Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-08-03

eyes, but of course she is coming tool
| the Young man said quickly.
III she likes-if she likes. I mvsel
should prefer it: will ask her,
And on this occasion also, when she cam
downstairs. Naisrie Bethune appeared il
that simple dress of cream-colored cashmere
and again he was struck by the alteration il
her aspect; she was no longer the shy and
timid schoolgirl he had first imagined her tc
be, but Young woman, OF quite sufficient
selEpossession, tall, and elegant of bearing
and with more than touch of graceful dig.
nifty in her manner. This time she smiled
as she gave him her hand for moment
and then she turned away; ALWAYS she
seemed to assume that this newly found &C.
quaintanceship existed only as between her
grandfather ana the young man, that she
was outside of it, and only to be called in as
an adjunct, now and again when it hap
pened to suit him.
Nevertheless, as they by and by walked
away down to Burlington Gardens, she was
much more animated and talkative than he
had before seen her; and he observed, too,
that her grandfather paid heed to her opin-
ions. Nay, she addressed the younger of
her two companions also, occasionally; and
now she was not afraid to let smile dwell
in her eyes when she chanced to turn to him.
He was bewildered by it all; it was more,
far more, than he dared have hoped for; in
fact he was the last person in the world to
suspect that his own bearing-the buoyant
unconscious audacity, the winning frank
ness, as we'll as a certain youthful modesty
was at the root OF the mystery of this sud-
den friendship. For one thing, he had told
them good deal about himself and his cir
cumstances during that morning in Hyde
ozJ he, of nd
evening; and there was something in the po-
sition of these three folk, now brought to-
gether after wide wanderings through the
world, that seemed to invite confidence and
intimacy. Then old George Bethune had
an excellent fund of good-fellowship, so long
as the present moment was an enjoyable one.
And, as it turned out this evening, proved
to be one of those enjoyable moments. The
small festivity to which Vincent had invited
his new acouaintances was not in the least
the haphazard affair he had half intimated
it to be; he had arranged it with care. They
found themselves in a pretty room, with
plenty of flowers on the table, while the lit
tie banquet itself was far more elaborate,
both as regards food and wine, than there
was any call for. The old gentleman did
not protest; anything that happened, so long
as it was pleasant-was welcome to him, and
he declared the claret to be as excellent as
any he had met with for years back. He
could not understand why their youthful
host would not join him Gas ii it were likely
that Vincent was going to drink wine, now
that he discovered that Maisrie Bethune
drank only waterD but he ha all the more
for himself; and he waxed eloquent and en-
thusiastic on his favorite theme.
"Why, SIR" he said, with q kind of
proud elation in his tone, ~ have heard
Henry Ward Beecher pronounce these
words in the City Hall of Glasgow-'I have
been reared in a country whose history is
brief. So vast s il, that one might travel
night and day for all the week, and yet
scarcely touch historic ground. Its history
is yet to be written; 1t is yet to be acted.
But 1 come to this land which, though
small, is as full of memories as the heaven
is iull of stars. and almost as bright. There
is not the most insignificant piece of water
that does not make my heart thrill with
some story of heroism, and some remem-
bered poem; for not only has Scotland had
the good fortune to have men who knew how
to make history heroic, but she has reared
those bards who have known how to
sing their deeds. And every steep
and every valley, and almost every
single league on which my feet have
trod have made me feel as if 1 were
walking in a dream. I never expected to
find nv eyes overflow with tears OF gladness
that have been permitted, in the prime of
life, to look upon this beloved land Well
spoken-nobly spokenl When 1 take my
granddaughter here to visit her native
country-for to that country she belongs, in
all the essentials of blood and tradition and
descent-I hope she will be in similarly
ID ,.-;I1 h. H.
hills not the lonely islands, not the desolate
moors-but land filled with the magic of
association. and concentrated by the love
and devotion of thousand song writers,
known and unknown. 1 will say with
johnson, That man is little to be envied
whose patriotism would not gain force upon
the plain of Bannockburn, or whose piety
would not grow warmer among the ruins of
Iona'-"
"Not Bannockburn; Marathon, wasn't it,
said Maisrie in her gentle
way.
"Well, we'll, he said, not needing the
interruption. "'Aimost every single
league says Ward Beecher; and that is
true. could make pilgrimage through
out the length and breadth of Scotland,
guided by the finger OF Scottish song. In
deed, have often thought 1 should like, if
the years were spared to me, to collect ma
terials for volume-a splendid and mag
nifcent volume-on the Scotland of the
Scotch songs and ballads. The words and
the music are already there; and would
have the pencil add its charm; so that Scot
land, in her noblest and fairest aspects,
might be placed before the stranger, and
might be welcomed once again by her own
sons would have the lonely Braes O.
and Rob Roy's grave in the
little churchyard on the hillside; would
have Tannahill's Arranteenie-that is on
Loeb Long side, think; and the Bonnie
House O. Airlie:
1t fell on day, a bonnie summers day,
When the corn grew green and fairly.
That the great Argyle, VII a. his men,
Cam TO plunder the bonnie house o. Airlie.
Then the Vale of Yarrow-wer, perhaps
maiden bending over the body
,f her slain lover
Pale though thow art, yet best, vet best beloved,
o could my warmth to life restore theei-
Te'd lie all night between my breasts;
No youth lay ever there before thee.
And Colonsay Leyden's Colonsay-the
haunted island that mourns like a sea-
hell
And ever as the year returns.
The charm-bound sailors know the day;
For sadly still the mermaid mourns
The lovely chief Of Colonsay.
5ala Water" the old man continued, in a
ort of exalted rhapsody: and his eyes were
Ibsent, as if he were beholding succession
# visions. Hunting gTower-Craigie-bur
" ood-the solitude sought out by Bessie
Bell and her girl companion when they fled
rom the plague-Ettrick Bspks-the bush
boon Traquair-in short, an endless series
And where the pencil may fail, imagination
must come in
Isee-but not by sight alone,
Loved Yarrow, have won thee;