Aundrew, I'se warrant Donal' had a queer feelin' when he f'und the Buik instead o' the siller! Aweel, how the lassie gat back tae the big toons an' the ships, an' syne awa' hame here, I canna say; but it's true eneuch she did, for she's here the day."

"Ay, ay," says Andrew in acquiescence.

Then he adds: "Jabez Farquhar had a sair job tae get her consent, the fowk say."

"Ay, that did he," rejoins Francie. "He's a guid man, Jabez ; guid tae his ain fowk an' tae a' puir bodies, and he's weel eneuch tae leuk at; bit Nance wud ne'er hae had 'im had it no' been for twa things. News cam' that Donal' wus dead, shot in that weary Amerikay; an' then the lassie thocht hersel' free, for tho' she cud niver mairry Donal', Nancy thocht hersel' b'und tae him as lang as he lived. There's something in Scripture tae that effec', Aundrew, though I mindna the preceese wards. That was the first thing. Weel, the ither wus this. Jabez wus oot ae day in the field, and the muckle red bull gat in a rage an' made at 'im. He ran, an' it ran, an' it gat him doon aince or twice, bit, in God's mercy, he gat through the palin' awa' frae it. Aweel, he lay there unable to move, an' wha shud come alang bit Nancy Eyval! He wus bleedin' sair aboot the head an' face, bit she gat 'im up an' helpit 'im hame. The bluid, his warm bluid, fell on her bonnie bare arms, an' fowk a' say she lo'ed Jabez frae that minut'. There's nae better wife in a'

But here Francie's story is cut short by the "ringin'-in" and the sound of approaching wheels. Down steps the bridegroom Jabez Farquhar, and down steps Nancy Eyval, now Mistress Farquhar. Armin-arm, with confusion upon their faces, they pass up the long avenue, knowing that every eye is turned towards them. Emotion is swelling in all our hearts as we look upon this bride, who has twice been snatched from the cold grip of death, and, of a sudden, old Meg Donaldson gives expression to our feelings. "God bless ye baith!" she cries in a loud voice; "ye ha'e a bonnie an' a guid wife, sir."

"Ay, ay," mutter we all, and we hurry after them inside the kirk.

But where is the disturber of whom we have all this time been purposing to speak? Patience a little longer, and he will appear.

Inside the parish kirk we sit on most days in an atmosphere of gloom, but to-day there is a faint sense of joy abroad. The Rev. Saunders Macdonald undoubtedly means to improve the occasion, for he is now reading in drawling tones, "Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth." Yonder is our friend Andrew frae

Claypots, and he looks across at the minister, as if to say, "There's ower muckle o' that on the earth already, Saunders, my man," but he holds his peace.

It will not be forgotten that we have with us to-day old Grizzie Mackeson, wife of daft Johnnie Mackeson, of the Hill Croft. Now Grizzie's last injunction to daft Johnnie before leaving had been that punctually when the hand of the clock pointed to twelve, he should take down the big brown jar full of good salt butter, cut out a certain small portion, and put it in the barley broth boiling on the fire. "Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth," the minister is saying, and Claypots Andrew is looking aslant at him, when noisy footsteps are heard on the stairs leading up to the "loft," and in an instant daft Johnnie rushes forward and calls out to his spouse, "Grizzie, Grizzie! com' awa' hame! com' awa' hame! the butter's a' tae watter! the butter's a' tae watter!" We are all scandalised beyond measure, but some of the young folks can scarcely restrain their laughter. The minister is arrested in his progress. The only persons who feel relieved are the newly married couple, for they know that now the congregation are no longer gazing at them. Grizzie herself is endeavouring to quieten her husband by fearful facial contortions, but to no effect. Johnnie keeps calling out, "Com' awa' hame ! com' awa' hame! Ye needna glumpse an' glower! ye needna glumpse an' glower! The butter's a' tae watter! the butter's a' tae watter! It's a' fa'n oot o' the brown pig! it's a' tae watter! it's a' tae watter!" A wave of tittering, the like of which has never before been seen in Carglen auld kirk, ripples through the congregation, and the minister now interferes. "You had better go with him, Grizzie," says he kindly. Thereupon the couple march away together, but we hear that Johnnie is being subjected to a terrible scolding from his wife in low but querulous tones as they descend the stairs. Looking over our shoulders, too, through the gable window, we can see as they pass down the avenue that Grizzie is shaking her hand ominously at her simple “man.”

That is my little story of a Sunday in Carglen, and you may be sure it is remembered to this day as the Sawbath when Nancy Eyval came to her "kirkin'" after being a bride, and when folks' thoughts were suddenly turned from her by daft Johnnie rushing into the sacred house and calling out, "The butter's a' tae watter! the butter's a' tae watter !"

ALEXANDER GORDON.

