by and by the room
became quite dark, and I seemed to be addressing an audience of silent
and attentive ghosts. After I had finished, a Phantom arose in the far
corner of the room and proposed a vote of thanks; and thereafter a Voice
somewhere pronounced the benediction. Then there was a movement of feet,
and the shadowy spectres trooped out into the night. The foolish virgins
had no oil in their lamps; in Port Charlotte, there was neither oil
_nor_ lamps.[11]

[11] Islay is yearly becoming better known. It is an undulating
island, covered with rich meadow-land, the home of horses, sheep,
and cattle. There should not be a hungry man within its
circumference. Under the old lairds--the Campbells--there were
14,000 inhabitants, now there are 6000.

SOME SPEECHES.

MENTAL AND MATERIAL WEALTH.

I never heard the difference between mental and material wealth more
forcibly expressed than by an old Perthshire shoemaker. "Supposing,"
said he, "that I had fifty pounds in my pocket at the present moment.
What a wild supposition, but good enough for an illustration! What
inference would you draw from me having that sum of money? This, namely,
that no other person in the universe has the same fifty pounds. The same
pair of boots cannot be worn by two persons at the same time. The same
guinea cannot be twice spent by the same man. It is different with
spiritual things, and with works of art. Scores of people can
simultaneously enjoy a great painting or a fine piece of music: _my_
enjoyment does not interfere with _yours_, indeed, it is more than
likely that my enjoyment will be greatly increased from knowing that
other people are enjoying it as I am. Then again, you can't eat the same
loaf of bread twice: but you can return a hundred times to the same
song, poem, or picture, and like them better the hundredth time than the
first. A pathetic old tune does not lose anything in being sung by
generation after generation. It is always as good as new. Like the
widow's cruise of oil, it can be used without being consumed. These
facts show that works of art--good books, good poems, good music--are,
in a certain sense, immortal and divine. A hundred years ago, our
ancestors sang 'Bonnie Doon'; we, to-day, sing it with undiminished
fervour; a hundred years after this, the song will be fresh. Aye, and a
humorous American writer thinks some of us will hanker for it in heaven:

'Perhaps in that refulgent sphere