THE MAGIC OF THE HEATHER. 



Hogg tells us that when Lieut. Patrick Campbell 

 took a voyage to North America with the view of 

 ascertaining upon the spot what was the actual situa- 

 tion of those who had emigrated to that quarter, upon 

 taking leave of a woman whom he had known in the 

 Highlands, he asked her what he could do to oblige 

 her. 



"Nothing," she said, that she could at present 

 think of, unless he could send her a few stalks of 

 Heather, which she longed exceedingly for; it would 

 do her heart so much good to see it once more. There 

 was a bit of poor ground behind her house where she 

 had always thought the Heather would grow if prop- 

 erly taken care of. 



Not long ago a Scottish gardener died at Inwood- 

 on-the-Hudson, N. Y. Around the bier were scattered 

 many beautiful floral designs, made of the choicest of 

 conservatory blossoms. A brother gardener, also a 

 Scot, who attended the funeral, took with him a lit- 

 tle spray of Heather which, by permission of the widow, 

 he pinned on the lapel of the dead man's coat. The 

 mourners, mostly Scotch folk, immediately forgot the 

 costly flowers, and the tears that welled up in the eyes 

 of the onlookers echoed more eloquently than spoken 

 words the remark of a leal-hearted Scottish gardener's 

 wife who stood on the opposite side of the casket: 

 "That's just what he would have liked !" Sorrow for 

 the dead was temporarily assuaged by the magic power 

 of that token of fraternal and native friendship, "a 

 wee sprig o' Highland Heather." 



At one of the annual suppers of the St. Andrew's 

 Society, held in Delmonico's. New York, and presided 



138 



