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Like an Irish game cock— he'd ruther die than run !" 
 
 See page 137. 
 
Told - Way 
 
 SNAPPY SHORT STORIES 
 
 HEARD JBOARD TWAINS 
 
 STEJM&OATS AND IN 
 
 HOTEL LOVNQES 
 
 BY 
 
 Pop Peregrinet ___ 
 
 ON HIS FIRST EUROPEAN TRIP 
 
 SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS 
 
 DRIFT PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 (not inc.) 
 
 CHICAGO, U. S. A. 
 
121 
 
 34 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "Like an Irish game cock— he'd ruther die than 
 run *" Frontispiece— See page 137 
 
 "Eh! Supaab! Magnifique! By gar, she comes 
 down first rate!" See page 23 
 
 When the door opened, a spinal chill was felt by 
 those hugging the fire. See page 83 
 
 Copyright 1913 
 
 By RICHARD J. MURPHY 
 
 Chicago, U. S. A. 
 
 
 57521 
 
INDEX 
 
 I The Family Decides to Travel 11 
 
 II Niagara Falls — A Glimpse of Can- 
 ada i21 
 
 III All Aboard!— Talk on Mai de Mer 35 
 
 IV Thrilling Story of the Banshee 43 
 
 V An Iceberg — Liverpool 51 
 
 VI "Ow, Those Americans !"— Lon- 
 don 59 
 
 VII At the Hotel— A Genial Boniface 67 
 
 VIII On Top o' the 'Bus 73 
 
 IX A Rainy Sabbath in Scotland 80 
 
 X Trosachs — Ayr — Shrine of Burns. 88 
 XI Edinburgh — Melrose — On the 
 
 Clyde 97 
 
 XII A Gambling Artist's Tale 102 
 
 XIII North of Ireland— "More Yank- 
 
 ees!" 119 
 
 XIV Dublin— Witty Stories 125 
 
 XV Killarney's Lakes — A Spurned 
 
 Tip 134 
 
 XVI Chester — Leamington — Bard of 
 
 Avon 145 
 
 XVII The Cambridge-Harvard Boat 
 
 Race 152 
 
 XVIII The Bank— An Old Story 162 
 
 XIX The Abbey— That Boston Girl. . . 169 
 XX A Whirl in Gay Paree— Home 
 
 Again 181 
 
Dedicated To 
 
 Those Ruthless, Inspiring Critics 
 
 MY WIFE AND SON 
 
 Whose Genial Companionship Gave 
 Zest and Interest to the Trip. 
 
FOREWORD. 
 
 Maybe it's strange; maybe it isn't; but the 
 fact remains one good story begets another. 
 
 When a group of travelers pre-empt the 
 smoking compartment of a sleeping car or 
 steamboat, and the ascending clouds from fra- 
 grant Havanas stimulate the imagination, a 
 symposium of reminiscence is sure to follow. 
 
 Sometimes the merest quip, uttered by one 
 of the party, all strangers, will break the ice of 
 formality and the session opens, with the trip's 
 destination the only recognized signal for ad- 
 journment. 
 
 TOLD ON THE WAY will give wider 
 scope to some of these delightful meetings at 
 which I was present; the stories related — seri- 
 ous and comic — will be enjoyed through this 
 medium by larger circles than those which 
 indirectly prompted publication. 
 
 This breezy work is of interest to all con- 
 templating a first trip abroad. Of course it is 
 not designed as a guide, but is intended to con- 
 vey necessary information in a pleasant way. 
 Pertinent suggestions are made in an easy 
 manner, not in the style of dry, tabulated guide 
 books. 
 
 To those who for various reasons find it in- 
 expedient to take a European trip, TOLD ON 
 THE WAY will be a diverting and welcome 
 substitute. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 THE FAMILY DECIDES TO TRAVEL 
 
 An impulse, a quick decision, two trunks, 
 three hand-bags packed, steamer rugs rolled 
 up in a shawl strap and the entire family was 
 ready to leave Chicago for a foreign shore. 
 
 It all came about at the breakfast table one 
 summer morning. For many seasons the trio, 
 Madam Peregrinet, the Junior and myself, had 
 gone away for a change of air. In our travels 
 we had covered pretty thoroughly the most at- 
 tractive parts of the United States and Canada. 
 Some years we had revisited places which held 
 our fancy till, in truth, we longed for new 
 scenes ; scenes which aside from natural beauty 
 possessed the additional charm of history and 
 romance of which a foretaste had been given 
 by the writers of the past. 
 
 To the male portion of the family in the mat- 
 ter of personal experience, Europe was a sealed 
 book. Madam in her childhood, to be precise, 
 half a score years, the same age to which the 
 Junior had now attained, had accompanied her 
 parents abroad. Despite her then tender years, 
 she still retained quite a vivid impression of 
 her visit to England and France. 
 
 She could recall her pleasant acquaintance 
 11 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 with the family of the late Felix Faure with 
 whom she had visited for several weeks at their 
 palatial home at La Harve. Mr. Faure, at that 
 time was a factor in France for Madam's father. 
 This, of course, was years before he became the 
 distinguished president of the French Republic. 
 
 The fancy French doll, "Marie Antoinette," 
 which Madam cherished, was a gift to her from 
 this able statesman. The beautiful effigy in 
 wax of the historic French woman, you may be 
 sure, was frequently taken from its repository 
 — an ancient cedar chest containing many fam- 
 ily heirlooms— and exhibited before the de- 
 lighted eyes of the Junior. 
 
 On such occasions the pleasant time Madam 
 had enjoyed abroad when she was a little girl 
 were recounted, until the boy's eyes fairly 
 danced in his head. It was not marvelous, or 
 unnatural, therefore, that the repetition of the 
 story excited in the lad's mind a spirit of emu- 
 lation. 
 
 So they both — Madam and the Junior — con- 
 tracted the fever to cross the ocean. It was a 
 bad case which required prompt and expensive 
 treatment. 
 
 The main thing necessary for them in accom- 
 plishing the end in view was to get telepathic 
 connection with my subjective mind and bring 
 me into the proper hypnotic condition. The re- 
 sult was inevitable. 
 
 When placed under complete control, the 
 question, "How shall we go?" was suggested. 
 12 
 
THE FAMILY DECIDES TO TRAVEL 
 
 I was unable to shake off the influence, and 
 promptly became quite busy, with the one re- 
 sult that preparations for departure were soon 
 under way. 
 
 It was discovered at the outset that desir- 
 able accommodations on ocean steamers were 
 not easy to secure during the summer months. 
 And here it may be well to mention to friends 
 contemplating a trip abroad that it is advan- 
 tageous to make arrangements at least three 
 months ahead. 
 
 The late decision on the part of the family 
 permitted little time for deliberation. 
 
 A mountain of maps, booklets and folders 
 was scanned by me in search of desired infor- 
 mation. In some cases the sailing dates of the 
 ocean liners were found to be scheduled too 
 early, others too late ; but in all cases the best 
 staterooms of steamers sailing from New York 
 seemed to have been secured by knowing trav- 
 elers who arranged their plans early in the pre- 
 ceding winter. 
 
 It was with a sensation of pleasure I learned 
 that by sailing from Quebec, two days of the 
 experimental trip would be spent on the pic- 
 turesque St. Lawrence River and Gulf before 
 plunging into the deep. To the uninitiated 
 sailor this was a help, as he would be given 
 time to acquire his sea legs and become thor- 
 oughly salted before facing the traditional ter- 
 rors. Then too, for the novice, making his ini- 
 tial trip, what could be more inviting than the 
 13 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 prospect of spending four days on the ocean 
 after leaving the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 
 
 But four thrilling days in which to encounter 
 the isolated iceberg, the schools of porpoises; 
 to study and admire the fascinating beauties of 
 the rainbow, the dazzling grandeur of the set- 
 ting sun as it is never witnessed on land; to 
 view, with a sensation of the sublime, the 
 boundless, turbulent expanse of water. 
 
 This, however, is anticipating. We have not 
 as yet left Chicago; we have just arranged for 
 a commodious state-room on the promenade 
 deck of "The Empress of Ireland," which is to 
 sail on a Thursday afternoon in August. 
 
 Having determined to take the shortest 
 route to Europe, via Quebec, it was necessary 
 to decide how to reach the quaint old Canadian 
 citadel. 
 
 To go by way of Niagara Falls seemed to be 
 the most attractive. The Junior had never 
 seen this grand natural spectacle ; for his bene- 
 fit, the route chosen included the great cata- 
 ract. 
 
 One bright Saturday afternoon found the 
 family in a comfortable stateroom on a fast 
 train rattling over the rails toward the great 
 view, described by writers of many generations 
 and to which full justice has yet to be done. 
 
 Leaving the family to primp up, I lurched 
 towards the smoking compartment, swaying 
 down the aisle with the motion of the train. 
 
 On reaching the opening of the smoking- 
 14 
 
THE FAMILY DECIDES TO TRAVEL 
 
 room, a glance revealed the place pretty well 
 rilled. Though one could hardly see so thick 
 was the bluish smoke, I found a vacant space 
 on one of the upholstered seats and made a 
 dive for it. 
 
 Despite the roar and rattle of the speeding 
 cars, I received the impression the occupants 
 were holding a story telling session. 
 
 As my eyes became accustomed to the fog, 
 and my ears to the noise of the train, I knew 
 the little fat man away over in the corner, was 
 coming to bat — it was his innings. 
 
 "Talking of hospitality!" he shouted. 
 
 Members of the group looked at each other 
 to ascertain who had mentioned the word ; then 
 they concentrated their gaze once more on the 
 plump speaker by way of encouragement. 
 
 "Well, speaking of hospitality," resumed the 
 roly poly, "I've got the real dope on that sub- 
 ject. With my partner, I was traveling across 
 country, away down in North Carolina, last 
 year, and we lost our way on what appeared to 
 be a deserted road. Night had come on and 
 we entertained reasonable doubts about getting 
 shelter. Suddenly we saw a light in the dis- 
 tance. Driving on we found the dim rays 
 emanated from a dilapidated shack. We 
 yelled; a man came out. We asked him for 
 lodgings for the night. 
 
 "After surveying us pretty hard, he drawled, 
 'Well, I reckon if you can stand it, I kin/ 
 
 "Th« shanty had two uninviting rooms; we 
 
 15 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 had no alternative. The place literally 
 swarmed with children. 
 
 "There were five of them, ranging from four 
 to twelve years of age, with only one bed in 
 sight. My partner, Jim, and I wondered what 
 would become of us? 
 
 "After supper, the old lady put the two 
 youngest to bed. When they were asleep she 
 took them out, laid them on the floor in the 
 corner, and put the next two to bed. She fol- 
 lowed this system until all the children were 
 slumbering peacefully. 
 
 "Then the old folks went to the other room, 
 telling us we could retire when we saw fit. 
 
 "Being about all in from honest fatigue, we 
 were soon deep in the mystery of dreamland. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, what do you think? The 
 next morning when Jim and I returned to con- 
 sciousness, we found ourselves lying over in 
 the corner on the floor with the children : the 
 man and his wife had the bed." 
 
 The salesman's story evoked a hearty laugh, 
 and I locked around to see if another yarn 
 threatened. 
 
 The smooth, dignified professional-looking 
 man sitting opposite to me, by a smile gave 
 sign he was about to say something. From his 
 sleek attire, easy manner and the excellent 
 brand of his perfecto, I sized him up as a pros- 
 perous physician from Chicago. 
 
 "In the heart of the Garden City's great west 
 16 
 
THE FAMILY DECIDES TO TRAVEL 
 
 side," he said deliberately, "stands a church of 
 ancient design. When it was erected before 
 the war of the rebellion, it cast its shadow over 
 a broad but sparsely settled stretch of prairie. 
 
 "With time the number of weddings and 
 funeral rites performed within its walls have 
 increased till in these days three funerals a day 
 and as many nuptial services a week would be 
 considered a small average. 
 
 "The obituary events at times crowd so fast 
 on the pastor and his assistants, that peculiar 
 complications occasionally arise, which create 
 embarrassment, but present a humorous phase 
 to grim death. 
 
 "Not long ago two funerals were booked for 
 the same morning. A parishioner, a woman of 
 unidcal habits, had died. 
 
 "As there was nothing of especial edification 
 in her wasted life to dwell upon, the pastor de- 
 cided to merely read the burial service, omit- 
 ting the usual brief eulogy. 
 
 "The other service involved the remains of a 
 gentleman of prominence and high moral char- 
 acter; an exemplary citizen. The clergyman 
 assigned to conduct the services over the man's 
 remains prepared a neat address worthy of the 
 dead man's career. 
 
 "The time for the two funerals was set; by 
 a mistake, the hours became transposed. In 
 the reversed order the cortege of the dead gen- 
 tleman entered the edifice first. 
 
 "The clergyman who was to officiate at the 
 
 17 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 woman's funeral entered and in a perfunctory 
 style read the office for the dead. When this 
 was done he disappeared. 
 
 "The congregation was somewhat amazed at 
 his coldness, as it was generally understood 
 that a eulogy was to be pronounced. 
 
 "In the course of the morning the other 
 funeral party with the unfortunate woman's re- 
 mains entered. 
 
 "Another clergyman appeared. The formal 
 rites were performed, and the clergyman as- 
 cended the pulpit. 
 
 "Drawing a spacious silk handkerchief from 
 his pocket, he pressed it to his lips and pro- 
 ceeded with an eloquent panegeric. 
 
 "The exordium was general in character, 
 and dwelt on life and its uncertainty; then 
 came a reference to the model life of the de- 
 ceased. It was not till the preacher reached 
 the peroration that the pronoun "his" was 
 used. 
 
 "It was fatal, but it came ! 
 "When it was uttered, surprise was depicted 
 on every face. One man, who up to this time 
 had assumed a pious posture straightened. 
 His motion did not go unnoticed by the 
 speaker, for in the now erect widower, whose 
 eyes flashed with surprise, if not anger, the 
 preacher recognized the husband of the de- 
 ceased woman, over whose remains there were 
 to be no remarks. 
 "The mistake was then clear; with native 
 18 
 
THE FAMILY DECIDES TO TRAVEL 
 
 tact and mother-v/it the clergyman hedged by 
 again sailing off in bright generalities on life 
 and good conduct, and skillfully drew his dis- 
 course to a close. Ever since this occurrence, 
 obituary sermons, I am told, have been pro- 
 hibited in that church." 
 
 By this time everyone was nudging forward 
 eagerly, as if, like Hamlet's father, he could a 
 tale unfold. 
 
 The dapper young fellow with the keen eye, 
 and intelligence stamped all over his face could 
 be picked out as a scribe anywhere. He did 
 not require the proverbial note-book, pencil 
 and star to proclaim his profession. 
 
 "An amusing incident occurred last summer 
 when I was laid up for months with a broken 
 fibula," said the traveling correspondent. 
 
 "A broken what?" demanded the salesman. 
 
 The physician made a lucid explanation of 
 the part of the anatomy referred to, and the 
 scribe resumed: 
 
 "A friend of mine, one Johnson, who is long 
 on sympathy and short on Latin, made a porch 
 call on me, when I was able to be out in front 
 for an airing. 
 
 "After commiserating with me, Johnson re- 
 marked casually: 
 
 " 'Saw Davidson this morning ; he's looking 
 well.' 
 
 " 'I haven't seen Davidson for several years,' 
 I replied. 'I remember though when he first 
 19 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 came to town with his young wife and daugh- 
 ter, Lucy; about World's Fair time, I think.' 
 
 " 'Sure, but that little Lucy is married now ; 
 Davidson is a grandpapa.' 
 
 " 'Boy or girl?' 
 
 " 'Fine strapping boy.' 
 
 " 'Tempus fugit !' I ejaculated. 
 
 " 'I don't know,' returned Johnson, musingly, 
 'that may be the kid's name, but really, I never 
 heard it.' " 
 
 As the merriment subsided, I withdrew. 
 
 On my way back to our stateroom I paused 
 in the middle of the car to steady myself. To 
 my right a young man, who was just arising 
 from his seat, next to a radiant young lady, at- 
 tracted my attention. They're evidently bride 
 and groom, thought I. That didn't interest me 
 particularly, but what Benedict said did: 
 
 "Do you care," asked the bridegroom in his 
 most tender tone, "if I go into the smoking 
 compartment, dear?" 
 
 "Oh, sweetheart, do you want to smoke?" 
 queried the bride. 
 
 "My dear, no," answered the newly wed; "I 
 just want to experience the anguish of being 
 away from you, so that the joy of my return 
 will be all the more intensified." 
 
 Once more in the presence of my family, 
 how could I help repeating what I had heard? 
 
 20 
 
CHAPTER II 
 NIAGARA FALLS— A GLIMPSE OF CANADA 
 
 It was a beautiful Sunday morning when we 
 came in view of Niagara. 
 
 All that day was spent in the vicinity of the 
 wonderful waterfall, and every form of enter- 
 tainment at the Falls was patronized. We 
 stood spellbound in the vast sheet of spray as 
 we looked upon the rushing, rumbling, tumb- 
 ling waters. The Junior could find expression 
 only in the ejaculation "Oh!" 
 
 While thus wrapped in deep meditation and 
 contemplation our party became conscious of 
 the presence of two Canadian Frenchmen 
 standing within hearing distance. It was to 
 them that the family group was indebted for a 
 most expressive, laconic description of the 
 great sight. 
 
 Oblivious of the proximity of anyone, the 
 two men chatted on, their swift gestures indi- 
 cating that they were well pleased with Dame 
 Nature in giving such a fine display on a day 
 ideal beyond compare. 
 
 Turning to his companion, one exclaimed: 
 "Great! Is it not, Gaston?" 
 
 "Eh!" exclaimed the other rapturously, "Dis 
 is ze grand spectakle! Supaab! Magnifique! 
 By gar she is come down first rate !" 
 21 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 The great charm of the wild scenery form- 
 ing the environment of the Falls could not be 
 taken in from one spot. 
 
 It was found advisable to take a more ex- 
 tended view close up. This meant a ride on 
 the Great Gorge route. 
 
 For our little party, Lewiston was the point 
 of destination, where we were to embark on a 
 steamer to cross Lake Ontario to the first for- 
 eign city of this outing — Toronto. Boats ply- 
 ing between Lewiston and the Canadian side 
 are crowded in summer and the one selected 
 by us was no exception. It was scheduled for 
 an early start next day. 
 
 While we were disposing of a hurried break- 
 fast, the scurrying crowd which had arrived 
 in town from every direction that morning and 
 were making for the dock, proved an incentive 
 to haste. The excursionists continued to 
 stream down the steep embankment to the boat 
 landing, seemingly for hours, till the starting 
 bell rang. 
 
 The late comers discovered there was not a 
 seat to be had anywhere on board; indeed, 
 standing room, or space in the life boats, was 
 at a premium. 
 
 Toronto is the modern city of the Dominion 
 of Canada; but its railway terminal is inade- 
 quate. 
 
 A civic holiday in Canada puts a quietus on 
 all business. It was on such a day we landed. 
 The machinery of the custom-house grinds 
 22 
 
'Eh! Supaab! Magnlfique! By gar, she comes down first rate! 
 
NIAGARA FALLS—A GLIMPSE OF CANADA 
 
 slower on a civic holiday than on any other ; at 
 the best 'tis never swift. When the government 
 officials were satisfied that there was nothing 
 contraband in the family baggage and had 
 chalked the various pieces to indicate their sat- 
 isfaction, attention turned to our sail on the 
 St. Lawrence. 
 
 For months the family had discussed the pic- 
 turesque stream and had anticipated with keen 
 interest a trip down its course. 
 
 Disappointment confronted us. We were to 
 learn thus early in our experience that it was 
 not ordained for plans to be carried out as they 
 are designed at long range. 
 
 In this case it was discovered that all boats 
 sailing the St. Lawrence in the direction of 
 Quebec were booked to their full capacity, 
 even to the danger line. 
 
 Chagrined at having to change route, it was 
 decided to go on to Montreal by train, breaking 
 the long journey to Quebec almost in the mid- 
 dle. 
 
 As all were eager to get the refreshing 
 breezes of the sea, merely a day was spent in 
 Montreal, which was scarcely time enough for 
 a superficial view of its quaint attractions. 
 
 A day-light ride over the Canadian Pacific 
 Railroad terminated at the historic and typical 
 French city — Quebec. Among the cities of 
 North America, this one stands unique. 
 
 It is well termed the Old Capital of New 
 
 24 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 France. Every foot of its space teerns with 
 history. 
 
 Jacques Cartier, who discovered Canada, 
 landed there in 1534; Samuel de Champlain, 
 the real founder of Quebec, representing a 
 commercial company of French noblemen, 
 opened up trade with the Indians in 1608. 
 
 Since then, Quebec has been the scene of 
 many bloody conflicts. 
 
 Though nominally under English control, 
 French laws and customs prevail. 
 
 In the Quebec depot there was a babel of na- 
 tive voices, but what was it all about? 
 
 The tongue of the cabbies was unfamiliar. 
 It wasn't English — could it be French? If the 
 latter, it v/as not the kind to be acquired from 
 books, nor in schools where teaching of the 
 polite language is attempted. The grinning 
 cabmen and caleche drivers jabbered away, but 
 their gestures spoke louder than words. 
 
 By the aid of the deaf and dumb code and 
 an occasional reference to Chateau Frontenac, 
 without recourse to "parley vous," the fat jehu 
 soon had his 'bus full, and was off with a 
 vociferous shout to his horses. The big, spe- 
 cially shod, animals were soon scaling the steep 
 stone-paved hill to the fortified tableland, from 
 which eminence the Chateau Frontenac over- 
 looks the river and surrounding country for 
 miles and miles. 
 
 As the vehicle was driven into the courtyard, 
 
 25 
 
NIAGARA FALLS—A GLIMPSE OF CANADA 
 
 the ladies who had not breathed during the 
 ascent, uttered one pious sigh, in unison. 
 
 The first thought after the family was com- 
 fortably settled was of the ocean steamer, 
 which was to bear us over the tide, and which 
 we were eager to see. 
 
 The lateness of the hour, prevented a visit 
 to the wharf that night. When I, the head of 
 the house, so-called by courtesy, awoke, shortly 
 after daybreak the next morning, I did not 
 deem it wise to arouse the other members who, 
 exhausted from rapid traveling, were even now 
 speeding along faster than ever through the 
 greater and easier spaces of dreamland. 
 
 Stealthily descending to the rotunda of the 
 hotel, where, fortified by a roll and cafe-au-lait 
 — a special privilege accorded by the night 
 
 clerk, as the time was long before the breakfast 
 hour, I inquired my way to the Canadian Pa- 
 cific dock. 
 
 From the hotel veranda the two funnels of 
 the steamer were visible, but they were a great 
 distance off. A street car was available for 
 about half the way. 
 
 Aboard the public conveyance, the one other 
 passenger was obviously a French Canadian, 
 in the garb of a laborer. At the end of the 
 route in alighting, I asked my fellow passen- 
 ger, who was starting to walk in the direction 
 of the river, how far it was to the steamship 
 landing. 
 
 "About a mile," was the response. 
 26 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 "Thank you," said I cordially. 
 
 "I'll show you to her, I'm going there," said 
 the native in peculiar English. 
 
 To this pdite proposition from the friendly 
 foreigner, I readily assented with implicit con- 
 fidence, not begotten of metropolitan life in the 
 United States, 
 
 He gave many evidences of his appreciation 
 of the greatness of Uncle Sam's domain, which 
 to him seemed so near and yet so far. 
 
 The streets in the early morning appeared 
 deserted; a priest suddenly turning a corner 
 was quite conspicuous as he approached with 
 hampered strides. The clergyman wore a cum- 
 bersome faded black cassock, a heavy overcoat, 
 and a wide-brimmed, low-crowned shovel hat. 
 
 Courteous and customary salutations were 
 exchanged as the pedestrians passed; but I 
 was constrained to remark that not in Chicago, 
 nor elsewhere in the United States did the 
 clergymen of the Catholic church assume so 
 heavy and elaborate an outdoor costume. 
 
 "No," said my companion, "I'm told not; 
 but remember, the priests here have adopted 
 the dress of the clergymen of France. You 
 may rely on it, if England in subjugating the 
 French in Canada had not agreed to leave them 
 their old laws and customs, this country would 
 have been annexed to the United States long 
 ago." 
 
 By this time the dock was reached and the 
 yellow and black stacks of the "Empress of 
 27 
 
NIAGARA FALLS— A GLIMPSE OF CANADA 
 
 Ireland" loomed up defiantly just a short dis- 
 tance ahead. With a hearty "bon jour" and 
 "au revoir," we parted, probably forever. 
 
 At the steamer's gangway a film of smoke 
 curled gracefully towards the sky. 
 
 As I approached, the atmosphere gradually 
 cleared, revealing a solitary steward, clad in a 
 white canvas Eton jacket and blue trousers, 
 puffing away at a rapidly vanishing cigarette. 
 Though I had never met the captain of the 
 great, big boat, nor its affable purser, their 
 names were nevertheless quite familiar to me. 
 Kad I not that morning selected two let- 
 ters of introduction to these officials from a 
 bulky stack of similar communications which 
 I had in my grip, with the intention of pre- 
 senting them forthwith? 
 
 In a strong cockney accent the steward, or 
 s-chew-ard, as he announced himself assured 
 me that the two officers I was seeking were 
 asleep and would not appear to the public eye 
 for several hours to come. 
 
 Soliloquizing that the adage about the early 
 bird getting all he was looking for, occasionally 
 had its exceptions, I, disappointed, but not baf- 
 fled, deftly pressed a shining coin on the ex- 
 pectant steward's palm. I intimated I would 
 like to see the rooms reserved for us on the 
 promenade deck; the man in white and blue 
 became as one electrified. With an agile sprint 
 he mounted the runway, with me following a 
 close second. 
 
 28 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 At the top we paused a little winded, but in 
 fair condition. The communicative steward 
 imparted a great deal of information: "The 
 Empresses," he said, were built in Glasgow; 
 that they were constructed on similar lines. 
 Eight laps of the upper promenade deck, it was 
 vouchsafed, constituted a mile; the lower 
 promenade deck extending to the stern of the 
 boat, comprised a circuit about one-sixth of a 
 mile. 
 
