written in days when it was very hard for me to write anything at all. I was little fit to write. That 1888 was the heaviest year I have ever known. And I have had my share.

He came straight

But it ended pleasantly, with what must be named in a word. On St. Andrew's Day, my daughter was married at St. Barnabas', Kensington, to Granby Burke, of the Marble-Hill family. It had been found impossible to collect those who desired to be present except in London: where the bridegroom's parents reside. They were married by Bishop Thorold of Winchester. from a consecration of Bishops at Westminster Abbey, and was bright in Convocation robes. He was assisted by Mr. Thornton, the Vicar. The service was beautifully done and the Bishop gave an admirable exhortation. He had known the bride all her life, and had confirmed her, The great race of Burke are most of them Catholic. Several had never been in a Protestant church before. The saintly Lady Mary said to me that she would have come all the way from Ireland to hear that exhortation. Yet she added, 'Little did I think ever to find myself kneeling under the roof of a Protestant church.' But that is permitted to such as hold the ancient way. A good Monsignor, a frequent visitor to St. Andrews, was there too. Let it be added, that at such a time, one is profoundly sensible how much hearty kindness is in this world. Further, that amid all the innumerable marriages my very dear friend has performed, not one can by possibility have turned out more happily.

The next day my wife and I went down to Selsdon Park, and began the Christian Year hopefully there. I never had seen the place, indeed, in all these years, save in high Summer and I was there for the eleventh time. I went soon to look at my blossoming trees, and found, with sad satisfaction, that in mid-winter, Kent and Surrey are just as bleak as Fife. On Advent Sunday, the Bishop went, after a magnificent red dawn, to a Confirmation at Lambeth. Among those confirmed was Dorothy, the elder daughter of the house. I went in the morning to the parish church, where my old friend the Rector managed wonderfully, though nearly blind. The Bishop had commanded me to preach in the chapel at evensong: as oftentimes before. Let the reader note that the chapel is not consecrated. I could not ask God's blessing on a breach of the law even of that Act of Uniformity which excludes from Anglican pulpits some of the warmest friends of the Anglican Church. I had not a sermon, nor any other requisite: I had never thought to preach now. But my little message came. And that service was (to me) specially pleasant. Mr. Marriott, the Chaplain, read prayers; the Bishop said only the Absolution and the Blessing. Of course, I said a great deal more about Advent than would have been said by the Bishop. As is natural, in the circumstances. Long before, on a Rogation Sunday, I had gone to church with him in the morning. He preached and spake no word about the subject of the day. And he was pleased to find that my subject that evening was Prayer: also that if any one came to service

ignorant that it was Rogation Sunday, that ignorant person knew the fact remarkably well long ere departing. That which the Prelate had lacked, the Presbyter amply supplied.

And

Let it be confessed, too, by one who has habitually to preach in the black silk gown, and who has also on many occasions preached in the surplice, how much pleasanter wear the surplice is. It is much lighter. It is incomparably fresher than a gown which has been worn for years. most gowns are old. My entire array on a Sunday is just ten years old. That which goes on to be drenched at a funeral (where no umbrella is permitted) is more than five and twenty. Then, the colour of mourning does not worthily befit the conduct of church-services. The note is 'joyful in the house of prayer.' And our robes, all but the bands (which in Scotland denote full orders), are merely academic. Those among us who are Doctors both of Divinity and of Laws (let us trust, knowing more of the former than they do of the latter), make a point, in celebrating the Communion, to wear the D.D. hood, which none but a clergyman can wear. To all which considerations add this serious one that the surplice is very much cheaper. Our vestments are costlier than people think. Even a Bishop, as he stands, costs only about thirty guineas. A Moderator of the Kirk, in like circumstances, is worth a good deal more than sixty. Where the luxury of lace is added in an extravagant degree (as through the kindness of parishioners. I know it occasionally to be), it is difficult to fix a limit to the decent man's temporary value. And then it is very surprising to himself.

VOL. II,

Y

322

CHAPTER XXX

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER

My dear and old friend Dr. MacGregor, who to-day has but another week in the dignity of Moderator (if he goes to Court, 'his rank in precedence is above a Baron, as that of a Lord Bishop in England'), is a man who takes time by the forelock. On January 5, 1889, he wrote, in contemplation of the rebuilding of St. Cuthbert's Church, and with due authority, 'You must come and open the new building.' Here was a case in which it was impossible to say No. And my answer was that should both of us be permitted to see the completion of the grand church designed, I should esteem it a great honour to minister at its Dedication. But beyond the long time needful for the erection of a fabric on such a scale, legal difficulties came in (as they are sure to do in Scotland): and the foundation stone is to be laid by the Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly, the Marquis of Tweeddale, on Wednesday May 18, 1892. Then, I fancy, two years more. But I shall hope to be allowed to see the day, still equal to a great function: I mean equal so far as I ever was. I confess that in making engagements only a short way in advance, one has come very solemnly to say If it please God. The

reader will remember how seriously Dickens always said the like.

Any suspicion of insincerity in such a matter is very grievous. And there have been good men who suspected insincerity, approaching to humbug. Lord Provost Brown Douglas of Edinburgh told me he was present when a worthy minister, being invited by Dr. Guthrie to dine with. him next day at an Assembly time, replied, with what Dr. Guthrie thought undue solemnity,- Well, if I am spared.' The great orator listened with displeasure; and replied, in the most unsympathetic manner, and putting the contingency in the most disagreeable possible light,—' Oh, we won't expect you, if you are a Corp. Such is the name which homely Scotch folk give to the deserted tenement. And it always affects one with a certain horror. The worthy minister had in fact not realised the contingency in just that particular way. And he was startled. Which

was what the humourist intended.

Quite the outstanding feature in the life of St. Andrews, entering on 1889, was the delivery of the Gifford Lectures by Mr. Andrew Lang. As we in this city are specially proud of this brilliant writer, holding that we in a measure 'raised' him, and are entitled to credit for all he does, it is to be admitted that, in token of affection, he is always called Andrew Lang. This has ever been. Many years ago, coming up from the Club one evening with Tulloch, a young man of very striking appearance, dark and keen, walked rapidly by us. He had left this University before I came to St. Andrews; and in answer to the question who