get so nauseated before the trip is over at the very sight of the white caps that you can’t look at the heads of the French nurses in Paris without feeling seasick.  There are the usual “characters” about.  There is the customary foreign spinster of uncertain age that has been visiting here, who regales you with stories of how in New York she had twelve men at her feet.  Subsequent inquiry proves that they were chiropodists. [Laughter.]

And then you approach Ireland.  You have had enough of the ocean wave, and you think you will stop there.  I have no doubt everybody present, after hearing from the lips of the distinguished chaplain on my right as to the character of the men who come from that country, will hereafter always want to stop there.  And when you land at Queenstown you are taken for an American suspect.  They think you are going to join the Fenian army.  They look at you as if you intended to go forth from that ship as the dove went forth from the ark, in search of some green thing.  You assure them that the only manner in which you can be compared with that dove is in the general peacefulness of your intentions.  Then you go wandering around by the shores of the Lakes of Killarney and the Gap of Dunloe, that spot where the Irishman worked all day for the agent of an absentee landlord on the promise of getting a glass of grog.  At night the agent brought out the grog to him, and the Irishman tasted it, and he said to the agent, “Which did you put in first, the whiskey or the water?” “Oh,” said he, “the whiskey.”  “Ah, ha!  Well, maybe I’ll come to it by and by.” [Laughter.] You look around upon the army, the constabulary, the police, and you begin to think that Ireland is a good deal like our own city of Troy, where there are two police forces on duty—­that it is governed a great deal.  You can’t help thinking of the philosophical remark made by that learned Chinese statesman, Chin Lan Pin, when he was here at the time Dennis Kearney was having an unpleasantness with the Orientals.  A man said to him, “Your people will have to get out of here; the Irish carry too much religion around to associate with Pagans.”  “Yes,” said Chin Lan Pin, “we have determined to go.  Our own country is too overcrowded now, we can’t go there, and I think we’ll go to Ireland.”  Said the man, “To Ireland?  You will be jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire.”  Said Chin Lan Pin, “I have travelled in your country and all around a good deal, and I have come to the conclusion that nowadays Ireland is about the only country that is not governed by the Irish.” [Applause and laughter.]

Then you go to Scotland.  You want to learn from personal observation whether the allegation is true that the Scotch are a people who are given to keeping the Sabbath day—­and everything else they can lay their hands on. [Laughter.] You have heard that it is a musical country, and you immediately find that it is.  You hardly land there before you hear the bag-pipes.  You hear that disheartening