 But time v/as flying; the officers were still 
 in bed; it behooved me to find my v/ay back to 
 the hotel lest the family might arise and seek 
 me as one lost in a strange land. 
 
 At breakfast I recounted my experiences of 
 the morning to the circle, and evoked an ex- 
 postulation from the Junior because he had not 
 been permitted to be up and out with me. 
 
 As a compromise for peace, it was decided 
 that all join in a caleche ride and drive down 
 to the wharf for a formal and final inspection 
 of the steamer before sailing. 
 
 For a caleche ride one ought to go to Quebec. 
 It is part of the life. You know a caleche is 
 a two-wheeled vehicle designed after the pat- 
 tern of the Japanese jinriksha; the chief dif- 
 ference lies in the motive power. 
 
 The springs of the caleche are adjusted with 
 a view to greater jauntiness than that of the 
 Irish jaunting car, and, indeed, the sensation 
 of the motion, when timidity is eliminated, is 
 very pleasant and exhilarating. 
 29 
 
NIAGARA FALLS— A GLIMPSE OF CANADA 
 
 In front of the Chateau Frontenac scores of 
 these buoyant rigs are always to be seen. 
 
 The drivers are generally of French extrac- 
 tion. The visitor patronizing them soon 
 knows "Adelard Gazne," "Alfred Boutet," 
 "Francois Arteau," all safe, every one of them ; 
 the only drawback is their English which is 
 accompanied with an accent peculiar to the 
 locality. 
 
 Coming out of the hotel and locking over 
 the array of cabmen soliciting business, I heard 
 a voice at my elbow : 
 
 "Caleche, sir?" the owner of the voice was 
 saying. 
 
 "All points of interest, sir." 
 
 With this the driver handed out a card on 
 which was inscribed: "Pat Grenan, Caleche 
 Driver." 
 
 "Do you speak United States?" I asked, 
 fearing the bearer of this suspicious cognomen 
 might not, in exhibiting the attractions of the 
 city, be able to taik anything but the patois of 
 the Province. 
 
 "Sure," replied the driver. 
 
 "Aren't you a French Canadian?" 
 
 "I'm a Canadian all right, but my father was 
 a Frenchman from the County Limerick." 
 
 "Strange, isn't it, he settled in a place like 
 this where French is so generally spoken? 
 Why didn't he stop off at New York, or go on 
 to good old Chicago with the others who ar- 
 rived with him?" 
 
 30 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 "Oh, indeed, sir, all I've got against my 
 father's memory, may he rest in peace; and 
 maybe I shouldn't say it, is that he didn't go to 
 Chicago when he landed forty years ago. If he 
 had, sure, wouldn't I now be ex-alderman and 
 a millionaire?" 
 
 "You are a boy with great ideas, Pat ; bring 
 on your caleche." 
 
 In an instant the two-wheeler was on the 
 spot. 
 
 With a little preliminary skirmishing 
 Madam was assisted to the high seat, the oth- 
 ers following with acrobatic ease. In a flash 
 Pat was off for his morning tour about town. 
 
 Several hours were devoted to sightseeing. 
 I had primed myself with the lore of Quebec, 
 and imparted to this witty, loquacious guide 
 quite as much information about Wolfe and 
 Montcalm and their exploits, as we passed the 
 monuments of these two distinguished gener- 
 als, as Pat could tell me about the new Court 
 House and local politics. 
 
 In the way of a thoroughfare Sous-le-Cap, a 
 narrow stone-paved lane leading to the lower 
 quarter of the city was a quaint and startling 
 revelation. 
 
 Poverty stricken mothers inspired their rag- 
 ged children to follow the passing conveyance 
 to beg coppers. The scenes here depicted were 
 pitiable in the extreme, and could not fail to 
 call forth all the small coin in the pockets of 
 the most callous worldling. 
 31 
 
NIAGARA FALLS— A GLIMPSE OF CANADA 
 
 The real and imaginary terrors of the sea 
 now confronted us. I assumed a bold front, 
 Madam exhibited the confidence imparted by a 
 previous trip, while the Junior, God bless him, 
 manifested the unshaken faith of childhood, 
 seeing nothing in the prospective voyage but 
 pleasure and knowledge unrestricted. 
 
 On the deck, officers of the boat, in full uni- 
 form, spick and span, were in evidence every- 
 where. Some gave a cordial reception to pas- 
 sengers going aboard, others directed the im- 
 portant work of taking on the cargo and bag- 
 gage. Deck hands, inspired by the bos'n's 
 whistle, renewed their efforts and lost no time. 
 Great steam derricks worked with mechanical 
 precision carrying with each swing a large col- 
 lection of trunks and boxes from the dock to 
 the main hatchway. 
 
 The hour for departure was drawing near. 
 Madam had gone on board with the Junior to 
 see if any mail had arrived from friends at 
 home. 
 
 Steamer letters and telegrams constitute the 
 best tonic in the world for the uncertain trav 
 eler about to acquire his first experience. 
 
 Many messages for the trio, and not a few 
 bon voyage packages, calculated to add pleas- 
 ure throughout the excursion, were found. 
 
 One notable envelope, superscribed in the 
 
 fine clear chirography of our family doctor, the 
 
 Dean of his profession in Chicago, contained a 
 
 letter expressive of good wishes and a beauti- 
 
 32 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 ful benediction "to you three," which because 
 of its heartiness was greatly appreciated. The 
 envelope also gave forth a formula for mal de 
 mer, a reminder of an oversight, as we had se- 
 cured nothing of the kind before leaving Chi- 
 cago. 
 
 How to get the prescription filled? Would 
 it be necessary to go back to the heart of Que- 
 bec? Would there be time before the steamer 
 sailed? The only information elicited from of- 
 ficers on deck was that the steamer would sail 
 on schedule. 
 
 The thought of going to sea without a rem- 
 edy for the threatened malady, of course, could 
 not be entertained. A chance must be taken. 
 Aroused to action, a carriage was called; the 
 man on the box was orderd to take me to the 
 best apothecary's in the city. Time was pre- 
 cious, only three-quarters of an hour at the 
 most before the boat was to start. 
 
 The driver impressed with this, drove furi- 
 ously over the bridge towards the main street. 
 Along the highways the horses' speed sug- 
 gested no doubt a drive for life or death ; after 
 a dash of a mile and a half the carriage scraped 
 the curb in front of a chemist's shop which 
 seemed to lack evidences of prosperity, so char- 
 acteristic of the neat attractive drug stores of 
 the United States. Dingy and dirty was the 
 interior; a condition of general disorder pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 The proprietor, a tall, attenuated old man, 
 
 33 
 
NIAGARA FALLS—A GLIMPSE OF CANADA 
 with bushy hair, clad in a dark suit, exhibiting 
 symptoms of wear, took the prescription from 
 my hand, and, stooping over, scanned it care- 
 fully through his heavy, thick glasses. 
 
 The writing was exceptionally legible for a 
 prescription; five minutes elapsed before the 
 chemist raised his head to say that he could not 
 furnish two of the ingredients from his stock 
 and would have to send out for them. It might 
 be possible, he said, to fill and deliver the pre- 
 scription at the boat on time; but, of course, 
 he could not guarantee to do so. 
 
 If the customer wanted to take the risk, he 
 would have to surrender a five-dollar bill in ad- 
 vance, to cover the cost of the medicine. If the 
 delivery was made at the boat, all right; if not, 
 it would be paid for anyhow. 
 
 The crafty drugman was evidently making a 
 virtue of necessity. 
 
 "Never mind," I thought, "we'll have to try 
 the faith cure if we have need of a remedy; 
 back I go." 
 
 I arrived at the landing not any too soon. 
 Friends of the passengers were leaving the 
 ship, having taken a lingering farewell of their 
 loved ones, and preparations for closing the 
 gangway were being made. As the carriage 
 dashed up to the boat, I was still holding the 
 unfilled prescription in my hand. 
 
 Junior laughingly called attention to the 
 fact, as we both ran on board. Others standing 
 about seemed to sense the situation; the broad 
 smile was almost a titter. 
 34 
 
CHAPTER III 
 ALL ABOARD!— TALK ON MAL DE MER 
 
 Why expatiate on the beauties of the St. 
 Lawrence river and its picturesque banks 
 which were to remain in view as long as the 
 sun held up, and all of the next day? 
 
 As the passengers hugged the railing in con- 
 templation of the beautiful panorama, they 
 were startled about twilight by a bugle call to 
 dinner, uttered by a dapper little fellow dressed 
 in becoming regalia. 
 
 During the first meal everybody declared the 
 service was equal to that of the best hotels in 
 metropolitan centers. 
 
 "Dickinson," the table steward who had been 
 assigned to the trio, waited on all with the 
 greatest precision and strove to please. 
 
 "Maw-ster" Junior seemed to call forth his 
 solicitude, and, to favor the boy, he asked to be 
 permitted to duplicate every course. 
 
 Acting on previous instructions, the Junior 
 promptly declined. 
 
 He had been told not to gorge, lest trouble 
 should overtake him; that life on shipboard 
 had its peculiarities ; but after all, it was much 
 like life everywhere else. The regulation of 
 diet and the avoidance of indulgence were, 
 35 
 
ALL ABOARD!— TALK ON MAL DE MER 
 
 without question, the best preventives of sea- 
 sickness. 
 
 "If you must be sick at sea," I proclaimed, 
 addressing the boy in private before dinner, 
 "do not weakly succumb to the malady— fight 
 manfully against it. Keep on deck as much as 
 possible, well wrapped up ; by this course the 
 attack, if you have one, will be mitigated. 
 
 "Many cases of sickness on shipboard origi- 
 nate in indigestion. The sea stimulates the ap- 
 petite and tempts to over-eating; over-feeding 
 and lack of exercise cause dyspepsia and head- 
 ache, and predispose little boys — and big folks 
 as well — to the dreaded sickness. 
 
 "Remember anything tending to keep the di- 
 gestive organs in good condition will be useful 
 in averting mal de mer." 
 
 "An ounce of prevention is better than a 
 pound of cure," suggested Madam, resorting 
 to that trite aphorism to further impress the 
 youngster. 
 
 "Ah, caution's the thing," said I, bringing 
 my index finger down on the mahogany with a 
 gentle thud. 
 
 "Do not put too much trust in any of the so- 
 called remedies. Some of these, eminent phy- 
 sicians assure me, may alleviate the trouble a 
 little on a short voyage ; but no remedy, except 
 that of becoming accustomed to the motion of 
 the boat, can cure seasickness on an ocean voy- 
 age. In my opinion the only thing for the un- 
 fortunate sufferer is to brace up, keep in the 
 36 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 open air and live plainly. It is asserted by ex- 
 perienced travelers," I concluded impressively, 
 "that very rarely mal de mer lasts more than a 
 day, or two, in cases where moderation in eat- 
 ing and drinking is observed — besides it's not a 
 fatal sickness." 
 
 With coaching like this it is no wonder the 
 boy sagaciously declined Dickinson's kind 
 offer of second helps. 
 
 At the tables passengers consulted their "sa- 
 loon lists" to ascertain who's who? Lords and 
 Ladies of England, titled people from Canada, 
 and men high in the British army and navy 
 were present in numbers. In the absence of 
 any distinguishing marks, however, one could 
 not pick them out from all the other ladies and 
 gentlemen there, without an introduction, or 
 by reference to the list, in which the "Hon. 
 Sir" and the "K. C. M. G." bespangled the 
 pages. 
 
 After the first meal the cabin passengers 
 abandoned reserve for the remainder of the 
 journey ; for the time at least they had become 
 as one family. 
 
 Dinner finished, a promenade on deck was in 
 order; then the women and some of the men 
 repaired to the music room for social inter- 
 course, which was pleasantly promoted by the 
 talented purser, who could play the piano, sing 
 a song and tell a proper story himself, and pos- 
 sessed the rare gift of inspiring others to the 
 37 
 
ALL ABOARD!— TALK ON MAL DE MER 
 
 point of emulation. During the evening cafe 
 noir and light refreshments were served. 
 
 If a man disappeared, it was fair to 
 that he had gone to join some unattached, 
 bachelor friend in the smoking I er a 
 
 brandy and soda: or to witness a quiet little 
 game of cards in which, perhaps, an acquaint- 
 ance was a participant. 
 
 Following the example set by others, I 
 
 joined the stag assemblage, leaving the Ma 
 and our boy in full enjoyment of the entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 The men's lounge was tive and 
 
 equipped luxuriously. Small tables, surround- 
 ed with stationary, leather-upholstered, swivel 
 chairs, all within easy reach of electric buttons, 
 suggested real rest and comfort for weary man- 
 kind. 
 
 The place was pretty well filled. I took a 
 vacant seat at a table around which was a 
 jovial party, some members of which I had 
 talked to without formal introduction, on deck 
 earlier in the day. All were smoking and some 
 were sipping the popular beverage. 
 
 Not to be odd, I took from my pocket a < 
 I had picked from one of the gift boxes which 
 I found awaiting me in the state-room before 
 sailing, and told the ever-attentive lounge 
 steward to serve the little party with a round 
 of the favorite drink, the glasses on the table 
 seeming to lack color. It appeared we were 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 all one from the start — the lines of formality 
 had melted. 
 
 The architect was saying : "The mistake of 
 most people going to Europe is in not taking 
 up a systematic course of study for at least a 
 year before starting. How can a traveler oth- 
 erwise appreciate the beauties of the ruined ab- 
 beys, or the stately buildings which he ought 
 to see intelligently? If there is one thing 
 above another he should study before ventur- 
 ing abroad, it is architecture. For an educated 
 American to have no knowledge at all of the 
 subject would deprive him of a species of 
 sharpened culture which is not dreamy or 
 vague, but is as scientific and harmonious as 
 the laws of music." 
 
 "Many people contemplating a trip, I'm sure, 
 prepare themselves as you suggest," remarked 
 one of the party, incidentally giving the erudite 
 architect a chance to moisten his lips and re- 
 light his cigar. 
 
 "Some do, it is true; but be assured, they 
 constitute a very small percentage," promptly 
 resumed the man of compass and square. 
 
 "The majority seem to want to go just hap- 
 hazard, so when they return they can tell their 
 friends they have been over; that's all. This 
 is the class of American travelers in Europe 
 who, on their return, consider it common to 
 give their friends the benefit of experiences 
 abroad. They seem to intimate that everybody 
 who is anybody must have been across at some 
 39 
 
ALL ABOARD!— TALK ON MAL DE MER 
 
 time or other, and forget the millions who have 
 not satisfied a life-long ambition to travel." 
 
 The young fellow opposite me, who I learned 
 had been in the cattle business in Australia for 
 five years past, and was on his way home to 
 visit his folks in England, evidently not inter- 
 ested in the trend of the conversation, broke in 
 with the statement he had heard a funny little 
 story on shipboard, when crossing the Pacific 
 ocean. 
 
 "The steward himself told me that the inci- 
 dent had happened on the previous trip," said 
 the cattleman. 
 
 "A passenger at table ordered soup to start 
 with. When the soup was served, he looked 
 at the waiter and said: 
 
 ° 'I can't eat this soup.' 
 
 M 'Well, try some other kind,' replied the 
 waiter, removing the dish. He then brought 
 another specimen. 
 
 w 'Neither can I eat this soup,' said the pas- 
 senger more emphatically. 
 
 " 'Try another,' said the waiter, growing a 
 bit irritated, but he brought the third plate of 
 soup. 
 
 " 'I simply can't eat this soup,' once more 
 said the passenger, in a low, emphatic tone. 
 
 " 'Really, sir, this is unusual,' interjected the 
 head steward, whose attention had been called 
 to the situation. 
 
 " 'May I ask why you can't be satisfied with 
 any of our soups?' 
 
 40 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 " 'Because,' replied the passenger quietly, 
 looking the head steward squarely in the eye, 
 'I have no spoon/ " 
 
 Now that the conversation had drifted from 
 art and architecture, everybody considered 
 himself at liberty to come in on a fair footing. 
 
 The Philadelphia school principal who was 
 crossing to relax from an arduous year's work, 
 took courage: 
 
 "The air in the school room," he said, "was 
 sultry; the subject before the class was George 
 Washington. The pupils were doing the best 
 they knew how. 
 
 " 'You think George Washington was the 
 first man; why?' asked the teacher. 
 
 " 'Because he was the first in war, first in 
 peace and first in the hearts of his country- 
 men,' piped a pupil. 
 
 "The smart boy raised his hand. 
 
 " 'Well, Jimmy, who do you think was the 
 first man?' asked the preceptress. 
 
 " 'Don't know his name,' replied Jimmy, 'but 
 I know George Washington was not the first 
 man, because the book says he married a wid- 
 ow; so, you see, there must have been another 
 man ahead of him.' " 
 
 "Not bad," shouted the broker, with a gleam 
 in his optics. "Did you hear about Smith?" 
 
 "What Smith?" some one inquired. 
 
 "Oh, one of the many." 
 
 "Well, what's the story?" chimed in every- 
 body. 
 
 41 
 
ALL ABOARD !— TALK ON MAL DE MER 
 
 "Oh, Smith went home late one evening, pre- 
 pared with a good defense; but his wife was 
 cross. 
 
 "She immediately began, wife-like, to tell 
 him in firm tones in what low esteem she held 
 him and his conduct. Patiently, he endured it, 
 and after reading his paper in silence, went to 
 bed. 
 
 "Wifey was still talking. 
 
 "When he was almost asleep, he could hear 
 her continue to scold unmercifully. 
 
 "He dropped into slumber, finally, only to 
 awake after a couple of hours, to hear her re- 
 mark: 
 
 " 'I hope all women don't have to put up 
 with such behavior as this.' 
 
 " 'Lizzie,' yawned Smith, 'are you talking 
 again, or yet?' " 
 
 They were coming swift by this time and 
 the school principal remarked : 
 
 "Bernard was a garrulous boy in school. He 
 was punished by his teacher without apparent 
 effect. At last, in desperation I decided to re- 
 port the case to the boy's father. 
 
 "In the communication it was stated that 
 Bernard talked a great deal in class. 
 
 "By return mail came my report on which 
 was written in red ink by pater familias, this 
 comment: 'Oh, but you ought to hear his 
 mother.' " 
 
 42 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THRILLING STORY OF THE BANSHEE 
 
 "What's that?" exclaimed a member of the 
 party. Just then we heard a flutter; a sea gull 
 flapped its wings against the glazed porthole 
 over our heads, uttering a peculiar noise as it 
 passed. 
 
 "How weird," remarked the attorney. "It 
 would almost make one's flesh creep, the same 
 effect, I suppose one would get from a fairy 
 story, or, I imagine, from a tale of the ban- 
 shee." 
 
 "Talking of banshees," said the doctor, who 
 was returning to Ireland after many years' ab- 
 sence, "did you ever hear a good banshee 
 story? One that would make your hair stand 
 on end? Of course you know what a banshee 
 
 IS: 
 
 "No; what is it, doctor?" said one of the in- 
 terested listeners. 
 
 "Oh, the banshee," he replied, "is an im- 
 mortal, immaterial being, attached, time out of 
 mind, to various respectable families in Ire- 
 land and always appears to announce by cries 
 and lamentations, the death of any member of 
 that family to which she belongs. She comes 
 in the night, a short time previous to the death 
 of the fated one and takes her stand outside the 
 43 
 
THRILLING STORY OF THE BANSHEE 
 
 house. Sometimes she appears as a beautiful 
 young damsel; but her general appearance is 
 in the likeness of a very old woman, of small 
 stature and decrepit form, clad in a winding 
 sheet, or grave clothes. 
 
 "When the death of the person whom she 
 mourns is imminent, she is particularly agi- 
 tated. Some believe this strange being is in- 
 imical to the interests of the family which she 
 haunts. This opinion is rejected by most peo- 
 ple, who consider her a devoted friend, and 
 that she was at some remote period a member 
 of the family, and once exisited on earth in life 
 and loveliness. 
 
 "I recall what I consider a good story in this 
 line. As it is told, the scene is placed in 
 Queen's County, Ireland. A farmer, whose 
 name has been lost by the course of time, lived 
 on an inherited estate there. Let's call him 
 John. He was unmarried, his domestics being 
 a servant boy and an old v/oman housekeeper, 
 who had long been a follower and dependent 
 of the family. The farmer was born and edu- 
 cated a Christian. On arriving at manhood, 
 however, he seemed to lean towards atheism. 
 
 "While of a retiring disposition, he was not 
 unpopular with his neighbors. 
 
 "By nature he was hostile to superstition 
 and always jeered at the fairy tales of his old 
 housekeeper. 
 
 "Being a sport and a good shot, he spent 
 much time at home furbishing his firearms, 
 44 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 while he listened to the blood curdling stories 
 of old Nora, in which her memory abounded. 
 
 "At the time of this event the farmer was 
 about fifty years old; his housekeeper had be- 
 come decrepit with age. 
 
 "Very early one November morning, about 
 the year 1816, it is said, this farmer arose, and 
 on coming out of his bedroom was surprised to 
 find old Nora in the kitchen, sitting near the 
 fire, smoking a pipe in a meditative mood. 
 
 " 'Arrah, Nora,' said he, 'what brings you out 
 of your bed so early?' 
 
 ° 'Och musha, I dunna,' replied the old 
 woman; 'I was so uneasy all night that I could 
 not sleep a wink, and I got up to smoke, think- 
 in' that it might drive away the weight that's 
 on my heart.' 
 
 " 'And what ails you, Nora?' 
 
 " 'Nothing, the Lord be praised ! I am not 
 sick, but my heart is sore.' 
 
 " 'Maybe you were dreaming,' said the man 
 in a bantering tone, and suspecting, from the 
 old woman's grave manner, that she was labor- 
 ing under some mental delusion. 
 
 " 'Dreaming!' re-echoed Nora, with a sneer; 
 'och, I wish to God I was only dreaming; but 
 I am afraid it is worse than that, and that there 
 is misfortune hanging over uz.' 
 
 "'And what makes you think so, Nora?' 
 asked he, with a half-suppressed smile. 
 
 "Nora aware of his well-known hostility to 
 
 45 
 
THRILLING STORY OF THE BANSHEE 
 superstition, remained silent, shaking her gray 
 head prophetically. 
 
 " 'Why don't you answer me, Nora?' again 
 asked the man. 
 
 " 'Och,' said Nora, 'I'm heart-broken to have 
 it to tell you, and I know you will laugh at me ; 
 but, say what you will, there is something bad 
 over uz, for the banshee was about the house 
 all night, and she has me almost frightened out 
 of my wits with her shouting and bawling.' 
 
 "The man was aware of the banshee's hav- 
 ing been long supposed to haunt his family, 
 but often scouted the superstition; yet, as it 
 was some years since he had last heard of her 
 visiting the place, he was not prepared for the 
 freezing announcement of old Nora. He 
 turned pale and trembled; on recovering him- 
 self, he said with a forced smile : 
 
 " 'And how do you know it was the banshee, 
 Nora?' 
 
 "'How do I know?' reiterated Nora, taunt- 
 ingly. 'Didn't I see and hear her several times 
 during the night, and didn't I hear the dead- 
 coach rattling round the house and through 
 the yard, every night at midnight this week 
 back?' 
 
 "The man smiled faintly; he was frightened, 
 yet was ashamed to appear so. He again said: 
 
 " 'And did you ever see the banshee before, 
 Nora?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' replied Nora, 'often. Didn't I see 
 her when your mother died? Didn't I see her 
 when your brother was drowned? and sure, 
 4.6 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 there wasn't one of the family that went these 
 sixty years that I did not both see and hear 
 her/ 
 
 11 'And where did you see her, and how did 
 she look tonight?' 
 
 " 'I saw her at the little window over my 
 bed; a kind of reddish light shone round the 
 house ; I looked up and there I saw her old pale 
 face and glassy eyes looking in, and she rock- 
 ing herself to and fro, and clasping her little 
 withered hands, and crying as if her heart 
 would break.' 
 
 " 'Well, Nora, it's all imagination ; go get my 
 breakfast; I want to go to town today and 
 must be home early.' 
 
 "Nora trembled; she looked at him implor- 
 ingly, and said: 
 
 "'For Heaven's sake, John, don't go today; 
 stay till some other day, and God bless you; 
 for if you go today I would give my oath there 
 will something cross you that's bad.' 
 
 "'Nonsense, woman!' said he; 'make haste 
 with the breakfast/ 
 
 "Nora with tears in her eyes set about get- 
 ting breakfast, and, while so employed, John 
 was preparing for his journey. 
 
 "Having completed his arrangements, he sat 
 down to breakfast. As he arose to depart, 
 Nora ran to him, crying loudly; she flung her- 
 self on her knees: 'John, John, be advised,' 
 she cried. 'Don't go today; I know more of 
 the world than you do, and I see plainly that if 
 47 
 
THRILLING STORY OF THE BANSHEE 
 you go, you will never again enter this door 
 alive.' 
 
 "Ashamed to be influenced by the entreaties 
 of the old woman, he pushed her away, and 
 going out to the stable, mounted his horse and 
 departed. She followed him with her eyes, 
 and when she could no longer see him, she sat 
 down at the fire and wept. 
 
 "It was a bitter cold day, and the farmer 
 having finished his business, feeling chilly, 
 went into a public-house to have a tumbler of 
 punch, and feed his horse ; there he met an old 
 friend who would not part with him until he 
 had another glass, as it was many years since 
 they had met. One glass brought another; it 
 was almost dusk when John thought of return- 
 ing, and it would be dark before he could get 
 home. His friend would not permit him to go, 
 but called for more liquor, and night was far 
 advanced before they parted. 
 
 "John had a good horse, and he dashed along 
 at a rapid pace through the gloom ; he had pro- 
 ceeded about five miles, when, at a very deso- 
 late spot, a gun-shot fired from behind the 
 bushes, put an end to his mortal existence. 
 
 "Two strange men, who had been at the 
 same public-house drinking, observing he had 
 money, conspired to rob and murder him. 
 
 "Poor Nora did not go to bed that night, but 
 sat at the fire, every moment patiently expect- 
 ing his return. 
 
 "In vain did she listen for the tramp of the 
 horse's footsteps; no sound met her ear except 
 48 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 the sad wail of the wind, or the sullen roar of 
 a little dark river, which wound its way 
 through the lowlands. 
 
