Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-08-31

"Grandfather, she said-and her fac
was flushed O rose-red, though she seemed +
take no heed of her embarrassment, 80 earn
est and imploring was her speech. 'syou can
not forget the obligations you put yoursel
under-te Lord Musselburgh and Mr.. Car
michael, and perhaps others. You under
took to write the book. If that is impossible
now, it is q great misfortune, but at leas
there is one thing you must do; you mus
explain to them what has happened, ant
give them back the money"
The old man could no longer shelter him
self behind his gay and discursive optimism
he frowned impstiently.
ST have already told you, Maisrie," sale
he, in severely measured accents, "-snt
you are grown up now. You might under
stand for yeurself-that there are times an(
seasons when the introduction of busines
matters is uncalled for, and, in fact, unbe
coming; and one of these is, surely, when W,
come out to spend pleasant evening with
our young friend here. do not think i
necessary that we should discuss our basi
ness affairs before him-I presume he woulc
consider such q thing somewhat inappro
pirate at dinner table"
Maisrie's lips quivered; and her grand
father saw it Instantly he changed hi
tone.
'Come, come" said he, with cheerful
| good nature. Enough, enough. car
| quite comprehend how the res augusta donli
may tend to give money, and questions Of
money, an over-promlnence in the minds oil
women. But money, and the obligations
that money may place us under, are surely
a very secondary affair, to one who looks al
human nature with larger view. thank
GOD" he went on, with much complacency,
that have never been the slave of avarice,
that even in times of great necessity have
kept subsidiary things in their proper
sphere. 1 do not boast; our disposition is as
much matter of inheritance as the shape
of our fingers or feet; and that disposition
may be handed down without the accom-
panying circumstances that developed it.
You follow me, Mr.. Harris?''
"Oh, yes," said the younger man, gloom
lily; that culver of Maisrie's lips was still in
his mind.
"Whst mean is that the use and wont
of many generations" he continued, In no.
bly, oracular fashion, may produce in a
family certain tendency and frame of
mind which can be transmitted independ-
emily Of the creating conditions. 1t is q
matter of commsn observation, You see
people who are in possession of large for
times trat have been built up by the mean
and grasping persistencY of their toiling
and scheming ancestors, and with this great
wealth they have inherited the mean and
grasping instinct which produced it, and
witch is no longer necessary. 1t is only of
set purpose that such people can be gener.
ous-that they subscribe magnifcently to
Mansion House funds, and give splendid
entertainments, and so forth; their natural
instinct is to snatch as every sixpence.
They will outwit you for the sake of three
penny bit; and-when once they have made
up their minds to it-forgive you debt of
thousand pounds. Now" the old man
proceeded, with certain proud air, take
the other frame of mind, that has
been developed BY an assured posi-
tion, sufficient wealth, and the valuing
above all other things of honor and dignity
aud the claius and obligations of birth and
blood. You perceive? You follow me?
The descendant of such family may have
inherited q scorn of the baser instincts of
money getting while enjoying little enough
OF the fortunate circumstances that develop
it in his forbears. They have bequeathed
him mental attitude-without the sub
stantial conditions that created it. Very
well; for one, do not replne. Much rather
would be proud pauper than peddling-
spirited millionaire. hope see things in
their true light. I know where place
money and the arts of money-getting and
money-saving in such small scheme of the
world as I have been able to make out
for my own guidance. No, say nothing
against money; but say, let money and all
things connected with it be kept in their
proper place, which is altogether an inferior
and subsidiary one. You do not know Mr.,
Harris, the writings of our Scotch poet.
Dunbar-the predecessor of Burns? Let
me recommend them to you. Let me recon-
mend especially one verse which may be
serviceable to you, in these days when the
worship of Mammon would seem to be the
only honest, as it is the most widespread,
worship in the land. Dunbar says
Be merry. man, and take not sair in mind
The wavering of this wretched world of
sorrow;
And with thy neighbor gladly lend and
His chance tonight, it may be thine tomorrow.
Be blythe in heart for any aventure,
For oft with wise men it has been SAID aforow,
Without Gladnesse availeth no Treasure,
For the first time since he had known
them Vincent was glad to get away from
his companions that night; the situation in
which he Iound them and himself alike in
wanted time to think over it And first of
all he put aside that matter of the Scotch
American book as of minor importance; no
doubt some kind of explanation was posi-
bic, if all the facts were revealed, It was
when be came to consider the position and
of Maisrie Bethune that the
young man grew far more seriously
indeed his heart became
surcharged with an Unreasonable
pity and longing to help. He began to
how it was that a premature
sadness and resignation was written on that
pensive face, and why her eyes so rarely
smiled; and he could guess at the origin of
that look Of hopelessness, as though she de- |
SPARED of getting her grandfather to ac-
the realities and the response
bilities Of the actual life around him. To
Vincent tbs circumstances in which this |
young girl was placed seemed altogether |
tragic; and when he regarded the future
that might lie before her, it was with a |
blank dismay.
conceal from himself the nature of this en-
crossing interest in all that concerned her.
his fascination and glamour that drew him |
toward her, this constant solicitude about
her that haunted him day and night Love |
mad originally sprung from pity. perhaps;
ner Loneliness had appealed to him, and
her youth, and the wistful beauty
If her eyes. But even now that
ne knew what caused his heart
% leap when he heard her foot
all on the stairs, or when he happened to
ook up at the table to find her regard fixed
IN him, there was no wild desire for a
of his fond hopes and dreams.
Rather he hung back-as il something mys-
eriously sacred surrounded her. He had
sked her for flower; that was all. Proba-
'ly she had forgotten. There seemed no