in all the
parts." I was dreadfully floored by this answer, and could only mutter
mechanically, "_Dross_," "_Missionary_,'" "_Modulator_," in a vain
effort to seize the situation. Conversion I understood and approved of,
but where, in the wee island of Eigg, were the vain, fleeting joys?
There is no public-house in the place, and little temptation of any
kind. The most disquieting item of all was the modulator: I have not
seen one for a long time, and am not sorry, for there is nothing which
so spoils the appearance of a wall nor anything so dismal as practising
scales. A compromise was come to, and it was arranged that some Gaelic
readings, containing a dash of religion, should take the place of songs,
and give some variety to the evening's proceedings.

At some of the meetings there was perhaps an _excess of realism_.
Bottom, in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," wishing to avoid excitement and
fear among the ladies when he is acting the part of Pyramus, says:
"Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no
harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the
more better assurance tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but
Bottom the weaver: this will put them out of fear." I thought of
Bottom's extreme delicacy when I was present at a meeting in Tomatin not
long ago. An outstanding feature of the evening's proceedings was the
vividly dramatic rendering of the song, "Macpherson swore a feud," by
the local postman. The latter, a big, burly man, was extremely
formidable in his Highland attire. When he came to the verse dealing
with the untimely decease of Macpherson, he whipped the dagger out of
its sheath, flourished it as in act to kill, and terrified some of the
lady visitors by his vivid suiting of the action to the word. They were
as much astonished at the flash of the _skian dhu_ as the Commons were
when Burke threw a dagger on the floor of the House.

A musical treat is sometimes got in the most unexpected places. I was
particularly struck with a children's glee-party in Jura (a rough island
known chiefly for its sterile Paps). The bairns admirably rendered Ben
Jonson's delightful ditty, "Drink to me only with thine eyes," and the
Shakespearian song, "Where the bee sucks, there suck I." In such islands
a musical teacher is a valuable asset. Let me add that all the libraries
have been gratuitously supplied with fine collections of Scottish music.

At Acha, in the island o