 "Tired with watching, she fell asleep, to 
 dream appalling dreams. 
 
 "At length the morning came, and Nora 
 looked out. Imagine her dismay when she 
 found the horse standing at the door without 
 his rider, the saddle all besmeared with blood. 
 She raised the death-cry; the neighbors 
 thronged round, and a party on horseback im- 
 mediately set out to seek him. He was found 
 stretched in the ditch, his head full of shot and 
 slugs and his body in a pool of blood. 
 
 "The murdered man had given no heed to 
 the banshee's warning." 
 
 At the conclusion there was a tense silence 
 until the attorney arousing himself, suggested 
 another round of stimulant to take the chill off, 
 and there was not a dissenting voice; no one 
 ventured another story — a frivolous one would 
 have been out of place, — so deep was the awe 
 inspired by the doctor's tale. 
 
 Throughout the trip the pleasant daily rou- 
 tine was practically unchanged; breakfast in 
 the early morning ; boullion or broth served to 
 passengers on deck at about 10:30 o'clock by 
 the deck stewards; luncheon in the middle of 
 the day, tea and cake in the saloon in the after- 
 noon, and dinner in the evening, for which 
 everyone dressed. 
 
 Shuffle-board, an invigorating outdoor game 
 
 40 
 
THRILLING STORY OF THE BANSHEE 
 
 for the muscular passengers, afforded excite- 
 ment and amusement, both for the players and 
 the lookers-on. 
 
 Passengers whose callings on land were dig- 
 nified, slackened their straight lacing to enter 
 into the spirit of the sport with the abandon of 
 school boys, shouting lustily at a good shot 
 made by one of their own side. 
 
 The only Sunday on board dawned auspi- 
 ciously. The blue sky never looked quite so 
 deep and beautiful to the land-bred passengers : 
 not a cloud threatened the blazing sun; passing 
 ships miles away could be seen through the 
 clear atmosphere without the aid of a glass, 
 while the boat, now off the banks of New- 
 foundland, continued to record its regular 
 eighteen knots an hour. 
 
 The glorious morning had brought every- 
 body on deck. Those who hitherto had, on ac- 
 count of symptoms of seasickness, kept injudi- 
 ciously close to their berths, were now for the 
 first time in evidence. 
 
 While the passengers viewed the fascinating 
 ocean, or leaned over the railing to watch a 
 school of porpoises which had followed the 
 ship all morning in pursuit of breakfast, there 
 was noticed quite a change in the temperature; 
 the mercury became unaccountably depressed. 
 
 50 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 AN ICEBERG— LIVERPOOL 
 
 Pedestrians paused in their rounds to rub 
 hands and stamp their feet ; passengers at the 
 railings gradually withdrew, shrugging their 
 shoulders; some of the women shivered per- 
 ceptibly. 
 
 The Captain descended from the pilot house 
 to the promenade deck to ascertain the temper- 
 ature of the water. All manifested great inter- 
 est, but dared to ask no questions of the busy 
 commanding officer. In shivering anticipation 
 they patiently awaited results. 
 
 Many crowded close to the larboard side 
 where the officers were evidently apprehensive 
 cf trouble ; all wondered what it could be. 
 
 While the Captain was engrossed with his 
 work, a large floating object, which in no way 
 resembled a ship, was noticed on the horizon. 
 The tall bulky mass, shimmering in the sun- 
 light, seemed in size more like a modern sky- 
 scraper. 
 
 "An iceberg !" shouted a passenger. 
 
 "It's what I've been expecting," said the 
 ruler of the ship, evidently relieved that the 
 worst was known. 
 
 By this time the slowly moving pile which 
 had caused the mercury to drop was much 
 51 
 
AN ICEBERG—LIVERPOOL 
 
 nearer the boat: it could be seen easily. 
 
 "Is it deep in the water?" some one as 
 
 The First Officer, who BM Died the 
 
 Captain in his investigation, overhearing the 
 remark, graciously volunteered the in: 
 that only about one-third of an iceberg was 
 ever exposed to the sun; two-thirds at least. 
 being always submerged, which greatly in- 
 creased the danger. 
 
 As the boat came within closer range, the 
 G to fetch his can 
 while others followed his example. The 
 shining mass of ice now looking like a veritable 
 crystal palace stood out grandly in the open 
 view. 
 
 "What is the distance?" was asked. 
 
 'T should s.-v about three miles: that's as 
 dose as w g ought to get to it for the go* 
 our continued terrestrial experience." res- 
 ed the man in unii Prom this time on we 
 
 will increase the distance which sen. 
 and should be out of sight of this I &f the 
 
 sea within the hour." 
 
 By the time the proper focus was sec 
 by the amateur pi vs. the ice moun- 
 
 tain had receded to such an extent that on the 
 plate of :' . c speck. 
 
 When printed, the picture pi 
 area of ocean waves, but the object o. 
 was nothing more than a very small blot, 
 photo .'. for a l souvenir. 
 
 pro\ . u disapp at 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 The Marconi operator announced on the fol- 
 lowing Tuesday evening, that he was in com- 
 munication with Malinhead, the most north- 
 erly point of Ireland. This awakened interest. 
 Preparation of "Radio" messages or "Marconi- 
 grams." as they were termed, was begun by 
 passengers for transmission to awaiting, friends 
 in various parts of Europe. 
 
 To many who had never investigated this 
 modern miracle, the intricate mechanism of 
 the Marconi system in the little box-like house 
 on the aft deck was, indeed, a marvellous rev- 
 elation. In charge of the complicated instru- 
 ments was a young man scarcely out of his 
 teens, who was thoroughly versed in every de- 
 tail of the machinery. 
 
 With the advent of Wednesday all on board 
 were in a high state of expectancy. It was 
 given out by the officials in the morning that 
 in all probability Liverpool would be reached 
 on the morrow. In the same connection it 
 was announced in accordance with the old es- 
 tablished custom, a concert for the benefit of 
 sailors' widows and orphans would be given 
 that evening in the dining saloon. The one 
 formal social event of the whole voyage could 
 not. in good taste, be ignored. 
 
 A variety of talent was discovered among 
 the passengers: pianists, singers, story-tellers 
 and speechmakers were there in abundance. 
 
 The presiding genius and others delivered 
 neat speeches, in well rounded sentences sug- 
 
AN ICEBERG— LIVERPOOL 
 
 gestive of previous preparation, on behalf of 
 the widows and orphans of brave sailors who 
 had lost their lives at sea. When the hat was 
 passed everybody was in a melting mood and 
 no hand held back; the collection for the 
 worthy cause proved ample. 
 
 Notwithstanding the pleasure of the delight- 
 ful short voyage, when the passengers peeped 
 out of their cabins early the next morning they 
 were thrilled by the sight of land. 
 
 Malinhead and Moville had been passed in 
 the night. As the sun rose it revealed the 
 beautiful northeast coast of Ireland, off Dona- 
 ghagee, close to the entrance of the Irish Sea. 
 
 The first on deck was the genial Bishop 
 from Illinois, who was returning to the land 
 of his birth after many vears of voluntary ex- 
 ile. 
 
 As the sun arose it found a small party lean- 
 ing against the railing, deep in a discussion of 
 the affairs of the important little green island 
 of which they now had so fair a view. 
 
 The central figure was the Bishop. He was 
 telling his lordship and her ladyship, with a 
 few others, who had arisen early to get a 
 glimpse of welcome land, some of the strong 
 points of Irish history. 
 
 It was an amicable conversation, the repre- 
 sentatives of the English nobility maintaining 
 their side of the mild controversy guided by 
 the light through which they viewed te ques- 
 tion; but, on the whole they did not deny that 
 54 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 Ireland, from the standpoint of civilization, 
 had ground for grievances, past and present. 
 
 When I joined the group the Bishop was 
 descanting on the natural beauties of the Em- 
 erald Isle and expressing regret that more in- 
 dustrial plants were not encouraged there. 
 Growing somewhat eloquent, he was inspired 
 to exclaim by way of apostrophy: 
 
 "Dear Old Ireland, under a ban, 
 Blessed by God; cursed by man!" 
 
 For hours the speeding steamer kept within 
 sight of the Irish coast; by noon the scene 
 changed to a dim view of the west coast line 
 of bonnie Scotland; by the time the bugle 
 called for the midday repast, the Chicken 
 Lighthouse, on a sharp projection of the Isle 
 of Man, could be seen distinctly. 
 
 At luncheon, which was to be the last meal 
 on board, the pleasure of the passengers over 
 the prospect of soon landing was apparent. 
 Some expressed the hope that friendships 
 formed on the voyage would be perpetuated, 
 though the time for a final parting had not 
 come. 
 
 The hopeful table stewards and the other 
 attendants, whose time of harvest was now at 
 hand, seemed to smile their blandest smiles. 
 Among themselves they had discussed their 
 chances; there was not a guest in the assem- 
 blage who, at some time during the passage, 
 had not been the subject of speculation as to 
 his value in the matter of the forthcoming tip. 
 55 
 
AN ICEBERG— LIVERPOOL 
 
 During the afternoon, before entering the 
 river Mersey, to sail up to Liverpool, the Pilot, 
 accompanied by the quarantine officer, came 
 on board. This to the passengers was a signal 
 of hope and an assurance of an early landing. 
 
 Everyone watched anxiously the officials 
 scale the rope ladder to the deck. They were 
 greatly relieved that the pilot and his com- 
 panion, the Doctor, had not tumbled off back- 
 wards into the water, so frail and unreliable 
 seemed the device by which they climbed. 
 With the coming of these strangers from the 
 outer world, the impulse to get ready for leav- 
 ing the boat seemed to pervade everyone. 
 
 It was about four o'clock when the steamer 
 approached the floating docks of Liverpool. 
 Hundreds of little tug boats and big ferries 
 passed in every direction, shrieking as if in 
 pain and belching smoke which at times en- 
 veloped the incoming liner in dense clouds. 
 
 Stewards became busy carrying from the 
 staterooms the luggage, which only a few 
 days before they had brought in, arranging it 
 on the deck, preparatory to delivering the 
 whole pile over to the custom officers. 
 
 Ringing bells indicated five o'clock, when 
 the first cabin passengers took leave of the 
 steamer, its officers and of one another, to face 
 the anticipated ordeal of the custom house and 
 the law's representatives. 
 
 "Getting through" was not as harrowing as 
 had been described by friends in America who 
 56 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 claimed to have their knowledge from actual 
 contact. 
 
 Our little party was greeted by a uniformed 
 officer with a smile which seemed reassuring. 
 The official promptly accompanied the family 
 to the section labeled with their initial. The 
 impedimenta was found in one pile. 
 
 "Anything dutiable?" asked the Inspector, 
 resplendent in blue and brass buttons, point- 
 ing to the collection of trunks and hand-bags, 
 as they rested inoffensively in the corner. 
 
 "Not a thing," I replied. 
 
 "No spirits, or tobacco?" 
 
 "You can look for yourself," and I offered 
 him the bunch of keys. 
 
 "Traveling for pleasure?" asked the officer 
 taking the proffered keys in hand. 
 
 "That's all we're over here for, and we hope 
 to find it," I replied, wondering what question 
 the Inspector would propound next. 
 
 "Well, maybe it's all right, sir! We'll let it 
 go at that!" said the Government's man, 
 stooping down to restrap an innocent looking 
 steamer trunk which he had made a pretense 
 of opening. With a flourish of chalk the offi- 
 cial inscribed a hieroglyphic on every piece of 
 baggage indicating that all was "OK." 
 
 As the Inspector was about to move away, 
 I separated a good cigar from my upper vest 
 pocket and handed it to him. 
 
 "Thank you!" he said with a rising inflec- 
 tion, as he disposed of the Havana for future 
 
AN ICEBERG-LIVERPOOL 
 
 use in one of the capacious receptacles of his 
 garments. 
 
 As the family left the Custom House, atten- 
 tion was attracted to a line of 'buses at the 
 street curb. There was no shouting nor 
 ardent soliciting of business. Bus men stood 
 close to the doors of their respective convey- 
 ances, whip in hand, and, in a low tone, named 
 the hostelries to which they were prepared to 
 drive. They could hardly be heard above the 
 loud murmur of the city streets. The driver 
 for the Northwestern Station Hotel was 
 called, who, coming forward, picked up the 
 hand luggage and placed it on the top of the 
 'bus, explaining that a truck would convey the 
 trunks from the Custom House to the hotel. 
 
 The boat's passengers were in evidence 
 everywhere for the time being. If they were 
 not fussing about their luggage, they were 
 striving to decide to which of the hotels it 
 would be best to go. At this point it was that 
 the congenial crowd was about to be lost in 
 the great vortex of Liverpool and the innumer- 
 able cities and towns of many European coun- 
 tries. 
 
 5$ 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 "OW, THOSE AMERICANS!"— LONDON 
 
 The Northwestern Hotel 'bus was packed 
 to its limit. With swinging and jolting over 
 the hard pavements the occupants received a 
 fair panoramic view of the second city in popu- 
 lation and commerce in the United Kingdom. 
 Liverpool gives an inadequate impression of 
 England's attractiveness. Few cities have 
 spent more money on buildings and water 
 front; still there is little in an artistic way to 
 hold attention. 
 
 The next day when Junior and I returned 
 to the hotel after a leisurely stroll about town, 
 we were accosted by Madam, who exclaimed: 
 
 "I've made a discovery!" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Oh, it's in line with the great alliterative 
 theme — An Anglo-American Alliance." 
 
 "Good, what about it?" 
 
 "Well, I used to think an alliance of that 
 kind would be a good thing in the regular 
 course of logic; but really I don't believe the 
 English people like us as the newspapers of 
 the United States would lead one to believe." 
 
 "Isn't it rather early in your experience 
 abroad to voice an impression of such interna- 
 tional importance, before you have been on 
 59 
 
"OW, THOSE AMERICANS!"— LONDON 
 British soil twenty-four hours?" I protested 
 with assumed severity. 
 
 "Oh. a straw to me will indicate which way 
 the wind is blowing !" she exclaimed, waking 
 up to the subject. "I saw the straw this 
 morning: I can safely hazard an opinion on 
 the direction of the breeze over here." 
 
 "What's up. Mamma?" asked Junior, aware 
 of his mother's rising indignation as pro- 
 claimed by the bright sparkle in her dark . 
 
 "Tell us." we urged, now thoroughly inter- 
 ested. 
 
 "Well." she resumed firmly, "if the English 
 don't positively dislike us. they at least have 
 very queer views of Americans and their 
 ways." 
 
 "What makes you think so? So far I've 
 found the natives here rather nice and polite." 
 
 "Well, ril out with it: when the maid came 
 into the rooms this morning, she apolcv 
 for not responding to the bell more promptly. 
 She complained the house was crowded with 
 people from London, the provinces of Eng- 
 land, the regular Liverpool guests and, "Ow. 
 so many of those Americans: you know!'" 
 
 "Didn't she take to be an American?" 
 
 was interjected by the audience. 
 
 "I can't say: but I remarked to her casually 
 that from her tone I inferred she did not care 
 much for the travelers from the United 
 States." 
 
 " 'Ow, I don't mind them very much: don't 
 you know,' she replied: T get along very well 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 with them: but the rest of the help don't fancy 
 them a bit — their ways are so queer, they say, 
 and so different from ours.' 
 
 M 'Indeed,' I answered, 'I imagine they are 
 quite different.' 
 
 M *Ow y-e-s ! But then you know,' she con- 
 cluded, making matters worse, 'I have a way 
 of getting along with Americans. Ycu see 
 they seem all correct and clever to me, when 
 they're rightly handled; I know how to man- 
 age them, you see!' " 
 
 "What happened at that juncture?" was 
 asked in chorus. 
 
 "I said, or did, nothing," replied the Madam, 
 with dignified emphasis, "except to put a 
 bright half crown piece which I had laid on 
 the dresser, intending to hand it to the maid 
 for a tip, back into my purse, to stay there 
 until I determined whether this seemingly in- 
 genuous one's speech was really prompted by 
 simplicity, or impertinence." 
 
 "Ah, I understand," ventured I, "No doubt, 
 from your olive complexion, dark hair and 
 eyes, she mistook you for a French woman, 
 which may account for her remarkable free- 
 dom of speech. I'm sure she never took you 
 for a niece of Uncle Sam." This pouring of 
 oil on the troubled waters had the desired ef- 
 fect — wc all laughed heartily and changed the 
 subject. 
 
 Outside the clouds grew denser; rain con- 
 tinued to fall and altogether the prospect of 
 61 
 
••OW, THOSE AMERICANS!"— LONDON 
 
 seeing more of Liverpool that day was not 
 encouraging. It was suggested that the fam- 
 ily avail itself of an early afternoon train and 
 spin on to London, in day light, instead of 
 making the night trip as previously arranged. 
 
 After luncheon the hall porter, a fine func- 
 tionary, done up in blue uniform covered with 
 gold lace and cap to match, was requested to 
 have the luggage at the train at the given 
 hour. Fortunately it was not necessary to 
 cross the city to a depot, for the Northwestern 
 station was at the hotel's back door. Passen- 
 gers and their impedimenta could be handled 
 without any chance of getting drenched. 
 
 Uniformed guards and porters under the 
 direction of a station master were in evidence 
 on all parts of the platform, ready to furnish 
 information to passengers before the official 
 whistle would signal the engineer to start. A 
 remarkable condition was the utter absence of 
 clanging bells, or useless noises of any kind. 
 
 But with all the quiet, good order attending 
 the starting of the train, the experienced 
 American travelers must needs indulge appre- 
 hensions of confusion at the journey's end, 
 when the time came for claiming property. 
 The absence from Great Britain's railway sys- 
 tem of the little brass baggage check, to 
 which Americans have been so long accus- 
 tomed was conspicuous. 
 
 I called attention to the fine farms on either 
 side of the company's right of way, as we 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 sped on, dwelling with enthusiasm on the 
 broad pastures, the plump sheep, the sleek 
 cows, the capricious colts and calling special 
 attention to the oleagenous porkers, scamper- 
 ing off at the approach of the rapidly moving 
 train. 
 
 "For neat hedge fences England seems to 
 have us beaten," exclaimed Junior, a note of 
 regret in his tone. "I never saw anything 
 like that before, did you, Mamma? Think of 
 how many miles of green hedge rows we have 
 seen today; and aren't the roadways perfect?" 
 
 "Don't forget," suggested the Madam, 
 "that England has been working on hedge 
 fences and smooth roads for many centuries; 
 the perfection of these features of Great Brit- 
 ain is the natural result of time, industry and 
 cultivation. In the New England States you 
 will find roads and hedges as good in quality 
 as these, but perhaps, not so extensive. In 
 the western states these features of civiliza- 
 tion will be developed and improved as time 
 goes on." 
 
 A new experience awaited the family at the 
 next stop — Stafford. There was no dining car 
 in the train, and it was late in the afternoon 
 when this station was approached; some one 
 in the compartment said that tea baskets 
 could be procured on the platform. 
 
 As the engine slackened its speed, station 
 porters rushed up, opening the compartment 
 doors, to announce: "Tea bawskets! Tea 
 
 63 
 
"OW, THOSE AMERICANS!"— LONDON 
 
 bawskets, Sir! Two Shillings! Tea baws- 
 kets!" 
 
 They have the afternoon tea habit strong 
 in England — the custom pervades all classes 
 from the highest to the most lowly. With a 
 rare exception the passengers patronized the 
 excited vendors. Every one took his neat lit- 
 tle basket on his knee and proceeded to ex- 
 pose its contents. 
 
 The small hamper was made of wicker, long 
 and flat, the interior resembling a knife tray, 
 with a lid adjusted on hinges. In it were a 
 pot of warm tea, cup and spoon, with a lim- 
 ited supply of milk and sugar, a few bread and 
 butter sandwiches and a small assortment of 
 cakes. 
 
 When the edibles were disposed of, the 
 "bawskets," as they were called in the ver- 
 nacular, were deposited under the compart- 
 ment seats, to be removed by porters at the 
 next stopping place. 
 
 A thrill of excitement not easy to describe 
 was experienced by passengers who were ar- 
 riving in London for the first time. 
 
 Junior was dispatched to the luggage van, 
 which corresponded to the American baggage 
 car, with instructions to pick out the trunks 
 and sit on them until they would be required. 
 
 "I wish it were possible to have them 
 checked," I sighed, apologetically to the boy. 
 
 "Why are trunks not checked in this coun- 
 try?" asked Junior mystified. 
 64 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 "If they were, I wouldn't have to go and 
 hold them down; would I, Pop?" 
 
 "We will miss the checking system here," 
 ventured the Madam, who was sorry to see 
 her idol go to the other end of the platform 
 alone in search of the baggage. 
 
 "Why don't the English adopt our way? 
 Haven't they ever heard of the method of 
 transferring trunks in the United States?" 
 
 "That reminds me of a conversation I had 
 on the train coming up to London," I said. 
 
 "In the course of a long talk, a very well 
 posted Englishman showed me how loath his 
 people are to introduce changes in old sys- 
 tems. 
 
 "We were talking about the shortcomings 
 cf the railway service in England. Incident- 
 ally I made a disparaging remark about some 
 particular feature which did not quite suite 
 me. 
 
 " 'We're used to criticism, you know,' said 
 the conservative Britain; 'most Americans 
 when they first come over to see us, cawn't 
 adapt themselves to what they call our slow 
 going institutions. In fact we don't mind a 
 little friendly criticism ; not at all !' 
 
 " 'Thank ycu,' v/as all I could say. 
 
 "'My dear sir, don't thank me; it's quite 
 unnecessary. Maybe you are not aware that 
 our Government, years ago, sent a commis- 
 sion to the States to investigate American 
 railroads in all their details, with instructions 
 to prepare and submit an official report on 
 65 
 
"OW, THOSE AMERICANS!"— LONDON 
 
 their return to England/ 
 
 " "That is news to me ; haven't the commis- 
 sioners returned home yet?' 
 
 " 'Oh, yes ; they reported long since.' 
 
 " 'What changes did they suggest? 
 
 "'The report was extremely brief; in effect, 
 simply that the railroads throughout the Brit- 
 ish possessions were all quite right, don't you 
 know; there was nothing to be improved and 
 the ways of American railroad magnates were 
 in no way superior to the methods in vogue 
 with us ; that's all.' " 
 
 Across the platform along which the train 
 had stopped, I, collecting our grips and rugs 
 in a pyramid pile, perceived aside from the 
 rushing throng of travelers, a great array of 
 hackney coaches and hansoms, all under the 
 arched roof of the station. 
 
 Calling a porter, whose heavy corduroy uni- 
 form in the summer time must have been very 
 oppressive, I told him to carry the trunks 
 from the luggage van. 
 
 The drive from Euston Station through 
 Hyde Park to destination in Norfolk Street, 
 off the Strand, was full of excitement. 
 
 66 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 AT THE HOTEL— A GENIAL BONIFACE 
 
 The ubiquitous hall porter was at the curb 
 before the carriage could stop on the sanded 
 square, in front of the Howard Hotel, ready 
 to open the door and direct his hustling aids 
 to dispose of the luggage. 
 
 As the family turned to follow "buttons" 
 to the lift, on their way to the comfortable 
 suite which had been assigned them, over- 
 looking Surrey street, the office door opened, 
 and the dignified Boniface stepped out of his 
 British reserve to give welcome to the "vis- 
 itors from Chicago, in America." 
 
 His greeting was cordial, his genial mien 
 suggesting Shakespeare's couplet: 
 
 "Welcome ever smiles, 
 And farewell goes out sighing." 
 
 The evening table d'hote was well served. 
 Throughout the meal, though, the large din- 
 ing room was crowded, the peaceful quiet and 
 utter lack of noisy interchange of conversa- 
 tion was most noteworthy. In handling the 
 dishes, the waiters caused no confusion, nor 
 did they create any disturbance by unseeming 
 haste, or bungling. 
 
 Always alert to the slightest behest of 
 67 
 
AT THE HOTEL— A GENIAL BONIFACE 
 
 Always alert to the slightest behest of 
 guests, they seemed to anticipate orders, so 
 that every course from canape to dessert was 
 served in an agreeable manner which might 
 suggest to the ardent, if not hysterical, Amer- 
 ican abroad, that in many regards England 
 comes nearer to being the Theosophists' de- 
 sideratum — Nirvana, than any country with- 
 in the boundaries of ordinary travel. 
 
 Drinking water alone was lacking; ice was 
 not to be thought of except on special order. 
 
 The omission of "coffee" from the menu 
 card was noticeable. The European has gone 
 beyond the custom of serving that stimulating 
 extract at the regular meal. If cafe noir, or 
 cafe au lait is desired after dinner, the coffee 
 room, or lounge, is established in all hotels 
 and clubs for that purpose. There the men 
 may leisurely partake of their coffee, with the 
 ladies, while indulging in a quiet smoke. 
 
 After dinner on the first evening in Lon- 
 don, we adjourned to the coffee room which 
 was neatly furnished in Japanese style, where, 
 later, mine host looked in upon us. 
 
 Seeing the trio in full enjoyment of post- 
 prandial indulgence, he came up to the dimin- 
 utive bamboo table at which we sat. 
 
 Strangely, his first question was not: "How 
 do you like England?" or "How does Lon- 
 don impress you?" 
 
 Merely regretting that the party had not 
 arrived before the close of "the season," when 
 royalty might be seen riding on horseback in 
 68 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 Hyde Park, he entered upon general conver- 
 sation. 
 
 From him it was learned that the very site 
 on which the hotel was located teemed with 
 historical interest, many soul-stirring scenes 
 having been witnessed and tragedies enacted 
 within a small radius. 
 
 "When you start out to see the city," said 
 Boniface, "you will be amply repaid for a 
 visit to the present Savoy Chapel, built in 
 the fifteenth century. It contains a number 
 of interesting monuments and tablets, includ- 
 ing those of Richard Landor, the African ex- 
 plorer, and Anne Killigrew, whom Dryden 
 immortalizes as a grace of beauty and a muse 
 of wit." 
 
 Boniface smilingly concluded his entertain- 
 ing talk with the remark: 
 
 "Why dig up the gloomy traditions of the 
 ancient strongholds and mansions that have 
 long departed? 
 
