm taken therein
box 1 shall have to be like the lady in
The Gay Goss-hawk'-
An asking, an asking, my father dear,
An asking grant We me!
That if / die in merry England,
In Scotland you'll bury me.
"Oh, nonsense, Johnr' one of his partners
building castle up somewhere about Kin
caroline 0'Neill, and every autumn We'll go
over and shoot your grouse and kill your
salmon for you. That's like itl''
Now here were three sharp and shrewd
business men met together in the very heart
of one of the great commercial cities of the
world; and the fourth was purvevor of
news (Vincent did not count; he was so
wonderstruck at meeting people who had
known George Bethune a2d Maisrie in
former days, and so astonished and fas-
cinated by any chance reference to them
that he did not care to PROFOUND any opin-
ions of his own, he was well content to listen)
and it might naturally have been supposed
that their talk would have been of the pub
lie topics of the hour-politics home and
foreign, the fuctustions OF trade, dealings
with that portentous surplus that is always
getting in the way, and SO forth. But it
was nothing of the kind. 1t was all about
the dinner of the Burns Society of New
York, to be given at Sutherland'sin in Liberty
street the following evening, in celebration
of the birthday OF the Scotch poet; and Tom
MacVittie-a huge man with a reddish
brown beard and q bald head-in the en-
thusiasm of the moment was declaring that
again and again, on coming across song,
by some one of the minor Scotch poets, that
was particularly fine, he wished he had the
power to steal it and hand it over to the
Ayrshire bard-no doubt on the principle
that 'whosoever hath, to him shall be given.
Then there was a comparison of this gem
and that; favorites were mentioned and ex-
tolIed, the air was thick with Willie Laid
law, Allan Cunningham, Nicol, Hogg,
Motherwell, Tannahill and the rest; while
the big Tom MacVittie, returning to his
original thesis, maintained that it would be
only fair punishment il John Mayne were
mulcted Of his Logan Braes" because of his
cruel maltreatment of Helen of Kirkcon-
neli.'
Eyes, will say" he continued--and his
fist was ready to come down OH the table if
needs were. "Robbie himself might we'll
be proud of Logan Braes;' and John Mayne
deserves to have something done to him for
trying to spoil so fine thing as Helen of
Kirkconnell.' l cannot forgive that. 1
cannot forgive that at all. No excuse. Do
We think the man that wrote the 'Siller Gun
did not know that he was making the fine
old ballad into fashionable rigmarole?
Contound him, would take Logan Braes'
from him in a minute, if could, aud hand
it over to Robbie"
did you ever notice." interposed the edi-
tor of the Scotch paper, "the clever little
trick of repetition in the middle of every
alternate verse
By Logan's streams that rim so deep,
Flu aft wi glee I've heIded sheep;
Herded sheep, or gathered slaes,
WI my dear lad on Logan braes.
But wae's my heart, thae days are game,
And VII grief may heard alane;
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
do not remember Burns using that device.
though it was familiar in Scotch song-you
recollect Annie Laurie'-'her waist We weel