"THE

ADVERTISER'S SHAKESPEARE.”

GREAT crime is in course of perpetration.

Miscreants are
We are

A seeking to deface one of our national glories.

accustomed to boast, and justly, of our literature; great in many ways, our country is greatest in its books. And of all those whom Englishmen honour for their works, Shakespeare stands first and highest. It is at Shakespeare that the blow is aimed. The sacred text to which scholars have given the devotion of a lifetime is to be made the sport of Grub Street hacks. The lofty thoughts which have cheered, inspired, and elevated generations, are to be twisted and defaced to puff the wares of advertising tradesmen. We raise our protest at once against this profanation. We echo George Eliot's condemnation of such a "debasement of the moral currency." The parodist is a buffoon, standing where he ought not; but what parody is to the original, advertisement is to parody. Anthony Trollope recorded how the music of a beautiful passage in the Master was for ever spoiled for him, because he misread "damaged" cheek for "damask." But now it is proposed that all the beauties shall be misread. For our young men and maidens the stream of so much gracious knowledge is to be poisoned at the fount!

We expose at once the nature of the contemplated outrage. By accident there recently fell into our hands a circular marked "strictly private and confidential," intended, apparently, for a well-known advertising soapmaker. We give this precious document to the world verbatim :

"THE ADVERTISER'S SHAKESPEARE !

"This is the age of advertisement. The man who finds a new method of attracting public attention earns the gratitude of all commercial men. Such a method has been devised by a syndicate who are about to publish, through an eminent firm of publishers, 'The Advertiser's Shakespeare.' The scheme of the work is, by judicious emendations of the text, to include in the body of Shakespeare's

plays (which are read by thousands annually) advertisements of wellknown wares. Every one is familiar with the sentence, 'What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? X.'s mustard is the best.-Shakespeare.' We propose to develop and systematise this idea; and we invite tenders for the blank spaces in the accompanying list of passages. As an example of our method, we adduce one or two illustrations:

Portia. How far Brown's little night-light throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Merchant of Venice.

"V. Blood Purifiers.

Brutus. As dear to me as are the ruddy drops

That visit my sad heart, when carmined fresh
By Balbus' purifier, that doth put

All Galen to the blush.

Julius Casar.

"These specimens will serve to indicate our method. The manysidedness of Shakespeare is nowhere better shown than in his adaptability to all the needs of modern civilisation. 'Shakespeare,' it has been well said, 'was not of an age, but for all time.' Our time is one of advertisement. Shakespeare, therefore, to justify his eulogist, should be an advertiser. So, in fact, he is. He Willingly doth give us bold advertisement. Every age makes fresh discoveries of the limitless significance and application of his sayings. For us has been reserved the first of themes, sung last of all,' that Shakespeare is the Prince of Advertisers. This truth will be demonstrated in 'The

Advertiser's Shakespeare,' not merely to the student, but coram populo. For the advertisements will enable us to distribute the book almost gratuitously; thus Shakespeare will be given away with a pound of tea. So will he reach the nursery, and the beauties of his plays and the excellence of the advertised wares will become fixed in the earliest memories, longest retained, of childhood's hour. Thus, as Professor Henry Morley says, will 'the old coinages of ancient wit again be current.' We are rendering a service to the Bard of Avon in bringing him up to date. We are rendering a service to commerce in introducing its commodities to the quiet of the study and the leisure of the busy man; to the library and the kitchen alike. But the purity of the text must be maintained. All prices of advertised goods, addresses, and the like must be relegated to foot-notes, which will appear in larger type.

"To the objection that it may savour of anachronism for Shakespeare to be made to praise articles not manufactured in his time, there is an obvious reply. Shakespeare foresaw futurity. He is 'not of an age, but for all time.' As has been well said, he described, though he never saw, the treadmill: 'Down, down thou climbing sorrow.' So, life assurance does not date back to the 'spacious times of Queen Elizabeth'; yet we read (in 'The Advertiser's Shakespeare'): "Macbeth. But yet I'll make assurance double sure,

And take a bond of fate; nay, not of fate,

But in the

effect a policy

Where life's mischance, and fire's devouring tongue,

May be insured against: nay, more, where now
They do Fidelity, and Guarantee,

And Liability for Accidents
Insure at cheapest rate.

How wonderful is Shakespeare's view of life! As has been said of another, he saw life steadily and saw it whole.' From the cradle to the grave he leaves nothing untouched, nor unadorned.

"At first the infant,

Mewling and puking for his X.'s food;

and so to the last stage of all, with spectacles, false teeth and everything. Nay, he stops not at the grave :

66

'Imperious Cæsar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.

The 'Cæsar Draught Excluder !'-there is a fortune in the name.
So death and life alike serve Shakespeare's and the Advertiser's turn.
The infant in arms we have already seen a clamorous advertiser. Then