 "All glory to those sterner times! 
 But leave them to their minstrel rhymes." 
 
 When next day the family surveyed the 
 bustling thoroughfares of Fleet Street and the 
 Strand, in imagination it was not difficult to 
 take the arm cf that prince of gossips, Samuel 
 Pepys, as he strolled cut of the city on a fine 
 summer's night, over the old Fleet Bridge, 
 down the Strand, "to take the ayre" ; then, re- 
 gretfully, to retrace one's steps and hurry back, 
 lest the city gates be closed for the night. Or, 
 69 
 
AT THE HOTEL— A GENIAL BONIFACE 
 
 maybe, to travel with him by water to the 
 Temple "and thence to Cocke Ale House, in 
 Fleet Street, to drink, and eat a lobster and 
 sing to be mighty merrie." 
 
 What has New York's Great White Way 
 on Sam, who really set the pace in consump- 
 tion of the delectable seafood? 
 
 As I stood at the corner of Norfolk Street 
 and the Strand memories suggested by previ- 
 ous reading, crowded thick upon me. 
 
 The Temple not far off, contains the tombs 
 and effigies of the old crusaders ; the Temple's 
 precincts afford a welcome refuge from the 
 heat and whirl of city life. 
 
 Around this locality is the halo of romance 
 cast by Dickens; there is, however, no spot 
 more charming or peaceful than Fountain 
 Court : "Merrily the fountain plays and merrily 
 the dimples sparkle in its sunny face." 
 
 The sparrows, bred in Temple chinks and 
 crannies, flit among the overhanging boughs, 
 just as on that immortal summer afternoon, 
 when sweet little Ruth Pinch, with the brown 
 hair fallen down beneath her bonnet, tripped 
 lightly down the steps to the Garden Court 
 and was "so surprised" when John Westlock, 
 "who couldn't be mistaken," overtook her. 
 
 The Strand presented a scene of amazing 
 activity. Pedestrians, many of them tourists, 
 thronged the sidewalks; swiftly moving vehi- 
 cles, controlled by the magic beck of a Bobby's 
 finger, or baton, jammed the broad roadway. 
 70 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 'Buses of every known color and kind — the 
 horse, the electric and the malodorous gasoline 
 motor — rushed along in all directions in immi- 
 nent danger of colliding, but miraculously nev- 
 er getting together. Nowhere but in London 
 could such a mob be kept within bounds. 
 
 The secret is in the police force and the dis- 
 cipline of Scotland Yards, coupled with a 
 wholesome respect for the law on the part of 
 the populace. 
 
 Junior marveled that every moving thing, 
 human or otherwise, invariably turned to the 
 left to avoid a mix-up, instead of to the right 
 as he had been trained at home. 
 
 We strolled along the Strand fascinated by 
 its rush and roar. 
 
 Madam's mind was bent on visiting the 
 shops in Bond and Regent Streets. My lack 
 of interest in shopping prompted the sugges- 
 tion that they inspect London merchandise, 
 while I would go to Parr's Bank, in Bartholo- 
 mew Lane, on which my letter of credit was 
 good. 
 
 "Now," said I to the family, "when you have 
 feasted your eyes on the bargains possible un- 
 der England's free trade system, don't be in a 
 hurry to buy; later you may profit by the in- 
 formation you acquire on the first round of the 
 shops. 
 
 "Meet me at high noon in Old Cheshire 
 Cheese, Wine Office Court, Fleet Street, for 
 luncheon, where one is sure to get, if he wants 
 71 
 
AT THE HOTEL— A GENIAL BONIFACE 
 
 it, lark pie, or beefsteak pudding, diet to which 
 we are unaccustomed." 
 
 With this understanding, I gave heed to the 
 vociferous 'bus conductor's invitation to board 
 his conveyance, which would take me through 
 the Strand, Fleet Street, past Ludgate Circus, 
 and, as I had learned to pronounce it, to the 
 "Bonk." 
 
 The day was bright and comparatively cool ; 
 I climbed to the top where I secured a seat in 
 front, next the driver, who was the personifica- 
 tion of civility and local intelligence. 
 
 In matters pertaining to London, the city 
 near which he was born and raised, and out of 
 which district he had the distinction of never 
 having set foot, the driver appeared to be om- 
 niscient. 
 
 72 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 ON TOP O' THE BUS 
 
 As we jogged along, the bus man suddenly 
 turned to me with the query: 
 
 " 'An American, I'm sure, sir?' 
 
 " 'Yes.' 
 
 " 'Great country, they tell me.' 
 
 "'Oh, yes!' 
 
 " 'From what part are you?' 
 
 " 'Chicago.' 
 
 " 'Where all the tinned meats come from?' 
 
 " 'Sure.' 
 
 " 'Will Chic-a-go suffer much from the Chile 
 earthquake, do you think? It's very near 
 Chile, I'm sure; is it not?' " 
 
 The Chilian earthquake had occurred the 
 day before — the driver was full of the news- 
 paper account of it. 
 
 As the 'bus rattled along, the driver showed 
 that he knew his London, if he did not grasp 
 the great proportions of the world's map. 
 
 Entering the Strand, he called attention to 
 Covent Garden Market, one of the attractions 
 of the metropolis. The barber shop facing 
 Chancery Lane had been a palace of Henry 
 VIII, and had served Cardinal Wolsey in the 
 same capacity. 
 
 Dr. Johnson had been in and out of most of 
 73 
 
ON TOP O' THE BUS 
 
 the old taverns in the street, in Gough Square, 
 he labored on his dictionary. He and Boswell, 
 Goldsmith, Reynolds, Burke and the rest of 
 that illustrious circle, met often at the "Che- 
 shire Cheese." Goldsmith half starved in that 
 court as a literary hack. 
 
 St. Paul's Cathedral now loomed up with a 
 railed-in garden that once was sombre with 
 tombstones and decaying vaults. 
 
 The records indicate no time when this site 
 was not the center of religious life. The Brit- 
 ons had a temple to Wodin there ; the Romans, 
 one to Diana. In early Saxon days a Catholic 
 church reared its steeple on this spot. 
 
 Leaving St. Paul's Churchyard, the 'bus 
 moved into Pater Noster Row, so called from 
 the rosaries and prayerbooks formerly sold 
 there. 
 
 There at the entrance to Cheapside stands 
 the statue of Sir Robert Peel; then comes 
 within view the space enclosed by the Mansion 
 House, The Bank, the Royal Exchange, which 
 is the centre of the city. 
 
 Handing the loquacious 'bus man a bright 
 sixpence, I said good-bye. 
 
 By the intervention cf a Bobby's gesture my 
 life was saved, for the dense throng of moving 
 vehicles which threatened to destroy me, 
 stopped, as if by magic; I found myself high 
 and dry on a little island surrounded by iron 
 posts in the middle of the highway. 
 
 Soon I was hustling along with busy brok- 
 74 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 ers, clad in Prince Albert coats and two-gallon 
 hats, who had business to transact among the 
 banks in the locality. 
 
 For general attractiveness Parr's Bank did 
 not compare with the banking institutions of 
 the United States. I soon realized that in 
 London, "business is business," that ostenta- 
 tious furnishings in counting rooms added 
 nothing to a corporation's credit. 
 
 The absence of the typewriter's click in any 
 part of the establishment was noticeable; I 
 learned the fair typist had no place there. 
 
 The introduction from the Corn Exchange 
 National Bank, Chicago, proved an open 
 sesame to the private office of Mr. R. Allan 
 Shand, the general manager. 
 
 A gentleman of erudition, with a broad 
 knowledge of affairs, financial and otherwise, 
 Mr. Shand welcomed me cordially. 
 
 He referred to a time not long after the Chi- 
 cago fire, in 1871, when he had visited the 
 metropolis of the West. 
 
 When he asked v/hat he could do for me 
 during my sojourn, I intimated that we would 
 like to go through "The Bank," across the way, 
 if a visit could be conveniently arranged. 
 
 It is not vouchsafed to everyone to visit the 
 private precincts of the Old Lady of Thread- 
 needle Street; proper introduction is required. 
 
 The day was set for a fortnight hence when 
 we were scheduled to return from a tour of 
 Scotland and Ireland. 
 
 75 
 
ON TOP O' THE BUS 
 
 Cheshire Cheese Inn presented a forbidding 
 aspect, the entrance being quite as impossible 
 as that of the Old White Chapel Club in Chi- 
 cago in the World's Fair days. But I led the 
 way confidently under a low lintel which de- 
 fined the top of the opening into a dark little 
 apartment with a beamed ceiling. 
 
 The row of long tables with wooden benches, 
 instead of chairs, gave the place an antique, 
 even a grotesque, appearance. 
 
 It was not the day for traditional lark pie, 
 but other edibles were available. The stewed 
 cheese, served on toast in shallow tin pans was 
 a novelty; while the dish naturally suggested 
 Welsh rarebit, it differed greatly from the 
 American specialty. 
 
 During the repast we viewed the old fire- 
 place across the room which distinguished lit- 
 erati including, of course, Dr. Johnson, whose 
 name comes to every one's tongue most 
 readily, were wont to hug on cold nights. 
 
 Some ardent American admirer that day had 
 hung a bunch of roses over the mantel in 
 Johnson's memory. 
 
 The Inn was patronized by many foreigners, 
 who were gathered in pleasant groups about 
 the crude tables. 
 
 Luncheon ever, the waiter brought a register 
 for the trio's inscriptions under the date indi- 
 cated. The volume, a thick one, was filled 
 with signatures dating back for many years. 
 
 By way of an after-dinner amusement, we 
 76 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 undertook to read some of the sentiments the 
 book contained. 
 
 One brief verse was characteristic, and ap- 
 pealed to us as being especially apt at the time, 
 though written in the year 1899. 
 
 It was by a citizen of Omaha, whose faith 
 in the doctrine of free silver, or its apostle, was 
 evidently not orthodox. It read: 
 
 "We came and ate at Cheshire Cheese, 
 We came and ate and had our ease; 
 For what to us is London's roar, 
 We've heard Bill Bryan roar before." 
 
 Every American visiting London discovers 
 that the English people pride themselves on 
 ultra conservatism and finds them in many in- 
 stances painfully taciturn. 
 
 In the opinion of the cockney, it is the Yan- 
 kee alone who talks loud and asks questions 
 in public. 
 
 To this rule I found an exception. 
 
 One day Madam, Junior and I had arranged 
 to meet at Peter Robinson's in Oxford Circus 
 for luncheon. 
 
 They were to put in the morning shopping, 
 while I went about a few affairs in Bond Street. 
 
 Business finished, I found myself at the base 
 of the Nelson statue in Trafalgar Square. 
 Mounting a 'bus, I started on my way. 
 
 There were no passengers on top as I as- 
 cended, and it looked as if it were for me to 
 do the sight-seeing all by myself. 
 
 After awhile I seemed to lapse into reverie. 
 Imagine my surprise, when a voice with its 
 77 
 
ON TOP O" THE BUS 
 
 own peculiar accent, from across the aisle in- 
 quired: 
 
 "I say. sir, can you tell me where the Seven 
 Dials are?" 
 
 I had not noticed anyone come up the lad- 
 der; but sure enough, on the other side of the 
 aisle, sat a plump gentleman, clad in the garb 
 of the clergy of the Church of England. 
 
 As I was abcut to return a negative answer, 
 I raised my eyes, and not far distant ahead. I 
 saw what appeared to be a cluster of seven 
 converging triangular buildings and narrow 
 streets, reminding me of the old five points in 
 New York. 
 
 My wits, awakening, grasped the situation; 
 I responded quickly, without batting an eye: 
 
 "Why. yes, sir: there they are," as I pointed 
 to my discovery. 
 
 "Oh, thank you; thank you very much, in- 
 deed, sir; don't you know, it's seven years 
 since I visited London: dear me, the shops 
 along he'r are so changed that, really. I've 
 quite lest me bearings." 
 
 By this unusual freedom of speech on the 
 part of the English clergyman, I was prompted 
 to inquire: 
 
 "Are ycu an American?" 
 
 "An American! Did you think I was an 
 American? Oh, dear no!" 
 
 "You speak the language," I ventured. 
 
 "What, the American language; not at all! 
 
 "Why, my dear sir, when I came to London 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 seven years ago, I met a man from what they 
 call the New England States of America; sir, 
 don't you know, he had such a peculiar way 
 of speaking. Such a twang, a manner of talk- 
 ing through his nose, I could scarcely under- 
 stand him. Oh, my, my; did you really take 
 me for an American?" 
 
 When I suggested that all Americans didn't 
 talk through their proboscis, and it wasn't the 
 proper thing to hold the people of a whole na- 
 tion responsible for the dialect of the citizens 
 of a very small part, he assured me, in confi- 
 dence, that Americans were invariably distin- 
 guished by their nasal tone. 
 
 "Would it be fair to judge the language of 
 all England by the dialect of some of its prov- 
 inces?" I asked, quietly. 
 
 "Now for instance," I continued, "there's 
 Yorkshire. I've met men from there who 
 would have to call an interpreter to make 
 themselves understood." 
 
 "Yorkshire; my dear sir," he exclaimed in 
 surprise, "to be sure, Yorkshire; don't you 
 know, sir, I have my living in Yorkshire." 
 
 The situation, which might have grown em- 
 barrassing had the conversation continued, 
 was relieved by our arrival at destination, 
 where I bade my clerical companion good-bye, 
 and descended to mingle once more with the 
 London throng in the vicinity of Oxford Cir- 
 cus. 
 
 79 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 A RAINY SABBATH IN SCOTLAND 
 
 At the very start we promised ourselves 
 we'd take in Scotland and Ireland before tack- 
 ling France. 
 
 "Why not Ireland first, in the proper order, 
 as laid down in the geography text book?" I 
 seem to hear you ask. 
 
 A courtesy to Madam, to be sure; because 
 her mother was a high-bred Scotch woman. 
 
 That's how. on a bright Saturday afternoon 
 we found ourselves at Balloch prepared to em- 
 bark for Enversnaid at the far end of Loch Lo- 
 mond, from which place we were to take the 
 Trosachs tour. 
 
 No part of the Trosachs is more beautiful 
 than deep, blue Lomond. 
 
 "How wide the lake in limpid beauty smiles 
 
 Round the green yew.; that shade the Lemond isles; 
 
 See, old Alclutha to the sight displays. 
 
 Her rock impregnable in Ancient days 
 
 From the broad streams its whitening summits ri<e. 
 
 Like famed Parnassus, towering to the skies." 
 
 Loch Lomond is considered the most pic- 
 turesque lake in the world. 
 
 Thirty miles long, eight to ten miles broad, 
 at its southern end. it tapers to a mile in width 
 SO 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 at the north ; in depth, it varies from sixty to 
 six hundred feet. 
 
 In days agone, this beautiful body of water 
 was superstitiously renowned for three won- 
 ders: waves without wind, fish without fins 
 and a floating island. 
 
 A grand object is colossal Ben Lomond. 
 Big Ben and the lands extending along the 
 whole eastern shore of the lake were formerly 
 the property of Rob Roy, whose name is iden- 
 tified with several of the more remarkable fea- 
 tures of the landscape. 
 
 Smollett preferred Loch Lomond to the 
 Lago di Gardo, Albano, De Vico and Geneva. 
 
 Sir Walter Scctt has done for this lake what 
 Byron, Rouseau, Gibbon and De Stael did in 
 bequeathing so many magical associations to 
 Lake Leman. 
 
 The enchanting creations of Scott have con- 
 ferred on Loch Lomond and the neighboring 
 lakes of the Trosachs, the spell of fascinations 
 no less powerful and enduring. 
 
 Inversnaid Mill, with the bold scenery ad- 
 joining, is the environment of Wordsworth's 
 beautiful poem, beginning: 
 
 "But I, me thinks, till I grow old, 
 As fair a maid shall ne'er behold 
 As I do now; the cabin small — 
 The lake— the bay— the waterfall 
 And thee — the spirit of them all" 
 
 At Inversnaid hotel we were made comfort- 
 able, and pleased to find a family of New 
 81 
 
A RAINY SABBATH IN SCOTLAND 
 
 Yorkers among the others registered from all 
 over Christendom. 
 
 The Scotch woman who managed the place, 
 in a brief conversation, revealed a fact we had 
 forgotten or overlooked. Here was Sabbatar- 
 ian Scotland — not a wheel would move on the 
 morrow, and we must be content to remain 
 where we were till Monday. 
 
 A fierce thunder storm came up during the 
 night; the rain continued throughout Sunday, 
 even the piously inclined, who would have 
 gone to church, were prevented. 
 
 Between meals the guests gathered around 
 the big open fire-place. Whenever the door 
 opened a spinal chill was felt by those hugging 
 the fire; instantly the newcomer was urged to 
 close the portal. 
 
 The glow of a grate on a raw day in Scot- 
 land is not the last word in heating. 
 
 Those who sat down to read, took the pre- 
 caution to don overcoats, or wrap themselves 
 in rugs and shawls. 
 
 As it was not considered nice to whistle, or 
 play checkers, on the Lord's Day, a Scotch- 
 man in a warm plaid, very close to the hearth, 
 opened with a story he had just heard in Edin- 
 burgh : 
 
 "A lad and his dog," he said, "were passing 
 the fish market, when a plump lobster reached 
 out and caught the canine by the tail. 
 
 Howling like mad, the animal dashed down 
 82 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 the street, while the boy and the fish-monger 
 stood petrified with amazement. 
 
 The owner of the fish stall finally recovered 
 his speech yelling at the young man: 
 
 " 'Hoot, tout, mon, whussel on yer dog !' 
 
 " 'Nay, nay, sir ; do ye whussel on yer lob- 
 ster.' " 
 
 That was a good start for a dull day, and 
 gave courage to another native of the High- 
 lands. 
 
 "A Yankee traveling through one of the 
 most picturesque portions of our mountains, 
 met a farmer at work, and talked guardedly 
 on the beauty of the surrounding scenery, con- 
 cluding with the remark: T suppose, my 
 friend, you like these mountains that people 
 come so far to look at? I like them to beat 
 everything myself,' he continued, 'but if I'd 
 had the sortin' of these hills, I'd made 'em a 
 little peakeder.' " 
 
 Accepting this little slap at a citizen of New 
 England, without a visible wince, my new 
 friend from Gotham, not v/aiting for another 
 to intervene, said: 
 
 "I have a friend in New York who recently 
 built an elegant house; his beautiful bathroom 
 is of white marble with bright silver hardware ; 
 in addition he has a fine music box concealed 
 in the room. After my friend moved in an 
 Englishman paid him a visit. 
 
 "Englishmen, you know, are noted the world 
 
 84 
 
A RAINY SABBATH IN SCOTLAND 
 
 over for devotion to their sovereign; this one 
 was no exception. 
 
 "After showing his home to the foreign vis- 
 itor, my friend remembered the fondness of 
 the English people for a bath ; he escorted his 
 guest to the luxurious bathroom and while 
 there turned en the music box, wishing to give 
 his visitor a pleasant surprise as he bathed. 
 Then he left him. 
 
 "About an hour later the Englishman joined 
 his host in the drawing room, and was imme- 
 diately asked what he thought of the lavatory. 
 To which the Englishman replied, Tt is beau- 
 tiful, beautiful!' 
 
 " 'Well, how did you like the music box?' 
 
 "With disgust in his tone, the Englishman 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "'Bah! That music box! The old thing 
 played God Save the King, and I had to stand 
 up all the time I was trying to bathe.' " 
 
 The Scotchman, whose name I concluded 
 must be Sandy, because of his straggling 
 blond beard, up to this had not opened his oral 
 cavity, but he came in with a capital story. 
 
 "McGregor, ye ken," he said, "was as sick 
 as the deil, and the doctor had to be called in. 
 After feeling the patient's pulse, he prescribed, 
 and was about to leave, saying : 
 
 " 'When the medicine comes from the 
 apothecary's, be sure and take it with regular- 
 ity, every two hours.' 
 
 " 'Thank 'e, docthor,' replied the sick man, 
 85 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 'but may I not have a drap of whuskey, at all?' 
 
 " 'Oh,' rejoined the man of medicine, 'Sure, 
 you can have one ounce a day.' 
 
 "With that he left the puzzled patient. 
 
 " 'Jock!' shouted the invalid to his son, who 
 was reading over in the chimney corner, when 
 the door had closed after the physician. 
 
 " 'What, faither?' 
 
 " 'What's an ounce?' 
 
 " 'I dinna' ken; where's my arithmetic?' 
 
 "Reaching up to a shelf, he brought down 
 the desired book containing tables of weights 
 and measures. Turning the leaves, he finally 
 exclaimed: 
 
 "'Here 'tis, faither; eight drahms, one 
 ounce!' 
 
 "The sick man's face brightened as he ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 " 'What a g-r-a-n-d docthor !' " 
 
 "Well, as to that, now, I've got one," said 
 the tall, thin Scot towering above the group, 
 as he drew his wrap close around him. 
 
 "A little Scotch boy's grandmother was 
 packing his luncheon for school one morning. 
 Suddenly looking up in the dear old lady's 
 face, he said: 
 
 "'Grandmother, does yer specs magnify?' 
 
 " 'A wee bit, my child,' she answered, 
 'Why?' 
 
 " 'Aweel, then,' said the boy, 'I wad juist like 
 it if ye wad tak' 'em aff when ye'r packing my 
 loonch/ " 
 
 Thinking it was up to me to tell a tale, be- 
 86 
 
A RAINY SABBATH IN SCOTLAND 
 
 cause they "wad na" let me do a jig on the 
 Sabbath, I recalled a traveler's tale. 
 
 "The lady in the center seat of a parlor car," 
 I said, "heard the request of a fellow passen- 
 ger directly opposite asking the porter to open 
 the widow, and scenting a draft, she at once 
 drew a cloak about her. 
 
 " 'Porter,' she said, 'if that window is opened 
 I shall freeze to death.' 
 
 " 'And if the window is kept shut,' returned 
 the other passenger, 'I shall surely suffocate.' 
 
 "The poor porter stood irresolute and puz- 
 zled between two fires. 
 
 " 'Say, boss,' he finally appealed to a com- 
 mercial traveler seated near by, 'what would 
 you do?' 
 
 " 'Do?' exclaimed the traveling man; 'Why, 
 man alive, that is easy; just open the window 
 and freeze one lady; then close it and suffo- 
 cate the other.' " 
 
 "How could he be so cruel?" asked the 
 natty, little lady from Glasgow, with a burr 
 on her tongue. 
 
 87 
 
CHAPTER X 
 TROSACHS— AYR— SHRINE OF BURNS 
 
 The gloomy Sabbath was followed by a 
 beautiful, bright Monday. 
 
 Everybody was ready for the Trosachs trip, 
 in which the initial event was a coach ride to 
 Loch Catrine. 
 
 With a fanfare cf trumpets, the vehicle 
 drawn by six spanking horses dashed off amid 
 vociferous shouts cf the travelers, for Loch 
 Catrine which is encompassed by mountains 
 through which communication has been es- 
 tablished with Loch Achray by some great 
 convulsion of nature. 
 
 The intermediate defile, known as the pass 
 of the Trosachs, or "bristled territory," is oc- 
 cupied by intricate groups of rocky and wood- 
 ed eminences. 
 
 The fame cf this district of Scotland was 
 immortalized by the publication of Scott's 
 "Lady of the Lake." 
 
 On the way we sailed up to the Trosachs 
 Hotel, where a sumptuous dinner was served ; 
 then via coaches we traveled many miles over 
 beautiful Scotch hills, with their glorious 
 crags and stretches of purple heather! How 
 sweet is the fragrance of that same heather 
 after the rain ! We watched the fleecy clouds 
 as they floated up from the valley to cling to 
 88 
 
TROSACHS— AYR— SHRINE OF BURNS 
 
 the sides of the rough crags until the rocky 
 masses themselves seemed to be floating in a 
 ghostly sea of mist. Can there be anything 
 more beautiful than such a scene, with all its 
 wild grandeur, its richness of sunshine light- 
 ing up the distant patches of heather and rock 
 and bringing out the delicious harmony of 
 tints in bright relief against the sombre back- 
 ground cf the dark gray hills? 
 
 As dusk was coming on, we stopped at 
 Aberfoyle on the River Forth, in time for sup- 
 per, at the ancient hostelry for which the place 
 is celebrated. 
 
 In view of the limited area of Scotland, it is 
 easy to pass from the Trosachs country to the 
 quiet little town of Ayr, rich in its memories 
 of Robert Burns. 
 
 The first thing, by the way, I noticed in con- 
 versation with Scotch people, was they call 
 their beloved poet "Robby," not "Bobby" as 
 most Americans do. 
 
 From the Ayr hotel it was only a short dis- 
 tance to the ruins of Alloway Kirk. 
 
 We approached the gate, guarded by a ver- 
 itable Silas Wegg; his name must have been 
 that of Dickens' famous character, for he had 
 the inevitable wooden leg and a strong dispo- 
 sition to drop into poetry. 
 
 "May we come in?" I asked as I put my feet 
 on the stepping stone. 
 
 "Sure, mon, why should I be here if ye 
 couldna' coome in?" he replied. 
 89 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 He accompanied us among the stones of the 
 graveyard, and as he pointed out the one 
 which marked the burial place of the poet's 
 father, he opened a well-thumbed copy of 
 Burns' works, which he fondled as if he loved 
 it, and read a few appropriate quotations. 
 
 Of course it was Tarn O'Shanter's ludicrous 
 adventure which made this spot famous; one 
 can scarcely be altogether serious when view- 
 ing the old kirk, or its grounds. 
 
 "What do you think was the matter with 
 Robby when he wrote that episode of Tarn's 
 ride?" I asked the ancient guide without a 
 smile, as we proceeded along the path towards 
 the kirk. 
 
 "Was it strong drink, do you think?" 
 
 "Drink, mind ye now !" he exclaimed, almost 
 with indignation in his tone ; ° 'twas not Robby, 
 remember, who was drinking; it was Tarn." 
 
 I liked the enthusiasm with which the guide 
 repudiated the slight intimation that his favor- 
 ite subject could be suspected of taking an oc- 
 casional strong drink ; but withal he seemed to 
 be pleased that we were otherwise familiar and 
 friendly with his hero. 
 
