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the door he discovered John quietly reclining on his seat in the porch, puffing away, and reading the advertisement columns of a missionary magazine. "John," whispered the pillar of the kirk, "put out your pipe, man; the smoke's comin' in at the door and disturbin' the folk." John hastily pocketed his pipe, remarking, "If the folk had been mindin' the discoorse, they wadna ha'e bothered about a bit puff o' reek any more than about a cauld draught. But," he added with a sigh, referring to the sermon, "it would be dry as usual."

The genuine old-school beadle had a thorough contempt for the budding minister. One such worthy had a young relative who, much against his advice, had taken to the ministry, and at the time of the occurrence related was making his first efforts at preaching. One morning, to the beadle's great surprise, the juvenile divine appeared in the vestry of "his church," and proceeded to don the minister's gown. "What are ye gaun to dae wi' that?" asked Jamie in his sternest tones. "Oh, I'm going to preach to-day," said the aspirant. "Ay; wha bade ye?" "The minister, to be sure." "Well, I'm glad I ha'e naething to dae wi't. Wha's gaun to listen to you?" You, for one, surely, James, seeing we are kith and kin.” "Na! na!" said James, shaking his head; "but I'll tell you, Tam, what I'll do. I'll tak' up the Bible and close ye in as well as I can; but you can brawly [quite easily] mak' a fool o' yersel' withoot me."

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Before carrying the books to the pulpit it was, of course, the beadle's duty, especially when a strange minister was to preach, to see that the book-board was adjusted to the proper height. On one occasion a certain minister was to officiate in a church in Edinburgh after the lapse of several years, during which he had become much stouter. Being near-sighted, he required to have the Bible placed rather higher than was usual, and expressed the hope that the necessary arrangements had been attended to. "The book 's just the same height as when ye were here afore, sir," said the beadle; adding, as he surveyed the minister from head to foot, "I dinna think ye ha'e grown muckle frae north to south since then, but ye ha'e grown a good bit frae east to west."

The celebrated Robertson of Irvine had a beadle, by name Andrew Clark, of whom some laughable stories are told. His father, honest man, had been beadle before him, and Andrew regarded the minister, the kirk, and all its belongings as his lawful inheritance, with which no man had a right to interfere. A young clergyman, who was a frequent visitor at the manse, and often preached for Mr. Robertson, was a great favourite with Andrew, and it was the old

man's desire always to see the young divine look his best in the pulpit. "Come back, James; come back, I tell ye," cried Andrew after him on one occasion, as he was leaving the vestry in full canonicals to enter the church. Somewhat surprised at the abrupt and unexpected command, the young clergyman turned round and asked what was the matter. "Brush your hair," was Andrew's laconic answer. "Noo ye'll dae," said Andrew, as the operation of hair-brushing was concluded. "I couldna see ye gaun up the pulpit wi' yer hair in sic a state." Strangers occasionally came in for a share of Andrew's free-and-easy attention, and were sometimes not a little shocked by it. "Is this a pay sermon, or an exchange?" he would ask a strange minister when attending him at the close of the service, as coolly as if he were inquiring of a brother weaver how much per yard he was to get for his new cloth.

Here is another anecdote illustrating Andrew's sense of proprietorship. Colonel Ferguson, who resided at Shewalton House, was an admirer of Mr. Robertson's eloquence. He was a very precise old gentleman, and was lame of one leg. Arriving at the church one Sunday morning he made his way down one of the passages, evidently intending to take a seat in the front of the area. While still in the passage, however, and before getting into any of the pews, he was overtaken by the beadle, who, in a stage whisper, asked him the question, "Are ye deef?" The stately old Colonel turned round in amazement and asked the beadle what he meant. "I'm askin' are ye deef, sir." "No, thank God, I have all my senses; I'm not deaf," was the Colonel's reply. "Well, well," said Andrew, quite coolly, "if ye're no deef I'll give ye a back seat." When Andrew lay dying, the duties of his office were temporarily discharged by his daughter. There was to be a baptism on the Sunday, and it gave him great concern. The minister having called to inquire for him, and while seriously speaking to him concerning the eternal world, on the life of which he was soon to enter, the faithful old beadle, ignoring all that was being said, looked up and asked, "Will she manage it?" Thus his ruling passion-his duty to the church—was strong even in death.

Preaching an old sermon is not now so common as it used to be. "What makes you laugh, James?" inquired a rural minister of his beadle one Sunday in the session-house, between the services, as the humbler functionary stirred up the fire and laughed in a semisuppressed manner. "It is unseemly, James. What is there to amuse you?"

"Oh, naething particular," said James, still laughing, however. "I

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was only thinkin' o' something that happened when the kirk was emptying a moment since.”

"What was it? Tell me about it."

"Weel, minister, dinna be angry wi' me, an' I'll tell ye.

Whether

ye ken it or no, sir, ye're blamed for preachin' an old sermon now and again, and I think I rather got the better o' some o' them the day-some o' the kirk-folk, I mean."

"How so, James?" said the minister.

"Deed, simply enough, an' I'll tell how. Just as soon as the last Psalm was finished, ye see, I went off as usual and opened first the west door, an' then ran round an' opened the east door; an' as I was comin' back round the kirk again, who should I meet but Newmains and some other farmers, an' by the way they were laughin an' nudgin' ane anither. I kent fine what they were wantin' to say, so I tak's the first word wi' them, an' says I, 'Weel lads,' says I, 'ye canna say that was an auld ane ye got the day, for it's nae mair than six weeks since ye got it afore.' An' so I think I got the better o' them, sir. An' that's hoo I canna help laughin'."

