very energetic preacher was officiating for the parish minister. As he warmed with his subject in the sermon, he used liberties with the old pulpit not quite consistent with its rather crazy condition, sometimes throwing the weight of his body on it, as he threw out his arms toward the congregation, at other times bringing his hand down with a heavy thump. An old laird, sitting in a square table-seat below, had been anxiously watching all this with visions of an assessment for maintenance of the fabric. At last things seemed to be approaching a crisis, as the preacher, piling his periods, had wrought himself into a state of intense fervor, which would inevitably have vented itself on the rickety pulpit. Just as he was gathering himself for the final burst, he was snuffed out by the warning voice of the laird: "Noo, ma man, mind, gin ye break that, ye'll pay't." "Have you brought any witnesses?" asked the Rev. Mr. Wood, of Bathgate, of a middle-aged couple who had come to be married. "No, we ne'er thocht o' that. Is it necessar?" "Oh, certainly," said the minister; "you should have a groomsman and bridemaid as witnesses." "Wha can we get, Jen, do ye think?" The bride, so addressed, suggested a female cousin, whom the bridegroom had not previously seen, and, 66 "Who's there?" asked the Rev. A. Wilson, minister of the first charge of the Abbey Church, Paisley, in a loud and somewhat indignant voice, from the bedroom window up stairs in the manse, at 11.30 P.M., in response to a violent pull of the door-bell. "Oh, it's us, sir; ye ken ye were to hae married us the nicht." "I know that, but not at this hour. What time of night is this to come, after the servants have gone to bed, and the gas been turned out?" "It was na oor faut, sir; there were so many 'COULD YE NA DAE'T OWER THE WINDOW, SIR ?" after consultation, a man was also thought of. "Step ye awa' alang, Jen, an' ask them, an' I'll walk aboot till ye come back." Jen set out as desired, and, after some time, returned with the two friends, the cousin being a blooming lass, somewhat younger than the bride. When the parties had been properly arranged, and the minister was about to proceed with the ceremony, the bridegroom suddenly said, "Wad ye bide a wee, sir?" "What is it now?" asked the minister. "Weel, I was just gaun to say that if it wad be the same to you, I wad raither hae that ane"-pointing to the bridemaid. "A most extraordinary statement to make at this stage! I'm afraid it is too late to talk of such a thing now." "Is it?" said the bridegroom, in a tone of calm resignation to the inevitable. "Weel, then, ye maun just gang on." marriages the nicht, that the best-man couldna get a carriage till noo." "I can't help it; you must just go home, and come back to-morrow." "Oh, Mr. Wulson, ye ken we canna gang hame without bein' married," struck in a female voice. "But what would you have me do? Call up the whole house because of your bungling?" "Could ye na dae't ower the window, sir?" "Nonsense; it's impossible." "Oh, ye micht; ye ken we attend the Aibbey on your day, an' na on Mr. Brewster's." This was not to be resisted. As the story goes, the window was put down, the gas lighted, and the door opened, to the relief of the perplexed couple. A minister with a rather florid complexion had gone into the shop of a barber, one of his parishioners, to be shaved. The barber was addicted to heavy bouts of drinking, after The Rev. Mr. McDougal, of Paisley, was once at a funeral, when a man stepped up close to him, just as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, and said, very solemnly, "Dae ye ken, Mr. McDongal, what I aye think, on an occasion like this, just when they're letting donn the coffin?" "No; what do you think?-solemn thoughts of eternity, I suppose." "No; I aye think I'm awfu' glad it's no' me." A clerical friend, formerly settled in the far north of Scotland, had occasion to speak to the ferryman over a somewhat dangerous bit of sea, of his habits in respect of a too free use of whiskey. In the course of their talk he said, "But, Donald, do you not think now that you would be better without it altogether, especially as you have to be out so often when the sea is rough?" "Well, I dinna ken; but, Mr. M, will you no' be sometimes taking a dram yoursel'?" "Oh yes," said the minister, "I do occasionally; but, Donald, I have been thinking seriously about this dram-drinking, and I'll tell you what I will do. If you will promise to give it up altogether, I will." "Aye, well," replied Donald, "it is very kind of you, I'm sure, but if I would give you a promise, I am feared that I wadna be able to keep it; and you see, it micht be a long while afore I wad be seein' you, and I wad be so sorry to think that you wadna be gettin' your dram, while I was takin' mine." A minister, visiting a widow recently bereaved, found her at tea, in apparently a less desponding state than he expected. "I'm glad to see you bearing up so well, Janet," he said. "Oh, aye," she answered. "An' ye'll jist be wunnerin' at me; but I'm a wunner to mysel', an' I'm a wunner to a'body. I've been greetin' a' day, an' when I get this cup o' tea I'm just gaun to begin again." Before the erection of the new pier at the Castle Rock, passengers from Dumbarton had to be conveyed down the Leven to the Clyde steamers by a ferry-boat rowed by two sturdy and generally elderly ferrymen. On one occasion an English commercial traveller had seated himself on the gunwale, at the stern. One of the old ferrymen, aware of the danger to any one so placed, when the rope of the steamer should be attached to the bow of the boat, took occasion to warn the man of his danger. "Noo, ma man, come doun aff that, or ye'll coup ower." The bagman only replied by telling him to "mind his own business, and trust him to take care of himself." "Weel," said the ferryman, "mind I've telt ye; as sure as ye're sittin' there, ye'll coup ower." No sooner had the rope been attached, and the boat got the inevitable tug from the steamer, than the fellow went heels up over the stern. "Gowk, I telt him that." However, being in the water, it behooved that every effort should be made to rescue him. So the ferryman made a grab at what seemed the hair of his head, when a wig came away. Throwing this impatiently into the boat, he made a second grip at the collar of his shirt, when a front "HE'S COMIN' A' AWA' IN BITS!" came away. Casting this from him with still greater scorn, he shouted to his companion, "Tummas, come here, and help to save as muckle o' this man as ye can, for he's comin' a' awa' in bits." NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. CCCLXVI. NOVEMBER, 1880.-VOL. LXI. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by Harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Vol. LXI.