 As we passed around the kirk, I saw pro- 
 truding through the stone wall on the far side, 
 a baptismal font. It was well balanced; as 
 much was exposed to the outward view, as to 
 worshipers in the old days, on the inside. 
 
 "Ah !" I exclaimed, "why is that ; to accom- 
 modate baptisms to the seasons — winter and 
 summer?" 
 
 90 
 
TROSACHS— AYR— SHRINE OF BURNS 
 
 "Bairn," he said to Junior, who was close at 
 our heels, "go look at that stane away over 
 in yen corner of the kirkyardV' 
 
 As the boy scampered off, the shrewd Scot 
 turned to us and cautiously whispered his an- 
 swer to what might have seemed to be a friv- 
 olous question: 
 
 "Na, Na! it's na like that; I'll tell ye. In 
 the old days when that stoup was used, the 
 bairns who were born in wedlock were chris- 
 tened within the kirk; those born out of wed- 
 lock were baptized out in the kirk yard here." 
 
 That was truly a new one to us ; there was 
 nothing to say ; we turned to go and I handed 
 the old man a coveted coin of bright silver. 
 
 As we came away we were informed that 
 the real Tarn O'Shanter was a Douglas Gra- 
 ham, of Shanter farm in the vicinity. 
 
 On his tombstone in the village church yard 
 this character is designated not only by his 
 real, but also by his poetic title. 
 
 Today in Ayr, there is a "Tarn O'Shanter 
 Inn," where Tarn is said to have caroused so 
 long with his boon companion Souter Johnny. 
 A crude portrait of Tarn and Johnny, with 
 bumpers in their fists, is placed above the por- 
 tal. The contentment of the bibulous pair 
 suggests the lines : 
 
 "Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
 O'er a' the ills of life victorious " 
 
 As we were crossing the ould Brig o' Doon, 
 which is very little changed since the days of 
 91 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 Burns, discussing the quaint guide from whom 
 we had just parted, the strains of a violin fell 
 on our ears. A few paces brought us in view 
 of a mendicant fiddler, who stepped back and 
 forth at the other end of the bridge. On nearer 
 approach the music seemed inspiring. He was 
 playing and attempting to sing : 
 
 "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon — 
 How can ye bloom so fresh and fair? 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 And I sae weary, fu' o' care?" 
 
 The mendicant was not a coarse, dirty beg- 
 gar, such as one might find in London or Glas- 
 gow, but a man of refined voice and manners, 
 clad in well brushed, glossy clothes, with a 
 woolen cloth about his neck, to cover the ab- 
 sence of linen, on that warm summer morning. 
 
 As he tried to sing the highest notes, he'd 
 serenely stop his failing voice, fiddle a little 
 harder and supply the notes with his bow. 
 
 The old musician seemed to appeal especi- 
 ally to the Madam, whose Scotch blood was 
 thrilled ; several times I encored him with a 
 handful of coppers. Thus induced, he gave a 
 pleasant variety to his concert. 
 
 We left him doing his very best with the 
 soothing chords of "Annie Laurie." 
 
 In an environment so beautiful, the strains 
 of the instrument were truly sweet as they 
 floated over the Doon. 
 
 Before we left the Brig, the flight of Tarn 
 O'Shanter again occurred to us. We laughed, 
 92 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 as in our minds, we beheld his mare coming 
 up to this ancient span — pursued by enraged 
 witches, whose orgies the hero had rashly in- 
 terrupted in Alloway Kirk, and 
 
 "Brought aff his master haill, 
 But left behind her ain gray tail." 
 
 Homage to the great bard of Scotland at his 
 far-famed monument, was our sincere duty. 
 
 It was a bright balmy day; the birds were 
 carolling in every tree; the bushes that over- 
 shadow the river were in leaf; the roses had 
 opened their crimson folds, and we all three 
 v/ere impressed that the birds sang and roses 
 bloomed more sweetly on the banks of the 
 Doon than in any other place. 
 
 The monument consists of a three-sided rus- 
 tic base, supported by a circular peristyle of 
 the Corinthian order, surmounted by a cupola, 
 the decorations of which are in strict accord- 
 ance with the finest specimens of Grecian art. 
 
 Turning away from the monument, I saw 
 the tramcar which had brought us to the place, 
 and suggested that we travel to the other end 
 of town; soon we were whizzing through Ayr. 
 The sun was in the zenith when we got off in 
 front of a large cathedral. 
 
 "Before climbing the hill," said the Junior, 
 "don't you think it's time for refreshments? 
 Aren't any of you hungry? I am!" 
 
 I looked about for a hostelry where we could 
 get a luncheon before returning to the hotel 
 for dinner. 
 
 93 
 
TROSACHS— AYR— SHRINE OF BURNS 
 
 Across the street was a posting station; 
 though unprepossessing in appearance, it was 
 the most promising place in sight. 
 
 As the Junior afterward explained to a 
 friend when one of us was telling the tale 
 which follows, a posting station is a combina- 
 tion of livery stable and saloon. 
 
 There were three openings in the front of 
 the establishment, labeled, "Gentlemen," 
 "Wholesale" and "The Pub." Selecting the 
 first, I entered. 
 
 A pretty barmaid smiled as I approached. 
 
 "Have you no accommodations for ladies?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Ladies? No sir; but wait!" 
 
 She fell back to make room for the plump, 
 little Scotch matron, who seemed to own the 
 place. 
 
 When I informed her that my entire family 
 was in need of sustenance, she arose to the 
 occasion, saying: 
 
 "Why yes, my dear sir, just take them to 
 my own private parlor upstairs; entry, you'll 
 find on the side." 
 
 We found our way up to the regulation 
 darkened sitting room; it required a few min- 
 utes to become accustomed to the lack of light 
 and air — the room was closed tight, with dou- 
 ble shades down. 
 
 The smooth black horse-hair furniture put 
 
 our minds— the Madam's and mine — back a 
 
 few years to the time when this was the kind 
 
 of upholstery we had in the respective homes 
 
 94 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 of our childhood. The Junior for a time found 
 pleasure in climbing upon the old fashioned 
 sofa and sliding down again. 
 
 By and by my eyes wandered, and on the 
 walls I could discern waxen wreaths, glass cov- 
 ered, in heavy frames — the perpetuated flow- 
 ers from graves of past generations. 
 
 No comment could be made quietly on the 
 subject of immortal wreaths before the door 
 opened and mine buxom hostess entered. 
 
 Commenting on the intense heat of the day, 
 she bade us welcome, and asked what she 
 could furnish us. 
 
 The edibles, neatly served, were well pre- 
 pared, but the liquid refreshment for the man 
 of the party was absolutely innocent of ice. 
 
 "Ayr is a fine town, Madam," I ventured, to 
 start the conversation. 
 
 " 'Deed it is, sir,' 
 
 "We like it very much; we've been pretty 
 well all over it today — it's beautiful and the 
 atmosphere is delightful." 
 
 "'Deed it is, sir; it's twelve year since we 
 sold our farm in Ayrshire and came here to 
 buy this tavern ; we've done very nicely, thank 
 you.' 
 
 "We were in Alloway Kirkyard, across the 
 auld brig o' Doon and the new one, and we in- 
 spected the great Burns' monument — truly a 
 deserved testimonial. 
 
 "'Oh, aye; the monument, sir. In the doz- 
 en years we've been here, I'm sure I've seen 
 95 
 
TROSACHS— AYR— SHRINE OF BURNS 
 
 the monument twice, sir; it's grand, 'deed it 
 is, an' ye canna' be mistaken o' that.' 
 
 "Well," I suggested at this spontaneous 
 outburst on her part, "Robby was certainly 
 a great man, in his time ! 
 
 " 'Deed he must ha' been, sir!' 
 
 "Doubtless you know all Robby's works by 
 heart; you're so close to the interesting scenes 
 from which he took his inspiration," I insinu- 
 ated encouragingly. 
 
 The little lady gave a start, straightened up, 
 to respond: 
 
 " 'Aye ; and did Robby Burns write a 
 b-o-o-k?' 
 
 This termination of a promising instructive 
 chat with a native of the place, was so unex- 
 pected, that we sought our hotel to prepare for 
 dinner, after a hot day's experience. 
 
 At table, that evening, we discussed the 
 beauties of Scotland, the great thrift of the 
 Scotch people and, incidentally, the splendid 
 tacit tribute the citizens of Ayr pay to the in- 
 telligence of their dogs. This last subject was 
 suggested by the cute basins, filled with water, 
 placed near the threshold of shops, bearing the 
 inscription: "For dogs." Nowhere else in the 
 world had I found an educational qualification 
 required of the canine species. As Junior 
 sagely remarked, how could the canny Scotch 
 terriers know the little water vessels were ex- 
 clusively for them if they could not read. 
 
 96 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 EDINBURGH— MELROSE— ON THE CLYDE 
 
 Edinburgh is at times called the "Athens of 
 the North" not so much because in its firma- 
 ment it held so many literary stars, but be- 
 cause of the topographical resemblance be- 
 tween the capitals of Greece and Scotland. 
 
 What seemed to impress us in Edinburgh, 
 aside from its castle on the perpendicular rock, 
 was the monument erected to Sir Walter 
 Scott ; it is the noblest tribute to purely liter- 
 ary genius in the world. 
 
 Our chief interest centred on the trip to 
 Melrose Abbey, a few hours' ride out of Edin- 
 burgh, of which Sir Walter was very fond. 
 
 As we alighted at the site of the ancient ruin 
 a depression came over our spirits, when we 
 thought of the brutal vandalism which had 
 destroyed that once imposing edifice. It was 
 man, alas! not nature which caused its down- 
 fall. The Abbey v/as built over seven hundred 
 years ago; it would be standing now had not 
 the ravages of war, and the still more pitiless 
 religious fury given it cruel, destructive blows. 
 Four English armies of invasion vented their 
 spite on its walls ; Cromwell, in fact, bombard- 
 ed it, and the misguided followers of John 
 Knox, in mistaken zeal defaced it with mali- 
 97 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 cious joy. Why? Was it not a grand work 
 of art — an edifice worthy of preservation? The 
 spacious windows were once encased in sculp- 
 tured frames of stone. Now they are "bare as 
 eyeless sockets," and only a few poor traces of 
 ornamentation exist, where through exhaus- 
 tion or caprice the vandals stayed their weary 
 hands. 
 
 The Abbey originally had a roof of stone as 
 exquisitely carved as the columns which up- 
 held it; but that too has long since vanished. 
 The dome of heaven now is all that is left to 
 cover the ruin. 
 
 The outline and mullions of the beautifully 
 chiselled big window at the end of the edifice 
 escaped destruction; what is left of the sculp- 
 tured frieze on the remains of the abbey may 
 be studied for hours with keen interest. No 
 panel is duplicated; indeed in the case of the 
 carved leaves and vines, standing out in bold 
 relief, one is apt to pause a moment to listen 
 for their rustle, so true to nature is the work. 
 
 It was through these windows of Melrose 
 Abbey, once so glorious with color, that Sir 
 Walter referred in his "Lay of the Last Min- 
 strel" to 
 
 "The silver light so pale and faint 
 Showed many a prophet and many a saint." 
 
 We leave this charming wreck for a three- 
 mile coach drive through delightful, undulat- 
 ing country to Scott's home at Abbotsford. 
 It's a show-place now. In the long library 
 
EDINBURGH— MELROSE— ON THE CLYDE 
 
 Scott's bust looks upon the visitor from the 
 dark background of his assembled books. "Pis 
 a noble, genial face ; truly the memory of such 
 a man should be venerated. 
 
 "Call it not vain; they do not err 
 Who say that when the poet dies, 
 Mute Nature mourns her worshiper 
 And celebrates his obsequies; 
 Who say tall cliff and cavern lone 
 The departed bard makes moan; 
 The mountains weep in crystal rill; 
 
 That flowers in tears of balm distill; 
 ******** 
 
 And rivers teach their rushing wave 
 
 To murmur dirges round his grave." 
 
 Under a tower in Dryburgh Abbey lies Scot- 
 land's great genius in his dreamless sleep. 
 
 Our visit to Holyrood Castle, when we went 
 back to Edinburgh, and mementos there, 
 which recalled our historical knowledge of 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, was full of interest, and 
 we were loath to leave for commercial Glas- 
 gow, a place utterly lacking the classic atmos- 
 phere of the capital city. 
 
 To reach the Emerald Isle from Glasgow, 
 what easier trip could suggest itself than a 
 sail on the Clyde? 
 
 The name of the boat selected gave little 
 promise ; but the "Viper" was not half so bad 
 as its title. 
 
 We passed the great ship-building yards, 
 
 which could be seen through large casements 
 
 from where we sat in the cabin at dinner, 
 
 Here assembled was an acceptable gathering 
 
 99 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 of Scotch and north of Ireland merchants, who 
 were genial to the border of conviviality; some 
 were accompanied by their wives and daugh- 
 ters. 
 
 Madam with the Junior ascended to deck 
 after the repast to see the immense hull of the 
 Lusitania, which had been launched and was 
 nearing completion. The other ladies of the 
 company emulating her, left the men to their 
 pipes and cigars. 
 
 We were the only Americans on board; 
 England had a sole representative in a person 
 of Bohemia who, from his garb, if that may be 
 considered a safe criterion, was nothing, if not 
 an artist. 
 
 He was silent, as he smoked and listened to 
 the light stories which were told in rapid suc- 
 cession. 
 
 The rotund linen merchant from Belfast, oc- 
 cupying the head of the table, told of a bash- 
 ful young couple in his city, who from all in- 
 dications were much in love. As they were 
 bearding a crowded tram car in the chief city 
 of Ulster, the following dialogue was over- 
 heard: 
 
 "Do you think we can squeeze in here?" he 
 asked, looking doubtfully at her radiant face. 
 
 "Don't you think, dear, we had better wait 
 until we get home?" was the soft, embar- 
 rassed reply. 
 
 When the laughter subsided the wine mer- 
 chant from Glasgow, a jovial character, was 
 inspired. 
 
 100 
 
EDINBURGH— MELROSE— ON THE CLYDE 
 
 "My friend Mrs. Ferguson was telling some 
 ladies of her acquaintance about the burglar 
 scare she had in her house in Glasgow the 
 other night. 
 
 " 'Yes,' she said, 'I heard a muckle noise and 
 got up, and there from under the bed I saw a 
 man's legs sticking out.' 
 
 " 'Mercy!' exclaimed a woman, 'the burglar's 
 legs?' 
 
 " 'No, my dear, my husband's legs. Ke had 
 heard the noise also.' " 
 
 "I got this one from the States," said the 
 woolen goods man, "it's rather good, you know. 
 
 "An Irishman upon arriving in America was 
 asked his name at Ellis Island. He gave it. 
 
 " 'Speak lGuder,' said the officer. 
 
 "He repeated it. 
 
 " 'Louder,' again said the officer; 'why man, 
 your voice is as soft as a woman's.' 
 
 " 'Well,' said the new arrival, 'that might 
 be. My mother was a woman.' " 
 
 The taciturn attorney, who was character- 
 istically brief uttered this: 
 
 "A prominent Scotchman in Edinburgh 
 called to condole with a lady on the death of 
 her husband, and concluded by saying, 'Did he 
 leave you much?' 
 
 " 'Nearly every night,' was the reply." 
 
 101 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 "I had a gambling experience once," said 
 the artist in a drawling tone, as he removed 
 his cigar to sip leisurely from a glass of 
 mingled materials in front of him. 
 
 Somehow a gambler's story always com- 
 mands attention; this one was no exception — 
 he was urged to proceed. 
 
 "When I quit college," he said, "I happened 
 to be staying at Paris with an English friend. 
 One night we were idling about the neighbor- 
 hood of the Palais Royal, doubtful to what 
 amusement we would betake ourselves. My 
 friend proposed a visit to Frascati's; but his 
 suggestion was not to my taste. I knew Fras- 
 cati's; I had lost and won plenty of five-franc 
 pieces there. 
 
 " Tor heaven's sake,' said I to my friend, 
 'let us go somewhere where we can see a little 
 blackguard, poverty-stricken gaming, with no 
 gingerbread glitter.' 
 
 " 'Very well,' he replied, 'we needn't go out 
 of the Palais Royal to find the sort of company 
 you want. Here's the place just before us; 
 as blackguard a place as you could possibly 
 wish to see.' 
 
 "In a minute we entered the house and 
 were admitted to the chief gambling-room. 
 102 
 
A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 44 We had come to see blackguards ; but these 
 men were worse. There is a comic side to all 
 blackguardism; here there was nothing but 
 tragedy, mute, weird tragedy. The quiet in 
 the room was horrible. Even the voice of the 
 croupier sounded as if it were strangely dulled 
 in the heavy atmosphere of the room. I soon 
 found it necessary to take refuge in excite- 
 ment from the depression of spirits which was 
 fast stealing on me. Unfortunately I sought 
 the nearest excitement by going to the table 
 and beginning to play. I won — won prodigi- 
 ously; won at such a rate that the regular 
 players at the table crowded round me, and, 
 staring at my stakes with hungry, supersti- 
 tious eyes, whispered to one another that the 
 English stranger was going to break the bank. 
 
 "The game was rouge-et-noir. A gambler, 
 in the strict sense of the word, I had never 
 been. I was heart-whole from the corroding 
 passion for play. I never resorted to it by 
 necessity, because I never knew what it was 
 to want money. I had hitherto frequented 
 gambling-tables — just as I frequented ball- 
 rooms and opera-houses — because they 
 amused me. 
 
 Now for the first time I felt what the pas- 
 sion for play really was. My success intoxi- 
 cated me. If I left everything to luck, and 
 staked without any care, I was sure to win. 
 At first some of the men present ventured 
 their money safely enough on my color; but 
 I increased my stakes to sums which they 
 103 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 dared not risk. One after another they quit 
 playing, and breathlessly looked on at my 
 game. v 
 
 "But one man present preserved his self- 
 possession; he was my friend. He came to my 
 side, whispered in English, begged me to leave 
 the place, satisfied with what I had already 
 gained. He repeated his warnings, and left 
 me only after I had rejected his advice in 
 terms which rendered it impossible for him to 
 address me again that night. 
 
 "Shortly after he had gone, a hoarse voice 
 behind me cried, 'Permit me, my dear sir — 
 permit me to restore to their proper place two 
 napoleons which )'ou have dropped. Wonder- 
 ful luck, sir! I pledge you my word of honor, 
 as an old soldier, in the course of my long ex- 
 perience in this sort of thing, I never saw such 
 luck as yours — never! Go on, sir — sacre mille 
 bombes! Go on boldly; break the bank!' 
 
 "I turned round and saw a tall man, dressed 
 in a frogged and braided surtout. 
 
 "If I had been in my senses I should have 
 considered him, personally, as being a sus- 
 picious specimen of an old soldier. He had 
 blood-shot eyes and a broken nose. In the 
 mad excitement, the reckless triumph of that 
 moment, I was ready to fraternize with any- 
 body who encouraged me. I clapped him on 
 the back and swore he was the most honest 
 fellow in the world. 
 
 " 'Go on!' cried my military friend, in ec- 
 stasy, 'go on, and win! Break the bank — mille 
 104 
 
A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 tonnerres! my gallant English comrade, break 
 the bank !' 
 
 "And I did go on — and soon the croupier 
 called, 'Gentlemen, the bank has discontinued 
 for tonight.' 
 
 "All the notes and gold in that bank now 
 lay in a heap under my hands ; the whole float- 
 ing capital of the gambling-house was waiting 
 for my pockets! 
 
 11 'Tie up the money in your handkerchief,' 
 said the old soldier; 'your winnings are too 
 heavy for any breeches-pockets. There ! that's 
 it — shovel them in ! Crede ! what luck ! Stop ! 
 another napoleon on the floor! Ah! sacre 
 petit polisson de Napoleon! have I found thee 
 at last? And now, what remains for me to do? 
 Simply this, to entreat my valued English 
 friend to drink a bottle of champagne with me, 
 and toast the goddess Fortune !' 
 
 " 'Excellent ex-brave ! Champagne by all 
 means! An English cheer for an old soldier!' 
 I cried. 
 
 '"Bravo! the Englishman! Another glass? 
 Ah bah! the bottle is empty! Never mind! 
 Vive le vin! I, the old soldier, order another 
 bottle.' 
 
 "'No, no, never, ancient grenadier! Your 
 bottle last time ; my bottle this ! Toast away ! 
 The French army! The great Napoleon! The 
 croupier! The honest croupier's wife and 
 daughters — if he has any! The ladies gener- 
 ally ! Everybody in the world !' 
 
 "By the time the second bottle of cham- 
 105 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 pagne was emptied, I felt as if I had been 
 drinking liquid fire. No excess in wine had 
 ever had this effect on me before. Was it the 
 result of a stimulant? 
 
 "'Ex-brave of the French army!' cried I, 
 in a mad state of exhilaration, 'I am on fire! 
 How are you? You have set me on fire! Do 
 you hear? Let us have a third bottle of cham- 
 pagne to put the fire out!' 
 
 "The veteran wagged his head, and ex- 
 claimed: 'Coffee!' and ran off. 
 
 "The word pronounced by the eccentric vet- 
 eran had a magical effect on the rest of the 
 company. With one accord they rose and de- 
 parted. 
 
 "A sudden change, too, had come over the 
 ex-brave. He assumed a solemn look; when 
 he spoke to me again. 
 
 " 'Listen, my dear sir,' said he, 'I have been 
 to the mistress of the house, to tell her to 
 make us some strong coffee. You must drink 
 it to get rid of your exaltation before you 
 think of going home. With that money it is 
 a sacred duty to yourself to have your wits 
 about you. You are known to be a winner to 
 an enormous extent. Now, this is what you 
 must do; send for a cabriolet when you feel 
 quite well again, draw up all the windows 
 when you get into it, and tell the driver to take 
 you home; then you and your money will be 
 safe. Tomorrow you will thank me for giving 
 you honest advice/ 
 
 "Just as the ex-brave ended his oration in 
 106 
 
A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 lachrymose tones, the coffee came in, ready 
 poured out in two cups. My attentive friend 
 handed me one of the cups with a bow. I was 
 parched with thirst, and drank it. Instantly I 
 was seized with a fit of giddiness, and felt 
 more intoxicated than ever. The room whirled 
 around furiously. I was deafened by a violent 
 singing in my ears ; a feeling of utter bewilder- 
 ment overcame me. I rose, holding onto the 
 table and stammered out that I felt weak; I 
 did not know how to get home. 
 
 " 'My friend/ answered the soldier, 'it would 
 be madness to go home in your state; you 
 would be sure to lose your money. I am going 
 to sleep here; do you sleep here too; sleep off 
 the effects of the wine, and go home with your 
 winnings tomorrow.' 
 
 "I had but two ideas left; one, that I must 
 never let go of my money; the other, that I 
 must lie down immediately, and fall asleep. 
 So I agreed to the proposal about the bed, and 
 took the offered arm of the old soldier, carry- 
 ing my money with my disengaged hand. Pre- 
 ceded by the croupier, we passed along some 
 passages and up a flight of stairs into the bed- 
 room which I was to occupy. The ex-brave 
 proposed that we should breakfast together, 
 and then, followed by the croupier, left me for 
 the night. 
 
 "I ran to the wash-stand ; drank some of the 
 
 water in my jug; poured the rest out, and 
 
 plunged my face into it; then sat down in a 
 
 chair to compose myself. I soon felt better. 
 
 107 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 The giddiness left me, and I began to feci like 
 a reasonable being. I had slept in worse 
 places than this on my travels; so I deter- 
 mined to lock and barricade my door, and take 
 my chance till morning. 
 
 "I secured myself against intrusion; pulled 
 off my upper clothing, put my light, a dim can- 
 dle, on the hearth, and got into bed, with the 
 money under my pillow. 
 
 "I soon felt not only that I could not go to 
 sleep, but that I could not even close my eyes. 
 I was wide awake and in a high fever. Every 
 one of my senses seemed to be preternaturally 
 sharpened. I tossed and tried every kind of 
 position, and sought out the cold corners of 
 the bed ; all to no purpose. 
 
 "What could I do? I had no book to read; 
 unless I found some method of diverting my 
 mind, I felt certain that I was in a condition 
 to imagine all sorts of horrors. 
 
 "I raised myself on rny elbow, looked about 
 the room, which was brightened by moonlight 
 through the window, to see if it contained any 
 pictures that I could clearly distinguish. 
 While my eyes wandered from wall to wall, a 
 remembrance of Le Maistre's delightful little 
 book, "Voyage autour de ma Chambre," oc- 
 curred to me. I resolved to imitate the French 
 author, ami find amusement enough to relieve 
 the tedium of my wakefulness, by making a 
 mental inventory of the furniture, and by fol- 
 lowing up to their sources the multitude of as- 
 108 
 
A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 sedations which even a chair may be made to 
 call forth. 
 
 "There was, first, the bed, a four-poster, of 
 all th.ngs in the world to meet with in Paris- 
 yes a clumsy British four-poster, with a top 
 lined with chintz, the fringed valance all 
 round the stifling curtains, which I remem- 
 bered having mechanically drawn back against 
 the posts, when I came into the room. Then 
 two small chairs, with my coat, waistcoat, and 
 trousers flung on them. Then a large chair 
 with my cravat and shirt-collar thrown over 
 the back. Then a dark old picture, which the 
 feeble candle dimly showed me. It was the 
 picture of a fellow in a high Spanish hat 
 crowned with a plume of towering feathers- 
 a swarthy, sinister ruffian, looking upward— it 
 might be at some tall gallows on which he was 
 going to be hanged. Surely, he had the ap- 
 pearance of deserving it. 
 
 "The picture put a constraint on me to look 
 upward too-at the top of the bed. It was a 
 gloomy and not an interesting object, and I 
 looked back at the picture. I counted the 
 feathers in the man's hat-they stood out in 
 rehef— three white, two green. I observed the 
 crov/n of his hat, v/hich was of a conical shape. 
 I wondered what he was looking up at It 
 couldn't be at the stars; such a desperado was 
 neither astrologer nor astronomer. I counted 
 the feathers again— three white, two green. 
 
