Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-08-23


advancing cloud along the seethidg front Of
q wall Of water five miles wide. glitters,
loans and Kisses bank of spume and spray,
zoned. trimmed and interlaced with tiny
raiubows. The roaring of the believing
wster-hosts becomes deafening. For an in
slant YOU are euveloped by the cloud. That
passed, while you thrill with the mystery
and awful grandeur of the spectacle, the
great tide-head is abreast of you, a true tide
bore, such as breaks majestically into Minas
and other estuaries OF 1.-THE Bay of Fundy,
cylindrical and straight as an arrow across
the Firth, and from six to eight feet IN
height, which sweeps past with below and
shrek like that Of an hundred thousand
coast fog-horns bowling in unison; while
close in its wake is q hillocky, tempestuout
mass of waves brilliantly gorgeous in fit
fully-swept prismatic colors-and the Sol.
way tide is in.
AT CARLYLE'S BIRTHPLACE.
Some English tramps were singing fol
their breakfasts before the doors of the grave
Scottish villagers at Ecclefechan when
tramped into the hamlet behind them.
There were five of them, great, hulking fel.
lows, and their hoarse and aggressive bel
lowing was the only sound indicative OF
human life in the village, even at that late
hour of the morning. 1t was a double
house of the dwarf variety, and the one al
the north end, where the strong-lunged sor-
ners sang, was the birthplace OF Thomas
Carlyle. The believing had brought mulch
capped guidwives to various windows and
alley entrances, at safe distances. 1 loitered
near enough to hear them discuss the matin
song of the trsmps as we'll as the house and
its former occupants.
do ph (frnnh1ol thoircnlc fQ6
sing thete;" croaked one old dame with a
gentle swaying of her head betokening a
reminiscential vein of remark. "They
mecht roar theirsels black i the face, afore
they'll draw bIuld frae that neep (turnip)P
ooh, ave." crooned a still older woman,
''it's weel kent nae puir body liver saw, syne
or soon, the recht side O. the Carlyles'
silleri''
How Carlyle's adorers would have groaned
to hear these old neighbors go onl One
hinted at their pride with. "They thocht
theirsels nae sheep-shanks" Another, of
their thrift with, "They nee'r selPd their
hens on q rainy day." Another, of miser-
illness with, "They gae their banes to nae
dogs" Another, of their austerity with,
"They warna guild to neebor VII" And
another bent old body summed up what any
one will at once find to be the universal
lcclluR III buC tCctl llbtlC t4AidkCy WIN bhc
crisp epitome, "They were ill to tholep'
That is, it was hard to get along with the
Carlyles. 1t is historic that others besides
these dim old souls, some who lived in the
same houses with them, found it just that
way.
RELICS OF CARLYLE.
The tramps got nothing for their offertory,
and, after a few vicious kicks at the door,
departed; giving me opportunity to reach the
house just as the huge form and red, veinous
face of Mrs. John Gourley, caretaker, ap-
peared at the door. Shaking a fine blud-
geon after the vanishing vagrants she re-
lieved her indignation with: "Hootsi It's
a weary day Tor auld Scotland whan there's
nae body e fend hoose like this frae tha
low English beggarsl" aud then, in radiant
expectancy of low English 'saxpences, I"
bade me enter.
There is but one room below stairs. In
the upper story there is a room the same size
as that on the first floor. This is retained as
sort of show room, and is we'll enough filled
to be interesting with Carlyle relics, includ-
ing his famous coffee pot, in which he was
wont to brew his own coffee and
his equally famous tobacco cutter
hsndmaids of the Cheyne Row,
Chelsea, inspiration and inseparable
companions of his irascibility ana dyspep-
sia. Off this little chamber and sitting
room, in which set quaint old fireplace, is
a little, long, low bedroom over the arch
way; and in this Thomas Carlyle.was born.
Altogether the place is uninviting, meager,
hard, austere. The father who built 1t was
godly, stubborn, irrascible; finty as the
Scotch granite in which he wrought as
stone mason, truly "ill to thole," as the
bent-backed old guidwife, who knew him,
SO aptly described the family. Disasso-
ciating the man. Thomas Carlyle from the
heroism of his lofty work, you cannot come
to one spot made warm. tender and glowing
for his having been part of 1t; and the
dreary old kirk-yard where he lies. but a
few steps from where he was born, iutensIfies
the feeling that something of the human
and humane was lacking, or was denied,
his whole line.
or. UNPLEASANT MEMORY.
There does not seem to be one soul in all
the region where he was born and reared
who recalls the family name with loving
kindness and respect. To be known as a
pilgrim to the Carlyle home and tomb is to
be regarded with suspicion and sneers. The
very gravestone is parsimonious and shah
by; the enclosure unkempt; weeds and
brambles crowd the spot closely; the lad
that unlocks the gate snickers behind you;
and as 1 stood for little time leaning upon
the iron railing in contemplation OF the
lonely, neglected grave of this rare old war
rior in the field of letters, wondering, after
all, If any true greatness can ever exist so
far above the heads and hearts of the lowly
that they are not reached, aided and encom-
passed by it; bevy of rosy-cheeked.
roguish- eyed Scotch lassies passed; and re-
gsrding me with hilarious scorn for over
looking the merits of Eecleiechan itself Tor
dismal ioitering where the hearts of none
here turned, one'fair maiden applied to
certain disciple of CARLYLE such sturdy
words of badinage as might well bewilder
the bravest pilgrim to shrines in foreign
lands.
AT ECCLEFECHAN.
Musipg lone one summer morning
In ancient Scotch kirk-yard
By the grave OF rare old Carlyle,
Reverent bowed and deep in dreaming
Suddenly there passed a maiden;
Passed, but paused. Then. smiling, quoth she:
There's no yon but stanes an brombles;
Muckle mair's in Ecclefechanp'
Then the roguish maiden vanished
From the place of stones and brambles,
And left the dank old kirk-yard
With the lesson of her scorning;
Keep thy soul from out the shadows;
Turn thy lifefrom graves to gladnessi
This though but hint in living,
This learned at Ecclefechan.
EDGAR L. WAKEMAH.
A SERPENT STORY.
Overcome BY RartIesuake's smelI-A
MINIS Close Call.
KINGSTON, n. Y, August CIV. E.