"You have been so long about the minister's hand, John, that I dare say you could preach a sermon yourself now," said a gentleman one day to a beadle of his acquaintance.

"Oh, na, sir,” replied John; "I couldna preach a sermon." Then, after a brief pause, he remarked, "But perhaps I could draw an inference, though."

"Well, John," said the gentleman, humouring the quiet vanity of the beadle, "what inference could you draw from this text—' A wild ass . . . snuffeth up the wind at her pleasure '?" (Jeremiah ii. 24).

"Weel," replied John, "the only natural-like inference that I could draw frae it is just this—that she wad snuff a lang time afore she would fatten on it."

The beadle of other days is still found in some Sleepy Hollow. One such we have just heard of. It appears that in a certain out-ofthe-way corner of the country the question of standing or sitting to sing was being discussed. The minister was for standing, and quoted as his warrant a verse from the Revelation of St. John. The beadle, being seated near by, was asked his opinion on the question, whereupon he delivered himself thus: "Eh, man! I think in heaven we'll neither stand nor sit. Man, we'll a' be fleein' through the air like a covey o' pairtricks!" (partridges).

J. CUTHBERT HADDEN

PROFESSO

TABLE TALK.

CAN ENGLISH PROSE BE TAUGHT?

ROFESSOR EARLE has issued an important treatise, in a sense the first that has seen the light, upon English Prose.1 Upon poetry under its multifarious aspects a library has been compiled, and the general question of rhetoric has occupied innumerable writers since the days of Aristotle. I recall, however, no previous work wholly occupied with English prose. The question which the appearance of his volume suggests is, Can prose be taught? We are all of us, at the outset, in the case of the Bourgeois Gentilhomme of Molière, who spoke prose without knowing it. A man who essays to write prose has probably fitted himself by a preliminary study, however casual, of masters of style. Not difficult is it, in the case of a man of no very assertive individuality, to detect who have been his models. The more he reads, the better the chance of his acquiring ease and correcting defects. I doubt, however, whether prose is any more to be acquired by tuition than is poetry. Professor Earle's book, then, seems to me a readable and an interesting history of the development of prose style, and a valuable treatise, grammatical and philosophical. As such it is to be recommended. The only indispensable outfit for a writer is, however, an extensive knowledge at firsthand of the masters of English prose.

A

PAINTER'S "PALACE OF PLEASURE.”

MONG the reprints for which I have long hoped, that of the "Palace of Pleasure" of William Painter has always seemed the most desirable. The original editions of this treasury of old narratives, from which Shakespeare derived very many of his plots, are very scarce. I once owned a fragment of one of the two volumeswhich sold by auction for £10. I can trace no recent sale of a perfect copy of the original edition. A reprint, by Joseph Haslewood, 3 vols. (1813), limited to 172 copies, is itself a rarity, bringing from £5 to £8. Every rarity is not, however, a work of solid value, such as, to the student of early English, the “Palace of Pleasure" must be pronounced. It gives practically, with many historical records from Livy and Plutarch, other, and sometimes not too edifying, stories from Boccaccio, Bandello, and other Italian novelists. To no single work, perhaps, except the "Plutarch" of Sir 1 Smith, Elder & Co.

Thomas North, was Shakespeare equally indebted. The first edition bears date 1566-7. A reprint was discussed by the New Shakespeare Society, but the scheme was abandoned as beyond the resources of the society. It has now been carried out under the direction of Mr. Joseph Jacobs, and published in three handsome volumes.1

With the previous version of Haslewood-which is closely followed, though the text has been collated with the original-Haslewood's preliminary matter, which Mr. Jacobs not too graciously characterises as "dry-as-dust," is reprinted. Concerning Painter, many particulars of interest have been gleaned. These, it is sad to say, place the character of our author in a not very satisfactory light, since he, with his illustrious patron, the Earl of Warwick, and some others, seems guilty of gravely dishonest dealings with State property. The story of Giletta of Narbonne, from which Shakespeare took "All's Well that End's Well," is that to which everyone first turns. It is a pleasant translation from Boccaccio. The entire work is welcome.

PAINT

ROGER ASCHAM ON "ENGLISH ITALIANS."

AINTER'S work failed to win the approval of Roger Ascham, who appears to have regarded both book and author with scant favour. In an interpolation made in "The Schoolmaster," about 1568, soon after the appearance of Painter's second volume, Mr. Jacobs traces "a distinct and significant reference" to our author. As becomes a teacher, Ascham is stern in judgment upon all who go to Circe's court; especially severe is he upon "English Italians," and he quotes the saying, which I give with his orthography, "Englese Italianato e un diabolo incarnato." The special reference to Painter is when Ascham speaks of "fonde bookes of late translated out of Italian into English, sold in every shop in London, commended by honest titles the soner to corrupt honest maners; dedicated overboldlie to virtuous and honourable personages, the casielier to begile simple and innocent wittes." Somewhat later he affirms that "Ten sermons at Paules Cross do not so much good for moving men to trewe doctrines as one of these bookes do harme, with inticing men to ill living." This is a little hard upon Painter, some of whose tales are a little-well, realistic, but whose work generally is moral in teaching, and not a few of whose stories are delightfully natural and touching. In taking into account this censure of Painter's volume it must be remembered that Ascham is not less severe on the "Morte d'Arthur," "the whole pleasure of which book," he holds, "standeth in two special poyntes: in open mans slaughtor and bold bawdrye."

SYLVANUS URBAN.

David Nutt.

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