 "While I still lingered over this intellectual 
 employment, my thoughts insensibly began to 
 109 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 wander. The moonlight shining into the room 
 reminded me cf a certain moonlight night in 
 England — the night after a picnic party. Of 
 all the wonderful faculties that help to tell us 
 we are immortal, which speaks the sublime 
 truth more eloquently than memory? Here 
 was I in a strange house of the most suspicious 
 character, in a situation of peril, which might 
 seem to make the cool exercise of my recollec- 
 tion almost out of the question; nevertheless, 
 remembering, quite involuntarily, places, peo- 
 ple, conversations, minute circumstances of 
 every kind which I had thought forgotten; 
 which I could not possibly have recalled at 
 will, even under the most favorable auspices. 
 And what cause had produced in a moment 
 the whole of this strange, complicated, mys- 
 terious effect? Nothing but some rays of 
 moonlight shining in my bedroom window. 
 
 "I was still thinking of the picnic, of the 
 sentimental young lady who would quote 
 Childe Harold because it was moonlight. I 
 was absorbed by these past scenes, when, in 
 an instant, the thread on which my memories 
 hung snapped asunder; my attention immedi- 
 ately came back to things more vividly than 
 ever, and I found myself looking hard at the 
 picture again. 
 
 "Looking for what? 
 
 "Good God! the man had pulled his hat 
 
 down on his brows! No! the hat itself was 
 
 gone! Where was the conical crown? Where 
 
 the feathers — three white, two green? Not 
 
 110 
 
A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 there! In place of the hat and feathers, what 
 dusky object was it that now hid his forehead, 
 his eyes? 
 
 "Was the bed moving? 
 
 "I turned on my back and looked up. Was 
 I mad? drunk? dreaming? giddy again? or was 
 the top of the bed really moving down, — sink- 
 ing slowly, silently, horribly, right down 
 through the whole of its length and breadth — 
 right down on me? 
 
 "My blood stood still. A deadly paralysing 
 coldness stole all over me as I turned my head 
 round and determined to test whether the bed- 
 top was really moving or not, by keeping my 
 eye on the man in the picture. 
 
 The next look in that direction was enough. 
 The black, frousy, outline of the valance was 
 within an inch of being parallel with his waist. 
 Steadily and slowly — very slowly — I saw the 
 figure, and the frame below the figure, vanish. 
 
 "I looked up, motionless, speechless, breath- 
 less, the moonlight brightened the room. 
 Down, down, without pausing and without 
 sounding, came the bedtop; still my terror 
 seemed to bind me faster to the mattress; 
 down it sank, till the dust from the lining of 
 the canopy came stealing into my nostrils. 
 
 "At that moment the instinct of self-preser- 
 vation startled me out of my trance, and I 
 moved. There was just room for me to roll 
 myself sideways off the bed. As I dropped to 
 the floor, the edge of the murderous canopy 
 touched me on the shoulder. 
 Ill 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 "Without stopping to draw my breath, I 
 rose on my knees to watch the bedtop. 
 
 "It descended; the whole canopy with its 
 fringe came down, so close that there was not 
 room now to squeeze my ringer between the 
 bedtop and the bed. I discovered that what 
 had appeared to me from beneath to be the 
 ordinary light canopy of a four-post bed was 
 a thick, broad mattress, the substance of which 
 was concealed by the valance and its fringe. 
 I looked and saw the four posts rising hide- 
 ously bare. In the middle of the bedtop was 
 a huge wooden screw operated through a hole 
 in the ceiling, just as ordinary presses are 
 worked on the substance selected for compres- 
 sion. The apparatus moved without making 
 the faintest noise. Amid an awful silence I 
 beheld before me — in the closing days of the 
 nineteenth century, and in the civilized capital 
 cf France — such a machine for secret murder 
 by suffocation as might have existed in the 
 reign of terror. Still, as I looked on it, I could 
 not move ; but I began to recover the power of 
 thinking; I discovered in all its horror the 
 murderous conspiracy framed against me. 
 
 "My cup of coffee had been too strongly 
 drugged; I had been saved from suffocation 
 by having taken an overdose of some narcotic. 
 How recklessly I had confided myself to the 
 two wretches who had led me into this room, 
 determined, for the sake of my winnings, to 
 kill me in my sleep. 
 
 "How many men, winners like me, had slept 
 112 
 
A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 in that bed, and had never been seen or heard 
 of more! I shuddered. 
 
 "But ere long I saw the murderous canopy 
 moving once more. After it had remained on 
 the bed about ten minutes, it began to move 
 up again. The villains who worked it from 
 above evidently believed that their purpose 
 was now accomplished. Slowly and silently, 
 as it had descended, it rose toward its former 
 place. Neither hole nor screw could be seen ; 
 the bed became in appearance an ordinary 
 four-poster again. 
 
 "Now, for the first time, I was able to rise 
 from my knees to consider how I should es- 
 cape. If I betrayed that the attempt to suffo- 
 cate me had failed, I was certain to be mur- 
 dered. Had I made any noise already? 
 
 "No! no footsteps in the passage outside; no 
 sound of a tread in the room above— absolute 
 silence everywhere. 
 
 "My bedroom was on the first floor, above 
 an entresol, and looked into the back street. I 
 raised my hand to open the window, knowing 
 that on that action hung, by the merest hair- 
 breadth, my chance of safety. They keep vig- 
 ilant watch in a house of murder. If any part 
 of the frame cracked, if the hinge creaked, I 
 was lost! It must have occupied me five min- 
 utes to open that window. I succeeded in do- 
 ing it silently, with all the dexterity of a 
 house-breaker; then I looked down into the 
 street. To leap the distance beneath me would 
 be almost certain destruction! Next, I looked 
 113 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 round at the sides of the house. Down the left 
 side ran the thick water-pipe; it passed close 
 by the outer edge of the window. When I 
 saw the pipe I knew I was saved. I breathed 
 freely for the first time since I had seen the 
 canopy of the bed moving down upon me ! 
 
 "I had always been accustomed by the prac- 
 tice of gymnastics, to keep up my school-boy 
 powers as an expert climber, and I knew that 
 my head, hands and feet would serve me in 
 any hazards of ascent or descent. I had one 
 leg over the window-sill, when I remembered 
 the money under my pillow. I was determined 
 that the miscreants of the gambling-house 
 should miss their plunder as well as their vic- 
 tim. So I went back to the bed and tied the 
 heavy handkerchief at my back by my cravat. 
 
 "I slid down into the street quietly, and im- 
 mediately set off at full speed to a branch pre- 
 fecture of police, which I knew was situated 
 in the neighborhood. When I began my story 
 breathlessly in very bad French, the sub-pre- 
 fect suspected me of being a drunken English- 
 man who had robbed someone; but he altered 
 his opinion as I went on; before I had any- 
 thing like concluded, he put on his hat, sup- 
 plied me with another, for I was bareheaded, 
 ordered a file of soldiers, desired his expert fol- 
 lowers to get ready all sorts of tools for break- 
 ing open doors, and took my arm, in the most 
 friendly and familiar manner possible, to lead 
 me with him out of the house. 
 
 "Away we went through the streets, the 
 114 
 
A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 sub-prefect cross-examining and congratulating 
 me in the same breath, as we marched at the 
 head of our posse. Sentinels were placed at 
 the back and front of the house; tremendous 
 knocks were directed against the door; a light 
 appeared at a window; I was told to conceal 
 myself behind the police; then came more 
 knocks, and a cry of 'Open in the name of the 
 law !' At that terrible summons bolts gave way, 
 and the moment after the sub-prefect was in 
 the passage, confronting a waiter half dressed 
 and ghastly pale. This was the short dialogue 
 which immediately took place: 
 
 " 'We want to see the Englishman who is 
 sleeping in this house/ 
 
 " 'He went away hours ago.' 
 
 " 'He did no such thing. His friend went 
 away ; he remained. Show us to his bedroom !' 
 
 " 'I swear to you, Monsieur le Sous-prefet, 
 he is not here ! he — ' 
 
 " 'I swear to you, Monsieur le Garcon, he is. 
 He slept here; he didn't find your bed com- 
 fortable ; he came to us to complain of it ; here 
 he is among my men ; and here am I ready to 
 look for a flea or two in his bedstead.' Calling 
 to one of the subordinates and pointing to the 
 waiter, he said: 'collar that man, and tie his 
 hands behind him. Now then, let us walk up- 
 stairs.' 
 
 "Every man and woman in the house was 
 secured — the old soldier first. Then I identi- 
 fied the bed in which I had slept, and then we 
 went into the room above. 
 115 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 "The sub-prefect stamped twice on the floor 
 called for a candle, looked attentively at the 
 spot he had stamped on, and ordered the floor- 
 ing there to be taken up. Lights were pro- 
 duced, and we saw a deep raftered cavity be- 
 tween the floor cf this room and the ceiling of 
 the room beneath. Through this cavity there 
 ran perpendicularly a sort of case of iron, 
 thickly greased; and inside the case appeared 
 the screw, which communicated with the bed- 
 top below. Extra lengths of screw, freshly 
 oiled; levers covered with felt; all the com- 
 plete upper works of a heavy press — con- 
 structed with infernal ingenuity so as to join 
 the fixtures below, and when taken to pieces 
 again to go into the smallest possible compass 
 — were next discovered and pulled out on the 
 floor. The sub-prefect succeeded in putting 
 the machinery together, and, leaving his men 
 to work it, descended with me to the bedroom. 
 The smothering canopy was then lowered. 
 
 ""We left the house in the sole possession of 
 two police agents, every one of the inmates 
 being removed to prison. The subprefect, 
 after taking down my statement in his office, 
 returned with me to my hotel to get my pass- 
 port. 
 
 " 'Do you think,' I asked as I gave it to him, 
 'that any men have really been murdered in 
 that bed?' 
 
 " 'I have seen dozens of drowned men laid 
 out at the morgue,' answered the subprefect, 
 'in whose pocketbooks were found letters stat- 
 116 
 
A GAMBLING ARTIST'S TALE 
 
 ing that they had committed suicide because 
 they had lost everything at the gaming-table. 
 Do I know how many of those men entered 
 the same gambling-house that you did? won 
 as you won? took that bed and slept in it? 
 v/ere smothered in it? and were thrown into 
 the river, with a letter of explanation written 
 by the murderers and placed in their pockets? 
 No man can say how many have suffered the 
 fate from which you escaped. The people of 
 the gambling-house kept their bedstead ma- 
 chinery a secret, even from the police! The 
 dead kept the rest of the secret for them. 
 Good-night, or rather good-morning.' 
 
 "The rest of my story is soon told. I was 
 examined; the gambling-house was strictly 
 searched; the prisoners were separately inter- 
 rogated, and two of the less guilty among 
 them made a confession. The old soldier was 
 master of the gambling-house; he had been 
 guilty of all sorts of villainies; the croupier, 
 another accomplice, and the woman who had 
 made my cup of coffee were all in the secret 
 of the bedstead. The old soldier and his two 
 head myrmidons went to prison, practically 
 for life, the woman who had drugged my cof- 
 fee was imprisoned for I forget how many 
 years ; the regular attendants at the gambling- 
 house were considered suspicious, and placed 
 under surveillance. I became for one whole 
 week the lion in Parisian society. My adven- 
 ture was dramatized, but never saw theatrical 
 daylight ; for the censorship forbade the intro- 
 117 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 duction on the stage of a correct copy of the 
 gambling-house bedstead. 
 
 "The sight of a green cloth, with packs of 
 cards and heaps of money on it, will hence- 
 forth be associated in my mind with the sight 
 of a bed-canopy descending to suffocate me in 
 the silence of the night." 
 
 We all voted the artist's story to be a real 
 thriller; after congratulations were extended 
 to him on his miraculous escape, the session 
 adjourned. 
 
 118 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 NORTH OF IRELAND— "MORE YANKEES!" 
 
 It was late when the passengers retired. 
 Next morning we were moored to the quay. 
 The noise of freight hustling aroused all on 
 board, and everybody exerted himself to go 
 ashore and see Belfast. 
 
 Here was our first view of Ireland's famous 
 jaunting car. 
 
 For a new experience, a jarvey was hailed; 
 in a flash we v/ere bouncing delightfully over 
 the cobble stones and tram tracks of the city, 
 with the Grand Central Hotel for our destina- 
 tion. 
 
 There was a shock ahead ! Though born in 
 Boston in the shadow of Bunker Hill monu- 
 ment, before the aristocratic Back Bay had ex- 
 istence, I had always taken pride in the strain 
 of good old Irish blood in my veins; the fact 
 is, my dear little mother was born within a 
 few miles of Belfast — at Armagh. 
 
 Up we dashed to the portal of the tavern. 
 The imposing hall-porter was on hand to lift 
 us off and take care of the hand baggage. As 
 I stepped forward in the direction of the desk 
 to register, I had to pass what they call over 
 there the table d'hote room — a dining room of 
 vast dimensions. 
 
 It was breakfast time; on the threshold 
 119 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 stood his majesty, the head waiter; he was 
 gossiping with a departing guest. 
 
 I had taken but one pace beyond the door- 
 way in which the head waiter stood, when I 
 heard this astonishing remark: 
 
 "More Yankees !" 
 
 Enough! I concluded to cut my stay in 
 that well built, prosaic city of Ulster, which 
 is famed far more for its practical industries 
 than for romance or poetry. 
 
 Leaving Belfast, it was our intention to 
 move on to Dublin, a city more typically Irish 
 than the one we were quitting. As ancient 
 Armagh, for sentimental reasons, had to be 
 taken in, a friend advised us to go by train as 
 far as Portadown, and from there travel on a 
 low back car to our destination, a distance of 
 ten miles. 
 
 Despite lack of trees to shade the roadway, 
 beautiful foliage could be seen a short distance 
 off; the little farms with their orchards and 
 comfortable buildings were as trim as could 
 be desired; they were mainly one-story cot- 
 tages with long thatched roofs and shining 
 windows. Perhaps owing to the intense heat, 
 — it was high noon when we started from Port- 
 adown, — there were few pedestrians encoun- 
 tered on the way. 
 
 Our jarvey spoke with something akin to a 
 
 Scotch twang; his answers to questions were 
 
 direct, simple and to the point. He made no 
 
 attempt at flattery, neither did he crack a joke, 
 
 120 
 
NORTH OF IRELAND— "MORE YANKEES!" 
 
 or relieve the seriousness of his countenance 
 with the mildest grin. 
 
 In the broiling sun, the car rolled up to the 
 Beardsford Arms; the most pretentious inn at 
 Armagh ; we were glad to get within the shade 
 of the darkened reception room of this house. 
 
 It was the hour for luncheon; table d'hote 
 would not be served for several hours to come. 
 
 The diminutive hostelry was erected on the 
 building line, close to the main street, which 
 brought passers-by very near to the window at 
 which we sat. 
 
 The Junior burst out laughing when a little 
 burro, or Irish ass, introduced himself by pro- 
 jecting his head through the low open window, 
 between the half shut blinds and gave his pe- 
 culiar vocal salutation. 
 
 Just then the maid appeared and said if we'd 
 go to the dining room, up stairs, we'd be 
 served. 
 
 The table linen and "silver" were correct 
 enough ; but there was little to indicate lunch- 
 eon for anybody. 
 
 Happening to glance out into the street, I 
 beheld the one waiter of the establishment 
 coming across from the delicatessen shop over 
 the way, with his arms full of edibles. 
 
 Presently, cool and smooth as an icicle, the 
 tall attendant, in waiter's full dress, entered to 
 say innocently that a la carte, they had fried 
 chicken, summer sausage, pickles, tea, or "any- 
 thing you'd like to drink." 
 121 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 I, of course, knew he had chicken for hadn't 
 I called Madam's attention to the leg of the 
 fowl sticking out of the paper package as he 
 came from the source of supply, beyond the 
 gutter? 
 
 Chicken was our principal article of diet, to 
 be sure ; but weren't we hungry after our drive? 
 
 When the waiter retired with our order, the 
 Junior struck his funny bone and shouted. 
 
 "Pop, why does a chicken cross the street?" 
 
 "Why?" I responded, as a willing victim. 
 
 "To get on the other side," said the Junior. 
 
 "Chestnuts," I said, "hereafter, ask why does 
 a waiter cross the street?" 
 
 "Well, why, pop? I'll bite!" urged the 
 youngster. 
 
 "Tut, boy; don't you know? To get the 
 chicken, of course." 
 
 So we made the most of it, and went out for 
 a stroll about town, while the serious jarvey 
 fed himself and his weary beast. 
 
 We were pleased with our view of the city 
 in the vicinity of the hotel, and when I thought 
 it time to remount the car and drive in the di- 
 rection of the magnificent new cathedral on 
 top of the hill, I found my reticent jarvey in 
 conversation with a tall, cadaverous citizen,— 
 a native of Armagh. 
 
 It was a humorous sight, on that blistering 
 day, to see these two so-called Scotch Irishmen 
 dickering in the stable yard of the Beardsford 
 Arms for the sale of the horse which had 
 brought us so far. 
 
 122 
 
NORTH OF IRELAND— "MORE YANKEES!" 
 
 Apparently the horse jockeys did not agree ; 
 when my patience was nearly exhausted, my 
 man took his seat behind the faithful nag, 
 and drove off. 
 
 On the way we were passing the postoffice, 
 when our driver was hailed by the sombre, un- 
 dertaker-looking horse dealer, who seemed to 
 have abandoned the deal for this particular ani- 
 mal only a few moments before, but who now 
 showed himself alive to the trade. 
 
 Our jarvey stopped ; a long subdued talk fol- 
 lowed on my time, with the result that a price 
 was agreed upon. We were saved, however, 
 by the stipulation in the contract that delivery 
 would be made at Portadown on the morrow. 
 
 Aside from the sale of provender to the hotel 
 by the little shop across the way, and the dis- 
 posal of postal cards in shops near the post- 
 office, this was the only real business transacted 
 within our view that day. 
 
 But it must be remembered the historic city 
 of Armagh was once the metropolis of Ireland. 
 It is in the "Book of Armagh" that the greatest 
 information concerning St. Patrick is to be 
 found. It may truthfully be said that there is 
 no city so rich in historical associations, yet 
 has so little to show for it — so little to tell to- 
 day. Like many other places in Ireland, it 
 passed through wars and sieges; it was plun- 
 dered and almost destroyed. Some term 
 Armagh the Jerusalem of the Emerald Isle, 
 for it is a matter of marvel that a stone has 
 been permitted to rest upon a stone. 
 123 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 The town of Armagh is surrounded by 
 scenes of transcendent historic and ecclesiasti- 
 cal interest. On a lovely hillside is a holy 
 spring where St. Patrick baptized his first con- 
 verts. A little farther away is a large artificial 
 mound, about eleven acres in extent, covered 
 with aged hawthorn trees, where stood the 
 royal palace of Ulster, and it was occupied for 
 a century after the arrival of St. Patrick. 
 Within the grounds of the Protestant arch- 
 bishop are the remains of a Franciscan mon- 
 astery and a well beside which St. Bridget 
 lived for several years. Eastward of the town, 
 upon the hills, was located the ancient Catholic 
 University of Armagh founded by St. Patrick 
 in the year 455, where as many as seven thou- 
 sand students gathered for instruction in litera- 
 ture, the arts and theology. 
 
 The name of the city itself is composed of 
 hard sounds; a thought or two is required by 
 one unfamiliar with it before an attempt to 
 spell it is made. 
 
 On the way back to town, I asked the driver 
 how to spell the name of the place we had just 
 left. 
 
 "Oh, that's easy, sir," he said. 
 
 ''How do you spell it?" I repeated. 
 
 "A-ar-m-ag-ha" he answered briskly. 
 
 124 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 DUBLIN— WITTY STORIES 
 
 The horse show was on in all its glory when 
 we reached Dublin, the capital of Ireland. 
 
 This exhibition held in August is the great- 
 est event in Ireland; it draws from the en- 
 tire kingdom, as well as from the Continent, 
 thousands of horse breeders and owners, and 
 fashionable people. It is admitted to be the 
 most brilliant and important horse show in the 
 world. 
 
 When we first beheld the place, we did not 
 give unqualified endorsement to Thackeray's 
 hyperbolical expression: "A handsomer town 
 it is impossible to see on a summer's day" ; still 
 we were well impressed. The Liffey, said to 
 be the filthiest river on the island, redolent of 
 stale porter, first commanded our involuntary 
 attention, while we stood outside the station, 
 ignoring the importunate solicitations of the 
 car men gathered around. 
 
 We had met the silent jarvey in the north of 
 Ireland; now we were about to encounter an- 
 other type — the kind one has read about all his 
 life. Anent the jaunting car itself, it may be 
 said, it is a cross between a side saddle and a 
 sulky ; when that has been said, the conveyance 
 has been nicely described. 
 125 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 In respect to the origin of the "low back 
 car," we found the jarvey had a good word to 
 say for its inventor. As one of the many lo- 
 quacious ones said : 
 
 "Sure, ain't it the only gig which permits 
 passengers to see both ways at once !" 
 
 As to the man Bianconi, who designed it, a 
 word may not be amiss. Naturally, from the 
 name, imagination would paint him an Italian. 
 Not so; like many things in the Emerald Isle, 
 the contrary is the truth. He was an Irishman 
 of the first water; a close, fast friend of the 
 celebrated Daniel O'Connell, for whom, it is 
 said, he showed his affection in many substan- 
 tial ways. 
 
 The jaunting cars of Dublin are all that their 
 name implies; nowhere did we find vehicles 
 with so much "jaunt" as there. 
 
 It seemed no time at all before we were in 
 front of the Shelbourne Hotel, opposite Ste- 
 phan's Green, pleased to dismount. 
 
 The hotel was brilliantly illuminated. As 
 we approached the entrance, in crossing the 
 sidewalk, we had to find cur way through a 
 dense throng of shabbily dressed and poorly 
 nourished denizens, who crowded around the 
 hotel windows and doorway, to look upon the 
 fascinating assemblage within. 
 
 The scene was a gay one to be sure. The 
 
 rotunda was packed with ladies and gentlemen 
 
 in faultless evening attire; the main stairway, 
 
 leading to the parlor floor, was a vision of 
 
 126 
 
DUBLIN— WITTY STORIES 
 
 gorgeousness, refinement and wealth. Every 
 tread was crowded, all the way across, with 
 animated guests whose laughter and talk sug- 
 gested the freedom and happiness of friends at 
 home receptions, when chairs became scarce 
 and the carpeted flight had to be invoked to 
 provide resting places for all. 
 
 The band played lively airs ; but which of us 
 can say whose pleasure was the greater, the 
 impoverished crowd without, which could not 
 come in ; or the pampered, bejeweled, surfeited 
 pleasure seekers, whose every wish seemed to 
 be gratified, and who had no occasion to go 
 out to consider the misery of the abject poor? 
 
 Dublin is divided into two equal parts by 
 the Liffey. Granite quays extend three miles 
 along both sides of the river which is spanned 
 by nine substantial bridges. One of the finest 
 harbors in the United Kingdom we found at 
 the mouth of the Liffey — Dublin Bay. 
 
 Next day in our drive about town — we were 
 becoming fond of the side car — we passed 
 through O'Connell Street, years before re- 
 nowned as Sackville, where the monument to 
 Nelson, hero of Trafalgar, loomed up. 
 
 Farther on we encountered the colossal fig- 
 ure of Daniel O'Connell, the liberator. 
 
 Old St. Patrick's cathedral, lofty and cruci- 
 form, in a poor district of the city, interested 
 us. Its history being obscure, it is supposed to 
 have been built in 1190 on the site of an ancient 
 church founded in 448, the time of the patron 
 127 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 saint. England confiscated it in 1546, and for 
 a period of eighteen years used it as a law 
 court. During Oliver Cromwell's invasion, it 
 became a stable. 
 
 It was for Sir Benjamin Guinness, knighted 
 because of the alleged excellent quality of his 
 brew, to spend, in 1865, £700,000 in restoring 
 the structure. To give the finishing touch, he 
 erected a bronze statue of himself at the portal 
 of the edifice. 
 
 Tablets, commemorating the dead, line the 
 interior of the cathedral. Among the memori- 
 als is one for Dean Swift, who passed away in 
 1745. The Dean, notwithstanding his ques- 
 tionable morals, occupied the old pulpit which 
 still stands near the entrance. 
 
 If ever there was a wit it was the same Dean 
 Swift. About himself, he tells a good story. 
 He was visiting one of the rural missions 
 where his constituents were few. On the oc- 
 casion referred to, the sexton of the missionary 
 church was the sole attendant. Dean Swift ad- 
 dressed his congregation as "Dearly beloved 
 Roger." 
 
 After a while the sexton became sleepy, and 
 approaching the Dean, who was still talking, 
 handed him the key and asked him to lock the 
 door of the meeting house when he finished his 
 remarks on the gospel. 
 
 A two-million-dollar custom house stands on 
 the north bank of the river. 
 
 Porter and distilled liquors, which bring 
 128 
 
DUBLIN— WITTY STORIES 
 
 mirth and misery to many a hearth, are im- 
 portant items of Dublin's trade. 
 
 One of the landmarks is the Four Courts 
 Building. It was completed in 1800 at the cost 
 of one million dollars. While looking the place 
 over, one of the many barristers present, while 
 in conversation with us, related a story of a 
 jarvey who drove his tourist to the back part 
 of the building first. The traveler expressed 
 his disappointment at the plainness of the Four 
 Courts, which he had been given to believe 
 was so grand. 
 
 "Sure, your honor," said the jarvey, "this 
 is the rear of it ; the front's behind." 
 
 On our return to the Shelbourne, in review- 
 ing the experiences of the day, we duly re- 
 solved that dear old Dublin was a good place 
 to visit, and if the roads leading to it were pro- 
 verbially rocky, they were smooth enough 
 after one arrived. 
 
 In the comfortable lounge on the eve of our 
 departure for the beautiful Lakes of Killarney, 
 I met two Americans ; one an automobile sales- 
 man from Massachusetts; the other a tourist 
 from New York. Stories were told as we 
 smoked and sipped coffee. I recall a few of 
 the skits submitted during the session. The 
 gentleman from Boston spun a typical Yankee 
 yarn v/ith excellent dialect ; he quoted a native 
 of a New England farming district: 
 
 "Reckon that air scales of yourn is an am- 
 bush scales, ain't it?" said the countryman to 
 
 lap 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 his grocer, as he took the sugar and handed 
 over the money. 
 
