The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-04-19
SANDlE MACPHERSON
By ROBERT BUCHANAN.

1t was my privilege, during the last days
OF his strangely prosperous career, TO see
good deal of the late Mr.. Thomas Carlyle
True Thomas" as he affectionately
called by the generation to whom he told
so many grim truths. had gone to him as
a literary aspirant-one OF the many VINO,
coming UP from Scotland to fight for for
tune, carried letters of introdu ction to the
great man. The nation delighted to honor
him, and, despite his dislike of the literary
class generally, he never failed to say
kind word to any young brother Scot who
sought his advice. For some reason or
other he took to me, and, although so many
years his junior, i became frequent visi-
tor at his house and received a great deal
of his confidence. 1t was one winter even
ing as we sat alone together in his study
that study which was a very Mecca to lit
erary pilgrims of all nations-that he made
the singular confession which 1 am about
to place on record.
Let me explain the matter, as far pos
sible, in his own words 1 despair of repro
ducing the peculiar accent and the deep,
pathetic burr of his voice-which he pre-
served TO the last-as we'll as certain eccen-
tricities of pronunciation which L shall not
initiate
You think me a successful man, and
such, allow, is the popular opinion. Well.
maybe have been successful beyond my
knows; but lest 1 should grow daft with my
own self-conceit the Lord sent Sandie Mac
pherson to keep me humble.
1T is humiliating confession to make,
but almost at any point of my long ca
reer, from the very beginning, the thought
of having converted Sandie would have
been more precious to me than the adj
miration of all the rest Of the world. San
die however, never believed in me from the
first. When L published my first book my
chief thought was, What will Sandie Mac
the criticisms, which cut me up like bag
gis right and left, could have borne every
thing, but the thought of how he would
gloat over them, down yonder In Scotland.
1 was somewhat consoled and a wee bit
hopeful when, some years afterwards,
published my History for the critics,
to man, and talked havers about my in
dustry, my originality and my erudition.
L cared nothing for the critics. but l said
to myself, with a smile, That's one for
Sandie Macpherson
perhaps you will be asking who Sandie
Macpherson is, that set such store by his
good opinion? Well, up till a few months
ago you might have seen his name-'Alex-
ander Macpherson as it was given bap-
tismally-over the front of a small grocer's
shop in the Gallowgate of Glasgow.
"Sandie and / were school-fellows.
I'VE first met In the seminary and after
wards we attended the high school. AS
mind Sandie now, he was a wee, SNUG
mouthed, black-aveeZed laddie with eyes
like hawk and a stoop In the shoulders.
From first to last he was ever at the top of
the class. He carried away all the prizes
at the seminary, and when he came to the
high school. among lads twice his size, he
was 'duX' of the class. Such memory as
he had 1t was wonderful, wonderful He
could repeat the whole Latin Delectus with
his eyes shut and he knew the whole Of
Euclid, when we were peching over the
'Pons Asinorum.' The doctor himself was
afraid of him. AS for me, where he was
every day from the doctor, and ever and
ave. confined i'm my corner, / could hear
him say to him: Alexander Macpherson,
tell Tammas Carlyle how to construe this
or that passage in the 'Metamorphoses.'
Sometimes, merely to shame us. he was
put at the very bottom of the class, and
then-Lord, to see him running from place
to place, like one running a race and then
standing, flushed and triumphant, in his
old place, at the very top
"Sandies father was a small tradesman
in Glasgow, and you may be ssIre he was
pround enough of his son. Sandie was very
spick and span, had the best Of clothes, and
q silver watch and chain given to him by
his aunt on his birthday. His books were
like himself-clean, white and neat with
no thumb-marks or dogs ears to disfigure
the pages. He wrote a beautiful hand,
like copper-plate and in the writing class,
as well the rest he was facile princeps.
Well might he look with scorn on my SLOW
emily dress, my books all thumbed and torn,
and on my handwriting which was i'll to
make out heather Greek. Well might