lars, but the general reader is perhaps unfamiliar how Shakespeare
was perverted. From this material I thought that I might lay out an
instructive paper; how, for example, the whirling passion of Lear was
once wrought to soft and pleasant uses for a holiday. Cordelia is
rescued from the villains by the hero Kent, who cries out in a
transport, "Come to my arms, thou loveliest, best of women!" The scene
is laid in the woods, but as night comes on, Cordelia's old nurse
appears. A scandal is averted. Whereupon Kent marries Cordelia, and
they reign happily ever afterward. As for Lear, he advances into a
gentle convalescence. Before the week is out he will be sunning
himself on the bench beneath his pear tree and babbling of his early
days.

There were extra witches in Macbeth. Romeo and Juliet lived and the
quarreling families were united. Desdemona remained un-smothered to
the end. There was one stout author--but here I trust to memory--who
even attempted to rescue Hamlet and to substitute for the distant
rolling of the drum of Fortinbras, the pipes and timbrels of his happy
wedding. There is yet to be made a lively paper of these Shakespeare
tinkers of the eighteenth century.

And then John Timbs was to have been my text, who was an antiquary of
the nineteenth century. I had come frequently on his books. They are
seldom found in first-hand shops. More appropriately they are offered
where the older books are sold--where there are racks before the door
for the rakings of the place, and inside an ancient smell of leather.
If there are barrels in the basement, stocked and overflowing, it is
sure that a volume of Timbs is upon the premises.

I visited the Public Library and asked a sharp-nosed person how I
might best learn about John Timbs. I followed the direction of his
wagging thumb. The accounts of the encyclopedias are meager, a date of
birth and of death, a few facts of residence, the titles of his
hundred and fifty books, and little more. Some neglect him entirely;
skipping lightly from Timbrel to Timbuctoo. Indeed, Timbuctoo turned
up so often that even against my intention I came to a knowledge of
the place. It lies against the desert and exports ostrich feathers,
gums, salts and kola-nuts. Nor are timbrels to be scorned. They were
used--I quote precisely--"by David when he danced before the ark."
Surely not Noah's ark! I must brush up on David.

Timbs is matter for an engaging paper. His passion was London. He had