Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-08-10

| radiating the dark. The smooth
| surface of the stream quivered with refec-
| tions, here and there rowing boat glided
along, with cool plash of oars; gondola
came into view and slowly vanished-the
| white-clad gondolier visionary as ghost.
Everywhere there was a scent of flowers;
and on board this particular house-boat
there was but the one prevailing perfume;
| for the sole decoration Of the saloon con-
| sisted of deep crimson roses-a heavy splen-
dor against the white and gold walls. From
| some neighboring craft came the tinkie OF a
banjo; there was distant hum OF CONVEX
| sation; the unseen reeds and water lilies
could be imagined to be whispering in the
silence. Among the further woods and
meadows there was an occasional moving
light; no doubt the campers-out were pre-
pairing to pitch their tents.
"Mr, Talkative of Prating row IL hardly
wanted here tonight old George Bethune
was saying, unmindful Of his own garrulous
habits. sMusic is butter. What is that
they are singing over there, ,Maisrie?"
"The Canadian Boat Song, grandfather"
"Oh, yes, of course; thought it was IA
miliar And very pretty it sounds, coming
across the water-though do not know
| whether the air is modern or old. What
am certain Of" he continued, raising his
voice slightly as he usually did when he
was about to discourse, sis that the finest
| national airs are ancient beyond the imagi-
nation of men to conceive. No matter when
words may have been tackled onto them; the
original melodies, warlike, or pathetic. or
Joyous, were the voice OF millions of genera
tions that passed away leaving US only these
expressions Of what they had felt And IL
one could only retranslats theml-if one
could put back into speech all the human
suffering that found expression in such an
air as The Last Rose Of Summer wouldn't
that electrity the worldf I wonder how
many millions Of generations must have
suffered and wept and remembered ere that
piteous cry could have been uttered; and
when come to Tom Moore's vretched triv-
ialities-"
"Grandfather," interposed Maisrie Be-
thune quickly, (for there were certain sub
jects that angered him beyond endurance)
s'you must not forget to show Mr.. Harris
that old play you fOund-with the Scotch
airs, mean"
"Yes, that is curious, said the old man,
yielding innocently. "Curious, is it not,
that long before either Burns or Scott was
born, Scotchman named Mitchell should
have collected over 90 of the best-known
Scotch airs, and printed them, with words
for the scene of his play the Borders OF the
Highlands, so as to contrast the manners
and customs of the Highland chiertains and
their fierce claDsmen with those of the Low
land lairds and the soldiery sent to keep the
peace between them. The Highland FAIR
was produced at Drury Lane about 1880, if
I remember Alright; but cannot gather
whether Even and Colin, and Alaster and
Kenneth, impressed the Londoners much.
To me the book is valuable because OF the
airs-though could wish for the original
songs instead OF MitchelPs-"
Here Maisrie, seeing that her grandfather
was started on safer subject quietly rose;
and at the frst pause she said
81 see some OF the boats are putting out
their lights, and that is hint for me to be
off. I suppose we shall be woke early to-
morrow morning by the boats. Good night,
Mr.. Harrisl Good night, grandfather
She shook hands with both, and kissed
her grandfather, then she passed into the
glow Of that wonderful rose-palace, and