MRS. STORY'S LATER REMINISCENCES.
Later Reminiscences. By J. L. Story. (MacLehose and Sons. 10s. 6d. net.)—Readers of Mrs. Story's earlier volume of reminiscences will be glad to hear of the publication of this sequel, which is no less delightful than its predecessor.
It covers the time from her marriage to her husband's death in 1907. Since it thus includes the period during which Dr. Story was Principal of Glasgow University, as well as his Moderatorship of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, it may be imagined that Mrs. Story has no lack of interesting memories upon which to draw. Many good anecdotes will be found in the course of the narrative,
such as this one of a country minister who, on passing a poor cobbler's cottage in the course of his rounds, was surprised
not to find the man sitting before the door and singing gaily, as was his usual custom.
"He went in and found the poor cobbler in a most depressed state of mind. What was the matter?' Oh ! it's just that has to leave ma hoose, and it suited me fine ; but ye see a sweep's ta'en it o'er ma held, an' I'll hae to gang.' The minister was sympathetic, and spoke feelingly to the man. 'Aye, it's very hard on you to have to leave, but my advice to you is, take your trouble to the Almighty and leave it there; you'll he sure to find comfort at the Throne.' The man promised compliance and the minister departed. Passing that way shortly afterwards, he was pleased to find the cobbler once more at work outside his door, and his song as jubilant as ever. They greeted each other, and the minister said, 'Well, I am glad to see that your trouble is lightened. I hope you followed the advice that I gave you.' I did that, sir,' replied the cobbler cheerfully. I took my case to the Almichty. I laid it before the Throne, and it's a' richt noo ; the sweep's deid."
We must find room for one other brief story. A Government inspector was visiting a school in a small village, and in the course of the inspection the schoolmaster asked, doubtless in rather severe tones, " Can any one of you tell me who wrote Hamlet' ? " There was a deadly silence, until at last a small boy held up his hand. "Please, sir, it wasna me."
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