the latest library books. People weren't ashamed of their feelings then,
and they put them into beautiful words. Nowadays it seems to me they've
neither the feelings nor the language to clothe them in. I'm a century
or two too late. I ought to have lived when the world was younger."

If his wife adored her native ballads Mr. Cameron, on his part, had a
good stock of Scottish songs, and would trill them out in a fine
baritone voice, the audience joining with enthusiasm in the choruses of
such favorites as "Bonny Dundee," "Charlie is my Darling," and "Over the
Sea to Skye."

"There's a ring about Jacobite melodies that absolutely grips you," said
Mrs. Beverley, begging for "Wha wad na fecht for Charlie," and "Farewell
Manchester." "Perhaps it's in my blood, for my ancestors were Jacobites.
One of them was a beautiful girl in 1745, and sat on a balcony to watch
her prince ride into Faircaster. The cavalcade came to a halt under her
window and 'Charlie' looked up and saw her, and asked her to dance at
the ball that was being given that night in the town. She was greatly
set up by the honor, and handed the tradition of it down the family as
something that must never be forgotten. Oh! I'd have fought for the
'Hieland laddie' myself if I'd been a man in his days. Is the spirit of
personal loyalty dead? We give patriotic devotion to our country, but
love such as that of an ancient Highlander for his hereditary chief
seems absolutely a thing of the past."

While their elders entertained the circle with northern legends or
border ballads the young people also did their share, and contributed
such choice morsels as ghost stories, adventures in foreign lands, or
weird tales of the occult. Stewart, who was an omnivorous reader of
magazines, tried to demonstrate the romance of modern literature, though
he could never convince his mother of its equality with old-world
favorites. Marjorie Anderson, who had a sweet voice, loved soldier
ditties, and caroled them much to the admiration of Captain Preston, who
always managed to contrive to get a seat near her particular corner of
the fireside.

"I believe those two are 'a match,'" whispered Peachy to Irene one
evening.

"So do I. They met first when Marjorie was at school. Dona told me all
about it, and it was quite romantic. They'd have seen more of each other
only, after the armistice, his regiment was ordered out to India. He's
home on leave now. He wrote to Marjorie all the time