 "Ambush scales, what do you mean?" re- 
 plied the merchant; "who's Ambush?" 
 
 "Ambush — why, y'know — reg'lar Ambush — 
 y'understand what 'Ambush' means, don't 
 ye?" 
 
 "Well, I should hope so ; Ambush means hid 
 — means somethin' concealed — means — wait, 
 here's the dictionary; I'll just read to yer ex- 
 actly what it means, so's't you needn't never 
 use it wrong after this — here 'tis: A-am-am- 
 bush — to lie in wait for — " 
 
 "Yes, that's it, Squire ; don't go no further — 
 to lie in weight for two cents." 
 
 "May I tell one about my little daughter?" 
 asked the Gothamite; and, proud-father like, 
 without awaiting permission, sailed in: 
 
 "Frances," said my wife, who was entertain- 
 ing visitors, "you came downstairs so noisily 
 that you could be heard all over the house. 
 Nov/, go back and come downstairs properly." 
 
 Frances retired, and in a few moments re- 
 entered the parlor. 
 
 "Did you hear me come down that time, 
 mamma?" 
 
 "No, my dear ; that time you came down like 
 a lady." 
 
 "Yes, mamma," explained the child. "I slid 
 down the bannisters all the way." 
 
 Conversation became quite general in the 
 room after the recital of the first story, and an 
 130 
 
 \ 
 
DUBLIN— WITTY STORIES 
 
 Irishman of fine physique and cultured bear- 
 ing, laid down his paper and pipe with a smile. 
 
 "That was a rather good one about the Eng- 
 lishman and the Highlander, which I've re- 
 cently heard," said he. 
 
 "Which one?" I inquired. 
 \ "Oh, a Londoner and a Scotchman happened 
 to be lunching together ; the latter, true to his 
 natural habit, kept turning round to see that 
 his hat and coat remained on the peg where he 
 had left them. 
 
 " 'You are a suspicious chap/ said his friend 
 from London at last : 'Who do you think is go- 
 ing to walk in and steal our coats?' 
 
 " 'Can't say,' replied the Scotchman; 'but I'll 
 take good care that nobody gets mine ! Your's 
 went ten minutes ago.' " 
 
 Then chimed in the traveler from the Hub 
 of the Universe : 
 
 " 'How much is seven times seven?' a boy 
 was overheard saying to his pet rabbit," 
 
 "There was no response. 
 
 " 'How much is four times four?' 
 
 "Still no response. 
 
 " 'Now, here's an easy one : How much is 
 two times two?' 
 
 "Still the rabbit refused to answer. 
 
 " 'Well,' snapped the boy, 'I knew that 
 father was fibbing when he said rabbits were 
 the greatest multipliers on earth.' " 
 
 The quiet, precise Scotchman, sitting some 
 131 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 distance from the centre, could remain silent 
 no longer. 
 
 "Ye'll have yer fling at the Scotch," said he 
 pleasantly; "but here's one story that will out- 
 do some ithers we've heard. A minister in 
 Glasgow, not long ago, on meeting a little boy 
 asked him if he had got his porridge. 
 
 " 'Ay,' promptly replied the urchin. 
 
 " 'And did you ask a blessing before you 
 took it?' 
 
 '"No, me!' 
 
 " 'What, not ask a blessing ! Were you not 
 afraid the porridge would choke you?' 
 
 " 'Deed no; mon, it was so thin that it cudna 
 choke anybody.' " 
 
 Everybody laughed when the Scotchman, 
 who had come in so unexpectedly, finished, 
 and he was urged to tell another. 
 
 "Very well," said he, "if you mist; here 
 goes : An old wife asked of her neighbor, who 
 had just returned from a visit to the Fair: 
 'What news frae Perth, Saunders?' 
 
 " 'Nae news, Elspit; but the bodies of Perth 
 are a' unco glad that Bailie Wright is on to be 
 Provost.' 
 
 "'What is he, this Bailie Wright, that 
 they're a' sae well pleased wi'?' 
 
 " 'Oh, he's a brewer and a great friend of 
 the people/ 
 
 " 'Ay !' rejoined Elspit, 'a brewer, and a 
 friend of the people too. Our Jamie Mackie 
 that's dead near thirty years syne, was a 
 132 
 
DUBLIN— WITTY STORIES 
 
 brewer and one of the friends of the people ; if 
 Provost Wright be as gude to the folks o' 
 Perth as Jamie Mackie was to the folk o' Cou- 
 par Angus, they'll hae nae reason to rue their 
 choice.' 
 
 " 'What friendly thing did Jamie Mackie do 
 for the folk o' Coupar, Elspit?' 
 
 " 'Peace be wi' him, honest man ; he selt his 
 ale for a penny, when ither folk took three 
 bawbees for't.' " 
 
 Somebody looked at the Boston salesman, 
 and he felt called upon to respond with this : 
 
 "An affluent business man was recovering 
 from an attack of typhoid. His nurse told him 
 he might have something to eat. Mental pic- 
 tures of a modest repast — an egg, some toast 
 and maybe some custard — occupied the pa- 
 tient's mind, only to be rudely dispelled, as the 
 nurse appeared with a spoonful of tapioca pud- 
 ding. 
 
 " 'And the doctor emphasizes that everything 
 you do must be in the same proportion,' she 
 said. 
 
 "Shortly a frantic ringing of the bell again 
 brought the nurse to the room. 
 
 " 'Nurse,' gasped the man, 'fetch me a post- 
 age stamp. I want to do some reading a la 
 the doctor's diet !' " 
 
 Thus endeth the chapter. 
 
 133 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 KILLARNEY'S LAKES— A SPURNED TIP 
 
 The clouds were lowering and rain threat- 
 ened through the humid atmosphere as we 
 jaunted from the Shelbourne to the railway 
 station that Monday morning, with our minds 
 bent on Killarney and its famous lakes. It was 
 not a gay scene which presented itself as we 
 worked our way through the crowd towards 
 the train which was to carry us forward. 
 
 Here and there were groups of soldiers in 
 bright red coats and nondescript trousers, 
 belts, cross belts and shimmering buckles. But 
 why these weeping, poverty stricken women 
 close by? Who were the illy clad men who 
 struggled in the women's arms? Merely a 
 regular daily tragedy. The ununiformed boys 
 — they were nothing more — were raw recruits 
 v/ho had taken the shilling and were about to 
 go from their friends and companions in pov- 
 erty, induced by the English government, to 
 fight in some distant colony. 
 
 The lamentations of the women were heart 
 rending; but the gaily uniformed guards 
 looked on unaffected. 
 
 In England and Scotland, I never had trou- 
 ble, through the ever ready medium of a shil- 
 ling, or a six-pence, to get an uncrowded com- 
 134 
 
KILLARNEY'S LAKES— A SPURNED TIP 
 partment. I presumed the same talisman 
 would be potential on this occasion. As no 
 trains were operated on Sunday, the volume of 
 travel was the greater on Monday. To my re- 
 gret this train was crowded beyond any experi- 
 ence of mine. 
 
 I looked about for a guard, but none was in 
 sight; the only official I could see was a giant 
 in a blue uniform, bespangled with gold lace. 
 
 "He's worth a crown, sure," thought I, siz- 
 ing him up. 
 
 "Who's that functionary?" I whispered to a 
 traveler at my elbow. 
 
 "Oh, don't you know?" came the reply. 
 "That's the station mawster." 
 
 I approached the formidable official. 
 
 "My wife and boy are with me, and we can't 
 push into any of these compartments and keep 
 together; can you find us no accommoda- 
 tions?" I asked. 
 
 I had the biggest silver cart wheel known to 
 England's currency in my hand ; insinuatingly 
 I pushed it his v/ay. 
 
 Imagine my surprise, he wouldn't see it at 
 first ; but when I intruded the coin so conspicu- 
 ously that he had to take notice, he flushed a 
 little and said : 
 
 "Sir, you're an American, are you not?" 
 
 "That's right," I responded. 
 
 "Well, I think too much of ycu and the 
 grand country from which you come, to accept 
 a price ; but the best at my command is yours ; 
 come with me." 
 
 135 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 We followed him past all the densely loaded 
 cars to the so-called Royal coach, nicely up- 
 holstered in leather, v/hich is generally unoc- 
 cupied. Opening the door himself, he bade us 
 enter with the smiling valedictory that he 
 trusted we'd enjoy the Lakes of Killarney. 
 
 When alone, I glanced at Madam; she 
 looked back at me with an amazed smile. 
 
 It was the first time in our travels anywhere 
 that a tip had been refused — and so gracefully. 
 
 The day grew brighter. On arrival at Kil- 
 larney we were driven to the hotel recom- 
 mended in Dublin as being the very best. 
 
 We found it inviting, scrupulously clean and 
 strictly Irish. Why? The piopnetor was a 
 thoroughbred German and all the waiters and 
 other attendants Austrians — save the hall por- 
 ter who was Irish through and through. 
 
 At dinner we tried the famous Kerry double 
 thick mutton chops and mint sauce. 
 
 They were par excellent and quite up to 
 their reputation. 
 
 In the evening there were music and dancing 
 in the routunda, and everybody was urged to 
 join by the smiling housekeeper, a lady whose 
 Blarney would inspire the heaviest feet to ac- 
 tivity. 
 
 Arrangements were made with the hall 
 porter for a private side car to start early next 
 morning for the Gap of Dunloe. 
 
 All were up betimes and started on schedule. 
 The vehicle was heavier than those to which 
 136 
 
KILLARNEY'S LAKES— A SPURNED TIP 
 
 we were accustomed in other parts of the is- 
 land — it had the shape, but lacked the spright- 
 liness. 
 
 As we moved along by Lord Kenmare's 
 beautiful estate, I commented to Madam on 
 the poor time we were making. 
 
 To start something I shouted: 
 
 "Jarvey! Can't you spur that animal?" 
 
 "Oh, yes sorr!" 
 
 Five minutes elapsed with no result. 
 
 "I say, jarvey, can't you give your steed 
 some pepper? we're not covering the ground 
 fast enough." 
 
 At this, the driver turned squarely around, 
 and looked me in the eye, remarking: 
 
 "Sorr, don't you know that horse would re- 
 mind you of an Irish game cock." 
 
 "Why; how so?" I asked. 
 
 "Sure, sorr, he'd ruther die than run." 
 
 How could we help laughing at this spon- 
 taneous burst of native wit. 
 
 To encourage more of it, I asked: 
 
 "How far is it up to Kate Kearney's Cot- 
 tage?" 
 
 "About three miles, sorr." 
 
 "English miles or Irish miles?" 
 
 "Oh, in Ireland, sorr, it's Irish miles." 
 
 "What's an Irish mile?" 
 
 "Sure, sorr, an Irish mile is a mile and a bit; 
 and the bit's as big as a mile." 
 
 As a bank of clouds was overhanging the 
 137 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 sky, I inquired if we would have a good day 
 for seeing the Gap? 
 
 "No doubt," he responded readily, "it'll be 
 a very foine day, sorr; barring the rain." 
 
 As we ascended, Madam referred to the jar- 
 vey's answer about the Irish miles, and aptly 
 quoted in my ear : 
 
 "The miles in this country much longer be, 
 But that's the saving of time you see, 
 For two of our miles are equal to three 
 Which shortens the road in a great degree." 
 
 At la§t we arrived at Kate Kearney's Cot- 
 tage, the identical place where the original 
 Kate lived, when Lady Moran rhymed: 
 
 "Oh, did ye never hear of Kate Kearney? 
 She lives by the Lakes of Killarney." 
 
 We were told at the hotel that ponies had 
 been reserved for us at the cottage by telegraph 
 the night before, and all would be in readiness 
 on our arrival. 
 
 The witty jarvey intimated on the way up 
 that he was sitting on our telegram, and if we 
 wanted better terms for the ponies he could 
 negotiate in cur behalf. 
 
 "Oh, no," I said, "everything is arranged; 
 we'll not make new terms." 
 
 But sure enough, when we drove up to the 
 cabin door, I saw him pull out a tight envelope 
 from under his wool sack and hand it to the 
 head of the establishment. 
 
 The packet was no sooner opened than the 
 three ponies were forthcoming. 
 138 
 
KILLARNEY'S LAKES— A SPURNED TIP 
 
 The Madam, a trained equestrienne, mount- 
 ed with an easy grace ; the supple boy had no 
 trouble in finding his place on the animal's 
 back; but when it came to the turn of pater 
 familias, there was a snicker muffled by the 
 hands of the idle inhabitants standing round. 
 This was unpardonable, because after only a 
 few false motions, I was in the saddle; but 
 somehow I didn't fit very well; then again, 
 sympathy for the animal prompted me to 
 stand in the stirrups to relieve the burden on 
 his back. 
 
 Even at that, if I bounced a little, it must be 
 remembered I had never been a trooper in the 
 cavalry. 
 
 Ah, but it's here, when the tourist has 
 mounted his pony, to start through the Gap, 
 that Kate's daughters and all her many grand- 
 daughters invite him to take a swig of "po- 
 teen," "a sup of goat's milk," "a little moun- 
 tain dew," all from the same black bottle. 
 
 My indifference to their wares brought new 
 suggestions. 
 
 "Ah, sorr; what a fine lady she is, sorr. 
 Born to the saddle, sorr ; and the b'y, God bless 
 the lad, how well he rides." 
 
 They were too shrewd to comment on my 
 excellent horsemanship, but thought to flatter 
 me by encomiums showered on my compan- 
 ions. 
 
 A good road winds up the valley, and 
 crosses the stream by bridges in two places. 
 139 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 Before going over these bridges we met a blind 
 fiddler and his wife, who sought a penny for 
 enlivening the desolate and weird surround- 
 ings. 
 
 Ole Bull, the renowned violinist, when trav- 
 eling through Ireland, asked one of the road- 
 side musicians: 
 
 "Do you play by note?" 
 
 "Sorra a note, sorr." 
 
 "Do you play by ear?" 
 
 "Never an ear, yer honor." 
 
 "How do you play, then?" 
 
 "By main stren'th, sorr." 
 
 The Gap is a strangely wild gorge, about 
 four miles long between the Purple Mountain 
 and the Magillicuddy Reefs. 
 
 The narrowness of the defile, combined with 
 the rugged cliffs, a thousand feet high on 
 either side, gives it a sombre, awe-inspiring ap- 
 pearance. The pike is the spot where the road 
 runs between two bowlders, like a gateway. 
 
 In one of these pools St. Patrick is said to 
 have banished the last serpent. One legend 
 avers that the serpent is locked in an iron 
 chest and sunk at the bottom. 
 
 The traveler does not ascend very far before 
 he is met by a swarm of trumpeters who ask 
 if he wishes the echoes awakened. 
 
 If no special interest is manifested, in dis- 
 pair they will assure him: 
 
 "The echo, sorr, is the very finest scenery 
 in the Gap of Dunloe." 
 140 
 
KILLARNEY'S LAKES—A SPURNED TIP 
 
 Presently cannon after cannon and bugle 
 after bugle echo in a truly wonderful manner ; 
 as a grand finale, the heroes clamor to be paid 
 for the waste of wind and powder. 
 
 Then comes a swarm of poor barefooted 
 boys and girls, who run along the side of the 
 ponies, to entreat, at the top of their voices : 
 
 "Somethin' to buy a book; somethin' to buy 
 a book!" 
 
 They are a thousand times grateful for what 
 they receive. One's heart goes out to them, 
 but do not be surprised if sympathy is dis- 
 pelled when you are told by some knowing 
 one: 
 
 "For twenty years I've seen these same lads 
 and lassies running along this bit of road ; and 
 sure, sir, if they bought books with all the pen- 
 nies they collected, anyone of them would have 
 the biggest library in Ireland." 
 
 From the top of the Gap one looks down on 
 the gloomy Black Valley. The clouds are said 
 never to rise from the desolate place and the 
 whole surrounding country always looks mel- 
 ancholy and deserted. 
 
 The Three Lakes are eleven miles long and 
 two miles wide. They abound in salmon. 
 
 The jolly boatmen bend to the oars and at 
 the same time point out the beauties of the 
 surroundings, which are easily seen without 
 assistance. 
 
 When Eagle Nest Mountain rises like a 
 pyramid in the distance, you are told by the 
 141 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 boatmen to ''hold your whist" and listen to the 
 echo. 
 
 One of them yells out: 
 
 "Paddy Burke, were you out last night, 
 sorr?" 
 
 And the echo resounds: 
 
 "Out last night, sorr; out last night, sorr." 
 
 The boat approaches Old Weir Bridge and 
 the placid waters gather themselves into a nar- 
 row channel and plunge turbulently through 
 one of the arches ; it is seized by the current and 
 shot through the arch with such velocity that 
 when the passengers recover breath they seem 
 to feel that they have dropped from the clouds. 
 
 But this sudden splash brings them in the 
 Middle Lake near the "Meeting of the Wa- 
 ters." 
 
 Thackeray in his "Irish Sketch Book" de- 
 scribing Middle Lake, says: 
 
 "When there, we agreed it was more beau- 
 tiful than the larger lake, of which it is not 
 one-fourth the size ; then when we came back, 
 we said: 'No, the larger lake is the most beau- 
 tiful' ; and so at every point we stopped we de- 
 termined that particular spot was the prettiest 
 in the entire lake." 
 
 The boatman feathers his oars with the same 
 measured stroke, bids the passengers not to 
 mind a little moisture, for it is only McGil- 
 cuddy's perspiration, and adds: "Sure, it al- 
 ways rains in Killarney, for how would it oth- 
 erwise remain green?" 
 
 142 
 
KILLARNEY'S LAKES— A SPURNED TIP 
 
 The Emerald Isle is properly termed from 
 its almost perpetual hue and the freshness of 
 its verdure. 
 
 Passing under Brickeen Bridge we come in- 
 to the lower lake. The bridge is remarkable 
 for nothing save perhaps its name, the origin 
 of which seems to be unknown. 
 
 It may be that it was so-called from the fact 
 that in its construction numberless small clay 
 bricks intersperse the large rocks. 
 
 The five acres of water surface of the Lower 
 Lake are dotted with thirty small islands 
 rivaling in beauty fair Avalon, the abode of 
 fairies. This archipelago has for its largest 
 island Innisfallon, twenty-one acres in area. 
 
 The grand descriptive powers and poetic 
 fancy of Tom Moore failed to do justice to the 
 picture presented by this island. In the words 
 of that sweet singer, let us say: 
 
 "Sweet Innisfallon, fare thee well, 
 May calm and sunshine long be thine; 
 How fair thou art let others tell." 
 
 Ross Castle is a noble ruin. It was the seat 
 of the O'Donaghues five hundred years ago. 
 
 In this connection there is a legend that 
 every seven years one of the chiefs is seen 
 driving his milk-white steeds over the lake at 
 sunrise; his castle is restored and refurnished 
 by enchantment the moment the sun appears 
 above the horizon. 
 
 This castle was the last stronghold in Ire- 
 land to withstand the incursions of Oliver 
 Cromwell and his vandal followers. 
 143 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 Muckross Abbey is found on a charming 
 promontory near the shore of the Middle Lake. 
 
 "Gaze on the Abbey's ruined pile; 
 Does not the succoring ivy, keeping 
 Her watch around it, seem to smile 
 As o'er a loved one sleeping?" 
 
 The Abbey was built by the Franciscans on 
 the site of an ancient church, half a century be- 
 fore the discovery of America. 
 
 The Monastery of St. Finian in Innisfallon, 
 near by, dates back to the fifth century, almost 
 coeval with the conversion of the Irish people 
 to Christianity by St. Patrick. 
 
 After the lake trip, we returned to the hotel. 
 Hunger is invariably a result of the excursion. 
 
 Of the hall porter, I inquired : 
 
 "How soon will supper be served?" 
 
 "Ah, immediately, sorr!" 
 
 "Can't we have it sooner than that?" 
 
 "Sure, sorr; if you wish it." 
 
 And strange to say, we got it sooner than it 
 was expected. 
 
 144 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 CHESTER— LEAMINGTON— BARD OF AVON 
 
 On our return to Dublin, arrangements were 
 made to go back to England by way of Wales. 
 The daylight sail to Holyhead was interesting 
 and pleasant. The steamship "Scotia," which 
 we boarded at North Wall dock, was not over- 
 crowded; the passengers repiesented nearly 
 every English-speaking country. The party 
 of men seated along the rail, as I came on deck, 
 were swapping stories; I could not resist the 
 temptation to join. It was a comfortable 
 shady spot; the men were all smoking and 
 laughing at a quip the Scotchman had uttered. 
 
 "You didn't hear that," said one of the party 
 addressing me, "it was quite good, you know." 
 Under his breath he briefed the story for my 
 benefit. As I remember it, it ran something 
 like this: 
 
 A doctor was summoned, and on arriving 
 at the sick man's bed, said to the patient's wife : 
 
 "Your husband is in the last throes. Every 
 movement shows that the end is nearing." 
 
 At this moment, the sick man's head fell 
 over on the pillow, when the doctor said: 
 
 "The end has come, your husband is dead." 
 
 In a shrill, thin voice the sick man ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "'Tain't so, Mary!" 
 
 145 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 At once the v/ife laid her hand on his head 
 to remark : 
 
 "Don't disturb yourself, Robert — the physi- 
 cian knows best." 
 
 "Wasn't she the cute maid!" ejaculated the 
 traveling salesman. "I mean the one I heard 
 of in New York : 
 
 "'Did you mail my letter, Hortense?' asked 
 her mistress. 'It was an important one, you 
 know.' 
 
 " 'Yes, mum, indeed I did.' 
 
 " 'But why have you brought back the two 
 cents I gave you for the stamp?' 
 
 "Sure, I didn't have to use it, mum' ; replied 
 the maid. 'I slipped the letter into the box 
 whin nobody was looking !' " 
 
 Holyhead is on the island of Anglesey, con- 
 nected by bridges with the main land. A swift 
 train rushed us in the direction of England, 
 skirting the north end of Wales, along the 
 coast of the Irish Sea. 
 
 The walled city of Chester was our destina- 
 tion, and of all places in civilization, this one 
 is unique; more, it is quaint and fantastic. It 
 abounds in towers, crypts and Roman remains. 
 It is the base for pleasant excursions up and 
 down the River Dee, and over the beautiful 
 roads. 
 
 Chester probably retains more nearly than 
 any other city the regular arrangement of its 
 streets, resembling those of a Roman camp, 
 from which it derives its name. No other Eng- 
 lish city has so well preserved its ancient de- 
 146 
 
CHESTER—LEAMINGTON— BARD OF AVON 
 fenses, which, although not now of the slight- 
 est use for their intended purpose, form pleas- 
 ant promenades two miles in extent. 
 
 At the Grosvenor, the only hotel in Chester, 
 while at dinner, we met one of the "Scotia's" 
 passengers who had taken part in the story 
 telling on the way from Dublin to Holyhead. 
 
 "On the boat I forgot to tell a story I heard 
 in Ireland," he said. "It's about an English- 
 man who was holding a combat of wit with a 
 beggar woman at the door of the tavern. 
 
 " 'There's a clever gentleman,' said the beg- 
 gar woman; 'sure, he'll give me something?' 
 
 " 'How much should you like,' asked the 
 Englishman, playfully. 
 
 " 'Musha,' said she, 'many a littler man, nor 
 you, has given me a shilling.' " 
 
 Smiling at the story, and looking across the 
 table at Madam, the pretty American school 
 teacher, spending her vacation in European 
 travel, edged in this: 
 
 " 'Couldn't you board my chauffeur during 
 the summer?' asked the city visitor of the 
 country landlady. 'Perhaps I ought to explain 
 that he is a negro.' 
 
 " 'Well,' said the landlady reflectively, 'I 
 hain't never took colored folks yit, but I dunno 
 — I suppose on account of the death of my 
 brother Tom, last spring, a few black boarders 
 would be 'propriate !' " 
 
 Having spent several days in Chester, we 
 longed for Leamington, the prettiest and most 
 fashionable watering place in the Kingdom. 
 147 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 We had scarcely arrived before we were 
 convinced this spa was the most restful of 
 places. The cosy Hotel Regent tempted us to 
 linger longer than was our custom in any one 
 spot. 
 
 To us the "Pump" was novel. We found it 
 a large building in which any kind of a bath 
 could be taken, there being three kinds of wa- 
 ter available — sulphurous, saline and chaly- 
 beate. 
 
 After a Turkish bath, visitors find rest and 
 ease in a large lounging room, the walls of 
 which are lined with books. 
 
 Within this delightful part of England, we 
 found a trolley tram could carry us in a few 
 minutes to Warwick and Kenilworth, and it 
 was but a short run by train to classic Strat- 
 ford-on-Avon, Shapespeare's birthplace. 
 
 When we saw the house in which the re- 
 vered poet was born, fronting tight upon the 
 street, after a calm scrutiny, we felt disap- 
 pointment. So frequently have the walls been 
 restored, little is left of the original material; 
 the site is far from ideal, being devoid of 
 shrubbery and trees. The room in which the 
 great dramatist first beheld the light, is low 
 and uninviting. Who could imagine Shake- 
 speare as a child in such an environment? 
 
 One of judgment cannot enthuse over the 
 portrait exhibited there; but then, some one 
 asks: "Can any picture do justice to the uni- 
 versal ideal of this sublime interpreter of hu- 
 manity?" 
 
 148 
 
CHESTER— LEAMINGTON— BARD OF AVON 
 
 The visitor gets an impression that the Bard 
 of Avon, and the place of his birth, owe much 
 to America. 
 
 The conspicuous memorial fountain, in the 
 public market place, was presented to the town 
 in 1887 by a philanthrophist, the late George 
 W. Childs, of Philadelphia. 
 
 Another evidence of our admiration is Me- 
 morial Theatre, which combines an auditorium, 
 library and museum forever dedicated to 
 Shakespeare. In the collection on exhibition, 
 there are photographs of as many American 
 actors and actresses, who interpreted Shake- 
 speare's plays, in their time, as there are coun- 
 terfeit presentiments of representatives of the 
 English stage. Mary Anderson played Rosa- 
 lind there ; today she is a director of the insti- 
 tution. 
 
