Good men they are and true," he went on, in the same exalted strain; "valued and respected citizens—none more so; but cut their hearts open, and you will find _Scotland_ written in every fibre. It is through no ingratitude to their adopted country that a spray of white heather, a few bluebells, a gowan or two, anything sent across the seas to them to remind them of the land of their birth, will bring hot tears to their eyes. As one of them has written— ’What memories dear of that cot ye recall, Though now there remains neither rooftree nor wall! Alack-a-day! lintel and threshold are gone, While cold ’neath the weeds lies the hallowed hearthstone! ’Twas a straw-roofed cottage, but love abode there, And peace and contentment aye breathed in its air; With songs from the mother, and legends from sire, How blithe were we all round the cheery peat-fire! —Caledonia’s blue-bells, O bonnie blue-bells!’" "You have an excellent memory," Lord Musselburgh said, good-naturedly. "Those patriotic effusions seem to have impressed you." "That was written by the Bard of Amulree, your lordship," continued the garrulous old man; "and a truer Scotchman does not breathe, though America has been his home nearly all his life. And there is many another, both in Canada and the United States. They may be in happier circumstances than they would have been in the old country; they may have plenty of friends around them: but still their hearts turn back to ’Where I’ve watched the gloamin’ close The long bright summer days; And doubted not that fairies dwelt On Cathkin’s bonnie braes; Auld Ruglin Brig and Cathkin braes And Clyde’s meandering streams, Ye shall be subject of my lays As ye are of my dreams.’ Nor are they ashamed of their Scottish way of speech—ye may observe, my lord, that I’ve kept a twang of it myself, even among all my wanderings; and loth would I be to lose it. But I’m wearying your lordship," the old man said, in a suddenly altered tone. "I would just say that a collection of what the Scotch poets in America have written ought to be interesting to Scotchmen everywhere, and perhaps to others as well; for patriotism is a virtue that commands respect. I beg your pardon for encroaching on your lordship’s time——" "Oh, that’s nothing," Lord Musselburgh said, easily; "but we must not keep the young lady waiting." He glanced in the direction of the girl who was standing by the table. She was turning over the leaves of a book. Then he resumed the conversation—but in a much lower key. "I quite understand, Mr. Bethune," he said, so that she should not overhear, "what you wrote to me—that the bringing out of such a volume will require time, and expense. And—and you must allow me to join in, in the only way I can. Now what sum——?" He hesitated. Mr. Bethune said— "Whatever your lordship pleases."