-No. 366.-52 Anastasia, et omnibus sanctis"-perpetu- | "I have an angel which thus loveth me That with great love, whether I wake or sleep, The story of this saint is told by various authors, with no very noteworthy discrepancies between the different versions; and however its fact and legend may be proportioned, it has sufficient of both the beautiful and the marvellous to explain its influence as an inspiration in connection with music and the other arts. -CHAUCER, Second Nonnes Tale. Valerian, listening in astonishment, asked to be permitted to see this angel, to which she replied that he must first become a Christian and be baptized; and sent him to the venerable Pope St. Urban, who succeeded in converting Valerian, after which he hastened back to Cecilia. Exquisite music proceeded from his dwelling, and as he opened the door of his young wife's chamber he beheld an angel standing in the midst of a white radiance near to Cecilia, and smiling upon her as she knelt in prayer. In his hands were two wreaths or crowns of pure white and pure red roses, which had been plucked in Paradise, and still held the perfume and dew of the gardens of heaven. Valerian knelt beside Cecilia, and the angel crowned them with these roses, and blessed them, and offered to Valerian the fulfillment of his dearest wish in return for having respected the virgin sanctity of his wife. Valerian at once made known that he desired, above all things, the conversion and baptism of his beloved brother Tiburtius. It is supposed that St. Cecilia was born in Rome somewhere in the third century. Her parents were people of high distinction who secretly adhered to the Christian faith. Religion and melody seem to have composed the gentle temperament of the little Cecilia, who from her birth expressed herself in prayer and song. At a very early age she took the vow of chastity, and carried always with her a copy of the Gospels hidden in the folds of her dress. As she grew to womanhood her musical talent, mental graces, and personal loveliness distinguished her even among the gifted and beautiful; while the religious ardor and virginal calm of her life completed a personality so impressive as to lead naturally to its own lasting effect in statue, painting, and song. She composed hymns, and sang them in a voice of such quality that the angels, it is declared, could not remain in heaven when Cecilia was singing, but descended to midair to listen to her. She could play skillfully on all the musical instruments of her day, but was so little content withness and eloquence that Tiburtius was conthem that she set herself to the invention of something better, and produced the organ (whose compass and rich vibration were more suited to express her musical fervors), and consecrated it to the worship of God. Submitting to her parents' wish, she became, at the age of sixteen, the wife of Valerian, a wealthy and worthy young Roman noble. She wore sackcloth next her tender skin under her wedding dress, and went to her nuptials fasting, and invoking God and the angel hosts to give her power to so prevail with her husband that he should respect her vow of chastity. On their return from the temple to their bridal chamber, Cecilia, first pledging her husband to secrecy, told him that she was nightly and daily guarded by a glorious angel, who would not permit a mortal lover to come near her. After the angel vanished, Tiburtius came in, and immediately, and with surprisefor it was not the time of flowers-noticed the odor of the roses, which were invisible to him because of his unbelief. Cecilia explained her faith to him, and her husband's conversion, and all with so much tender vinced, sought Urban for baptism, and then joined earnestly in the loving labors of Cecilia and Valerian, helping the poor, and comforting and encouraging the persecuted Christians. Cecilia herself converted over four hundred persons to Christianity by her preaching, and sent them to Pope Urban for baptism. At last the prefect Almachius learned of and endeavored to put a stop to this work. He demanded that Valerian her husband and his brother should publicly abjure their faith, and make sacrifice to Jupiter. They firmly refused, and the brothers were seized and cast in prison, where their keeper, Maximus, was so impressed with their teaching and their behavior in their troubles that he was converted, and suffered martyrdom with them. After their execution the barbarous prefect, who was covetous of her estates, persecuted the vir gin widow, who bore herself with such dignity, gentleness, and patience under the threats of Almachius* that forty persons who were present at the scene professed her faith and desired to share her fate. Baffled and angry, the prefect gave orders that she should be taken home and cast into her own bath, after it had been heated to the intensest degree. This was done; but when she had been shut in "for a day and a night, in which the fires were heated up and made to glow and roar their utmost," Cecilia was found unharmed. Almachius then condemned her to death by the sword. Cecilia knelt calmly before her executioner, and as he raised the sword above her head, she began to sing, and so moving were the tones of her sweet voice that he smote unsteadily, and with three blows the limit permitted by the Roman law-had but partially severed the head, which drooped meekly, while the martyr continued her dying hymn. She lived for three days, during which the people flocked in crowds around her, while she taught them, and prayed for them, and gave away her possessions to name. It is said that there was no prefect of this the needy. To St. Urban she gave her house in which she had been stricken down, to be converted, after her death, into a church or chapel for the service of God. At the close of the third day (November 22, A.D. 280), in the midst of a tremblingly sung hymn of praise, she expired, and her body was buried by Pope Urban and his deacons. Her palace was changed, as she had desired, into a temple consecrated to the worship of the Saviour. One of its aisles opens into the sudatorium in which her life had been miraculously preserved from the boiling bath, the pipes or calorifers of which remain to this day. This room is held in special veneration. During the period from her death to the ninth century-marked by municipal disturbances and disastrous invasions-this church was suffered to fall into decay; but in 821 Pope Paschal I. carefully restored it, and transferred to it the remains of Cecilia, Valerian, and Tiburtius. The manner of finding these sacred relics is told as follows by Baring-Gould, who, while relating the Cecilia legend with considerable detail, seasons it throughout with a piquant flavor of incredulity. |