 The unexpected but evident indifference of 
 the English mind to Shakespeare was given 
 peculiar emphasis on our arrival. 
 
 At the hotel, I brushed up for dinner more 
 quickly than the rest of the family, and de- 
 scended to the rotunda, — that's what the office 
 is called regardless of its shape. I looked 
 'round to discover the only seat warmer — an 
 Englishman apparently in deep meditation. 
 
 Living up to the Americans' reputation, 
 over there, for push, I saluted the stranger 
 with : 
 
 "Good evening!" 
 
 149 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 "By jove, good evening, sir!" he said arous- 
 ing himself. 
 
 "Nice town is Stratford-on-Avon." 
 
 "It does very well, you know." 
 
 "We've come a long distance to pay homage 
 to the immortal bard — he's certainly well re- 
 membered here, I find." 
 
 "Oh, you mean Shakespeare, don't you now? 
 Ah! you Americans, so queer, so queer; don't 
 you know to me Shakespeare is quite a 
 b-o-a-h !" 
 
 Well, that was one to relate to the family at 
 our excellent meal. There were other evi- 
 dences in this hallowed place that the natives 
 are willing to permit their cousins from across 
 the Atlantic to swing the censer alone, both 
 ways, to the very limit, in front of the shrine 
 of this immortal whom the world esteems. 
 
 We were settling down at Leamington for 
 the quiet life, and were in no hurry to move on. 
 
 One evening in the hotel lounge, over cof- 
 fee, Madam and I were having visions of 
 spending the rest of our natural lives in this 
 charming environment, when the Junior, who 
 had the sporting page of a newspaper spread 
 out in front of him, looked up to exclaim : 
 
 "The regatta on the Thames tomorrow after- 
 noon, Pop! can't we take it in?" 
 
 In our itinerary, Oxford was to be visited. 
 
 Could we afford to pass this famous seat of 
 learning without a glimpse? What could we 
 do in view of the Junior's clamor? 
 150 
 
CHESTER— LEAMINGTON— BARD OF AVON 
 
 A boat race surely would be the liveliest 
 sport in England, aside from the ponies, if 
 there were any in motion. 
 
 "What regatta?" I asked with an assumed 
 frown, because I had been disturbed in com- 
 placent thoughts of rest. 
 
 "Regatta !" exclaimed the boy with prompti- 
 tude, "don't you know, Pop, that Cambridge 
 and Harvard are going to row from Putney to 
 Mortlake? 'tis young America against bloom- 
 ing old England on British water. Can't we 
 see it, and we here on the spot. Think of the 
 fans in Boston and Chicago; they're waiting 
 with bated breath for every word on the sub- 
 ject. Here we are within hailing distance of 
 the great event. Why not on to London where 
 the work is to be done? 'rah for Harvard!" 
 
 Madam's eyes gleamed as a result of the 
 ardent speech of her hopeful and indicated my 
 course. 
 
 It meant the first train for London in the 
 morning ! 
 
 151 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 THE CAMBRIDGE-HARVARD BOA^ RACE 
 
 And so it happened, we cut out the ancient 
 institution, Oxford, and sped on to the metrop- 
 olis. 
 
 Noon found us in the suite at the hotel which 
 we had occupied before departing for Scotland 
 and Ireland. 
 
 But what was that stack of neat wicker 
 hampers piled from floor to ceiling? It was 
 not there before we left. 
 
 What we abandoned was a heap of soiled 
 linen, with instructions to have it laundered. 
 
 The wand that touched that pile of travel 
 stained goods must have been magic, for the 
 same material was now contained in all these 
 covered wicker baskets ; each one was not full 
 by any means, for in some instances the cubic 
 contents of a whole hamper was devoted to a 
 single edition of Madam's nicely starched 
 shirt-waists. The immaculate wearing apparel, 
 a refreshing sight, contributed to the immedi- 
 ate comfort of our party. Having access to 
 trunks once more, we all appeared at luncheon 
 in fresh attire and ready for any lark the 
 youngest member might suggest. 
 
 Boniface informed us that the best point 
 from which to view the boat race would be 
 152 
 
THE CAMBRIDGE-HARVARD BOAT RACE 
 
 Hammersmith Bridge, which is about half way 
 between Putney, the start, and Mortlake, the 
 finish, a distance of four and a quarter miles. 
 The boat in the lead coming under Hammer- 
 smith Bridge, I was assured, could be counted 
 on as the winner of the contest. 
 
 When we went out on the street, the sun 
 being just past meridian, there could be no 
 doubt a great event was at hand. 
 
 Every one of the seven million inhabitants of 
 London had the race on his mind, and if he 
 was not heading for the scene of the sport, he 
 was at least talking about it. 
 
 The Cambridge colors — blue and maize — 
 were in evidence everywhere; but the crim- 
 son pennant of Harvard was not on the mar- 
 ket. We had a reminder of Harvard's hue, 
 however, in Junior's necktie, which was crim- 
 son through and through. 
 
 All kinds of vehicles, jammed by throngs on 
 the way to the great river's side, anywhere 
 along the course, were hurrying to the scene. 
 
 We were fortunate in finding places on a 
 tram moving towards Hammersmith. 
 
 In regulating traffic, America, and all the 
 world, ought to take off their hats to London. 
 A 'bus or a street car is known to seat a cer- 
 tain number of passengers. When that limit 
 is reached, neither love nor money can secure 
 for anyone standing room on board. 
 
 We alighted at one end of the bridge and 
 were soon merely a trio in the midst of four 
 153 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 million people stretched along the Thames 
 banks, on either side, further than the eye 
 could see. 
 
 The crowd at the World's Columbian Expo- 
 sition, on Chicago Day, in 1893, was too large 
 for my mind to grasp ; but this great well-be- 
 haved throng of sport loving citizens impressed 
 me keenly with the insignificance of one biped 
 creature in the presence of the rest of the hu- 
 man family. 
 
 The race course was lined with scows and 
 boats of various descriptions. By the payment 
 of a shilling a head to the enterprising man- 
 ager one could get a good view of the assem- 
 blage of people, and the surface of the water 
 from bank to bank and away under the bridge. 
 
 The boat on which I secured places had the 
 additional attraction of a three-piece band. 
 
 While awaiting the appearance of the racers, 
 we were entertained with ancient airs; and 
 even rag time was attempted. At this period 
 that style of music had not taken a very strong 
 hold on the English. 
 
 The only Americans in our boat party, aside 
 from ourselves, was a Harvard man from New 
 York and his charming young wife. 
 
 The chances of the Harvard crew to win 
 were discussed; our temperament was opti- 
 mistic. 
 
 But little encouragement did we get from 
 those of British affiliations, in our vicinity, who 
 overheard the conversation. 
 154 
 
THE CAMBRIDGE-HARVARD BOAT RACE 
 
 She was a dear old English lady who turned 
 to me with the confident remark : 
 
 "Why, my dear sir, shouldn't Cambridge 
 win today, and always? Do you not realize 
 that the boys at the oars in the test are the 
 sons and grandsons of men who trained for 
 this work for many generations back?" 
 
 A prolonged murmur arose from the mass 
 of humanity — in sight everywhere the eye 
 might wander ; this increased to a tremendous 
 yell as the punts — the crews straining every 
 muscle — dashed under Hammersmith Bridge. 
 The shouts increased; the ordinarily staid 
 Britons frantically waving their Cambridge 
 pennants and colored handkerchiefs, as they 
 foresaw victory for their men. 
 
 To encourage the Americans in, at best, a 
 weakly way, Madam snatched Junior's necktie 
 from around his white collar and waved it 
 aloft, much to the amusement of the friends 
 of the English crew. 
 
 The Harvard man's little wife was in tears 
 as the two boats emerged from under the 
 bridge and darted forward— Cambridge a 
 length and a half ahead. 
 
 As prophesied by Boniface, Cambridge pass- 
 ing under Hammersmith Bridge first, finished 
 several lengths in front; the tradition still 
 holds good. 
 
 When the hubbub of applause to which the 
 dense partisan throng gave utterance on as- 
 surance that Cambridge was winner had sub- 
 155 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 sided to some extent, our thoughts turned to 
 the hotel and how ever we were to get there. 
 
 The crowds on land and the people on the 
 barges, with one impulse started to move as 
 soon as the punts and their crews disappeared 
 in the distance. 
 
 The congestion was, of course, greater be- 
 cause of the spontaneous movement; it had 
 taken hours for the gathering to get together; 
 it must be dispersed at once. 
 
 'Busses or trams were out of the question, 
 as they were filled to their lawful capacity as 
 soon as placed in position and became availa- 
 ble. 
 
 In the midst of hundreds of hansom cabs 
 and four wheelers, towering on his seat above 
 the heads of the surging populace, I saw an 
 aged Jehu, whip in hand, beckoning to me, try- 
 ing to get my attention. The other rigs were 
 filled rapidly, so I deemed this my best chance 
 of getting to the hotel in proper season. 
 
 In spite of the occasion, and the demand for 
 transportation, the ancient cabman made no 
 attempt at extortion; the price he quoted in 
 shillings would be considered ridiculously low 
 in any metropolis. 
 
 Entering the conveyance, soon we were 
 stealing our way through the dense mass of 
 pedestrians who considered it hopeless to seek 
 any kind of wheeled assistance. The distance 
 back to the Strand was about twelve miles. 
 
 When we had traversed nearly half the way 
 156 
 
THE CAMBRIDGE-HARVARD BOAT RACE 
 
 the cab stopped suddenly. A voice from above 
 inquired : 
 
 "I say, sir ; do you mind if I give me 'orse a 
 blow?" 
 
 We looked up instinctively startled. Recov- 
 ering speech, I replied to the effect that it was 
 his horse to do with as he pleased — to give 
 him a blow, or two, provided he kept within 
 the law and landed us at the hotel safely. 
 
 "What big building is that?" I inquired 
 pointing at a huge brown structure, surround- 
 ed by a beautiful park, in front of which the 
 pause had been made. 
 
 "Buck-in-'am Palace, sir." 
 
 "Do they always have a crowd in front of 
 the fence?" I asked, referring to a throng out- 
 side the iron palings, in an attitude of expec- 
 tancy, awaiting some event. 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Madam, looking in the di- 
 rection of the old cabman's voice; his face 
 could not be seen, "is this not the day on which 
 the King returns from Germany?" 
 
 " 'Tis, me lady," responded the voice, "and 
 he's due about this time." 
 
 While the horse was indulging his rest, 
 which never before had I heard termed a 
 "blow," I prompted the Junior to alight and 
 ask the imposing Bobby, who, with a file of 
 red jackets, was doing guard duty along the 
 walks, what time his Majesty would appear? 
 
 We were close to the curb and could see 
 what happened. Much to the surprise of 
 157 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 Madam and myself, the dignified policeman's 
 serious face relaxed into a broad smile, as the 
 little fellow made bold to put his question. 
 
 Placing his broad hand lightly on the boy's 
 shoulder, he said: 
 
 "The King will be here in about ten min- 
 utes. You see that crowd at this near gate; 
 well they'll be disappointed, for when our 
 sovereign arrives, 'twill be by that far portal." 
 
 Junior thanked the Bobby for his kind at- 
 tention and information; he lost no time in 
 coming back to us. 
 
 When he imparted his "scoop" I ordered the 
 cab driver over to the gate indicated by the 
 policeman; it was truly an advantageous posi- 
 tion. 
 
 We had hardly taken our place, when a fine 
 equippage — four stunning black horses and an 
 open carriage — came into view; it dashed 
 through the open, but guarded gateway. 
 
 There were two occupants. The one with 
 the black derby — they call them "Bowl- 
 ers" in England — dark garb and stiff grey 
 beard, was none other than King Edward VII ; 
 the lean gentleman in Prince Albert coat, his 
 head surmounted by a silk tile, was his per- 
 sonal secretary. 
 
 As he passed, the King raised his hat in sa- 
 lute; I raised mine, and we both smiled. 
 
 The crowd along the fence evidently shared 
 in Edward's greeting or thought they did, for 
 it broke out in a prolonged lusty cheer. 
 158 
 
THE CAMBRIDGE-HARVARD BOAT RACE 
 
 In a flash the King disappeared around the 
 corner of the building and the spectators dis- 
 persed. 
 
 The English are a loyal race; the old cab- 
 man, in his own clever way, wanted to witness 
 his ruler's return; he decided that in front of 
 Buckingham Palace would be an ideal place to 
 "blow" his animal. 
 
 When we reached the hotel, the clerk, a 
 lady, marvelled at our good fortune in seeing 
 the nation's ruler; she assured us she had 
 stood in that crowd for three hours, and, dis- 
 appointed, had left the palace fence just too 
 soon. No one could doubt the genuineness of 
 her regret. 
 
 In the hotel that night Boniface was as 
 usual, extremely genial. Several of his friends, 
 all clever gentlemen, were present. Cigars 
 were introduced; to promote conversation, 
 some cold soda mingled with a stimulating 
 liquid was called into requisition. 
 ^ "A school teacher," said the tall English- 
 man, as he emitted a voluminous puff of smoke 
 and seemed to receive inspiration from it, "had 
 given a lesson in an infants' class on the ten 
 commandments. In order to test their memo- 
 ries, she asked: 
 
 " 'Can any little child give me a command- 
 ment with only four words in it?* 
 
 "A hand was raised immediately. 
 
 " 'Well?' said the teacher. 
 
 " 'Keep off the grass,' was the reply." 
 159 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 A story by the short British subject who 
 was one of the circle, sounded a little bit fa- 
 miliar ; but, for the life of me, I couldn't place 
 it. 
 
 A youth who insisted on whispering loudly 
 to the young woman accompanying him to a 
 concert, telling her what the music meant, 
 what sort of a passage was coming next, and 
 so forth, caused great annoyance to his imme- 
 diate neighbors. Presently he closed his eyes 
 and said to his companion: 
 
 "Did you ever try listening to music with 
 your eyes shut? You've no idea how lovely 
 it sounds!" 
 
 A man who sat in front of him twisted 
 around, saying gravely: 
 
 "Young man, did you ever try listening to 
 music with your mouth shut?" 
 
 A physician in the company, who had been 
 an attentive listener, was reminded: 
 
 "Outside it was blowing hard," he said, 
 "and the teacher considered it her duty to 
 warn her pupils. 
 
 " 'Boys and girls should be very careful to 
 avoid colds at this time,' she said solemnly 
 'I had a darling little brother only seven years 
 old. One day he went out in the snow with 
 his new sled and caught cold. Pneumonia set 
 in and in three days he was dead.' 
 
 "A hush fell upon the school room; then a 
 youngster in the back row stood up and 
 asked : 
 
 "Where's his sled?'" 
 160 
 
X 
 
 THE CAMBRIDGE-HARVARD BOAT RACE 
 
 I was prompted to chip in and recall a 
 story which subtly illustrates the opinion 
 some have of a certain alleged characteristic 
 of the Scotch. 
 
 "Two sports down in Kentucky," I said, 
 "were witnessing a spirited horse race. In- 
 terest was keen as the ponies turned on the 
 home stretch, two leaders coming on neck and 
 neck. As they dashed up to the wire both 
 were nose and nose. 
 
 "Just before the bell sounded, one of the 
 horses stuck out his tongue and was declared 
 winner by the judges. 
 
 " 'Well, well T exclaimed one of the sports, 
 'did you ever see such a close race?' 
 
 "'Oh, sure/ replied the other; 'I lived two 
 years among the Scotch in Edinburgh.' " 
 
 The English, I discovered, always enjoy a 
 joke at the expense of their northern neigh- 
 bors. This story was received with demon- 
 strative glee. Someone suggested "just one 
 more," and adjournment was taken sine die. 
 
 lfl 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 THE BANK— AN OLD STORY 
 
 The following day was ideal and suggested 
 an early start to make up for the sights missed 
 on the previous visit. 
 
 We turned our steps in the direction of 
 Fleet Street with the ultimate intention of go- 
 ing to see the Royal Exchange and the Bank 
 of England. 
 
 As a child, Madam, with her parents, had 
 visited London; while there they lived in the 
 Inns of Court Hotel. She could not leave Lon- 
 don without revisiting the hospitable establish- 
 ment so clearly fixed in her memory. 
 
 Our endeavor to find the famous inn from 
 Fleet Street, for a time did not seem promis- 
 ing; the assurance of the polite "Bobby" that 
 it was "just 'round in 'igh 'olborn" gave us 
 courage; it did not remove the difficulty. As 
 a last resort, a slowly moving messenger boy, 
 carrying a milliner's box as big as himself, 
 was accosted: 
 
 "The Inns of Court, sonny, can you tell me 
 where it is?" I asked. 
 
 Promptly the lad responded: 
 
 "Keep right on, sir; yer hall right; go right 
 along, sir, and ye'll find hit up there knocking 
 about at the top of the 'ill." 
 162 
 
THE BANK—AN OLD STORY 
 
 "When we found the hotel, it was certainly 
 massive, staid and dignified; but not hilari- 
 ously knocking about. 
 
 The promise of the manager of Parr's Bank, 
 was recalled. We decided to report our readi- 
 ness to visit Old Lady of Threadneedle Street. 
 
 The scene of this crowded and bustling part 
 of London from the top of a 'bus was enjoy- 
 able; we could not refrain from marvelling at 
 the dexterity of the drivers and agility of 
 pedestrians darting in every direction. 
 
 Manager Shand, though in the midst of 
 plug-hatted brokers, transacting business 
 swiftly, as was his wont every morning, saw 
 me enter, and pointed his index finger towards 
 the private office. I was scarcely seated when 
 the genial banker left the parade of frock coats 
 and tall head gear. He did not have to be re- 
 minded of the promised introduction. Recall- 
 ing the arrangement, he touched a bell. 
 
 A messenger was ordered to request the 
 cashier to appear. We were placed in charge 
 of this official and found our way to an unfre- 
 quented portal of the world famed bank. 
 
 The uniformed guardians were passed one 
 after another, till we arrived finally in a small 
 room in which a ponderous register rested 
 firmly on a tall desk. The trio inscribed 
 names and addresses, after which the cashier 
 left us to the care of a dignified attache. The 
 Bank of England is an assemblage of the build- 
 ings and court yards. An area of eight acres 
 163 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 is occupied. Within this space are nine open 
 courts which afford light to the various offices, 
 there being no windows in the exterior of the 
 building. We passed through a big rotunda, 
 offices, committee rooms, and, hold your 
 breath, as we did, the great directors' room, 
 from which emanate the vast dividends which 
 gladden the hearts of nearly the entire re- 
 sponsible population of London. 
 
 The printing of bank notes in colors, with 
 one impression, consecutively numbered in 
 two places, was an interesting sight within the 
 precincts of the bank. 
 
 True we didn't like the style of the flimsey 
 bank notes, which remind one of Japanese nap- 
 kins, still there was a feature we admired from 
 a sanitary viewpoint. Every note which re- 
 turns to the bank is destroyed and another is 
 issued in its stead, even if its circulating life 
 was but for a day. 
 
 A device which held the Junior's attention 
 was an automatic sorter of gold coins. 
 
 Thousands of sovereigns were dumped into 
 a hopper while we were there and started in 
 the direction of two chutes. When a light 
 one reached a certain point, it took its own 
 course to the discard; while the normal coins 
 found their way to a haven from which they 
 once more sought distribution. 
 
 Bidding adieu to the Old Lady, it seemed 
 but an instant before we stood in front of the 
 world famous Royal Exchange. It is a splen- 
 164 
 
THE BANK— AN OLD STORY 
 
 did building, the erection of which was com- 
 menced in the time of His Royal Highness 
 Prince Albert, who laid the foundation stone 
 in January, 1842. A feature of the Royal Ex- 
 change is Lloyd's subscription rooms. The 
 name is derived from a coffee house kept by 
 Edward Lloyd towards the close of the sev- 
 enteenth century and frequented by men inter- 
 ested in shipping. Lloyd's is a corporation of 
 underwriters organized in 1871, for the collec- 
 tion and distribution of maritime and shipping 
 intelligence of every kind. 
 
 The Stock Exchange, in Capel Court, oppo- 
 site the Bank of England, the headquarters of 
 the stock brokers, has about 1,300 members. 
 There are nearly 2,000 stock jobbers each of 
 whom pays a large entrance fee and an annual 
 subscription of thirty guineas. The jobber 
 confines himself to some particular group of 
 securities; the broker is the intermediary be- 
 tween the public and the jobber. 
 
 When I saw the bulls and bears in action, I 
 concluded they were not half as rampant as 
 our own in Wall or LaSalle Streets. 
 
 The heat of the day had been enervating; 
 after luncheon siesta was a natural recourse. 
 
 Being the first to awake, I went down in 
 the lift to the lounge floor, to peruse the news- 
 paper files till the rest of the family should 
 join me for the evening meal. 
 
 As I turned the pages, looking for some- 
 thing of absorbing interest, the lean gentleman 
 165 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 in the tall hat, to whom I had been introduced 
 the evening before, entered. 
 
 "Delighted!" he exclaimed. "'Tis really a 
 pleasure, don't you know, to meet you. I 
 dropped in for a brandy and soda. Truly 
 'twould be chawming to have you join me." 
 
 While, of course, I was averse to drinking 
 between meals, I could not, with good grace, 
 refuse this friendly invitation. 
 
 "Bah Jove!" exclaimed my friend over the 
 glasses, "don't you know, I heard such a 
 ducedly clever story explained to me today. 
 While it was interpreted at the expense of 
 another British subject, still I saw the point 
 when it was made evident after having perco- 
 lated all America as a huge joke on us. 
 Doubtless you've heard it ; but the finish, don't 
 you know is the real joke. 
 
 "At the Savage Club, today, dear boy, don't 
 you know, we had an American guest, who in 
 the way of entertainment told this story, 
 which in a degree supports the allegation that 
 we lack appreciation of the real point of a 
 quip, don't you know?" 
 
 "What was the story?" I asked, to get some- 
 where near what he was driving at. 
 
 "Well, our guest, from your country told the 
 story hesitatingly, with due- apology ; but also 
 with emphasis; it was evident, however, he 
 was all the time striving to avoid hurting our 
 sensitive feelings. 
 
 "Now, this is it: 
 
 166 
 
THE BANK— AN OLD STORY 
 
 "There was a lawyer; his name was John 
 Strange. Strange was on his death bed, pre- 
 pared to pass over. His wife, by his bed side, 
 gave him such consolation as was in her 
 power. 
 
 " 'John,' she said, 'is there any little thing 
 I can do for you? Doctor says there's no 
 hope. What would you have me do?' 
 
 " 'Nothing, dear/ 
 
 " Is there nothing ; not even an inscription 
 you'd have me place on your tombstone?' 
 
 " 'Dear,' came the meek reply, 'nothing spe- 
 cial; only when you write my epitaph, just 
 say: "here lies an honest lawyer," nothing 
 more." ' 
 
 "'But, John,' she urged, 'What will that 
 mean to the passer by; how will he know 
 who's lying there?' 
 
 "'Can't you understand?' said the invalid, 
 'when anyone reads the inscription, he'll say: 
 ' "Here lies an honest lawyer; that's Strange !" ' 
 
 "They say that story was told in the Hoff- 
 man House of New York in the presence cf an 
 Englishman. Now, here's the version, it is 
 charged, that came to us through the Briton 
 who heard it. 
 
 "Our member appeared at the club on his 
 return home from America. His tale was this, 
 and I regret to say, don't you know, he 
 laughed immoderately before he started: 
 
 " 'There was a lawyer in America,' said he, 
 'whose name was John Strange. He was dy- 
 167 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 ing. The wife asked him if there was not a 
 last request he'd like to make before passing 
 over?' 
 
 " 'Not the slightest,' he replied. 
 
 " 'What would you have me put on your 
 tombstone by way of epitaph, John?' asked 
 the solicitous wife. 
 
 " 'Nothing,' he responded, 'except, "Here 
 lies an honest lawyer!" ' 
 
 " 'But, John,' suggested the wife, 'by that 
 how'll they know whose buried there?' ' 
 
 " 'Why,' said the expiring attorney, 'when 
 they read: "Here lies an honest lawyer," 
 they'll exclaim : 'how extraordinary !' " 
 
 As I laughed and intimated that the late 
 Frank Lincoln, the monologuist, had told that 
 story all over America with great gusto, away 
 back in the '80's, my companion ejaculated: 
 "Really now; pardon me, how stupid of us." 
 
 I assured him pardon was uncalled for; the 
 story was a good one and ought to stand the 
 test of time. 
 
 168 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 THE ABBEY— THAT BOSTON GIRL 
 
 Overnight we determined to direct our way 
 to old Westminster Abbey — a temple of si- 
 lence and recollection, where lie the bones or 
 stand the cold dumb effigies of orators who 
 once defied each other in Parliament. 
 
 To Englishmen this is the most sacred spot, 
 hallowed by centuries of worship among mon- 
 uments of the past where renowned rulers and 
 their victims rest around the despoiled shrine 
 of the meek Confessor. 
 
 No one can recall without a pleasant thrill 
 Washington Irving's description of his sensa- 
 tions when he first beheld this old Abbey : 
 
 "The spaciousness and gloom of the vast 
 edifice produce a profound and mysterious 
 awe. It seems that the awful nature of the 
 place presses down upon the soul, and hushes 
 the beholder into noiseless reverence. We 
 feel that we are surrounded by the congre- 
 gated bones of the great men of past times, 
 who have filled history with their deeds, and 
 earth with their renown. Yet it almost pro- 
 vokes a smile at the vanity of human ambi- 
 tion, to see how they are crowded together 
 and jostled in the dust; what parsimony is 
 observed in doling out a scanty nook, a 
 169 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 gloomy corner, a little portion of earth, to 
 those whom, when alive, kingdoms could not 
 satisfy; and how many shapes and forms and 
 artifices are devised to catch the casual notice 
 of the passenger and save from forgetfulness, 
 for a few short years, a name which once as- 
 pired to occupy ages of the world's thought 
 and admiration. 
 
 "For in the silent grave no conversation, 
 No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers, 
 No careful father's counsel — nothing's heard, 
 For nothing is, but all oblivion, 
 Dust and endless darkness." 
 
 Who can visit the Abbey without some 
 emotion prompted by its illustrious memories? 
 
 Of one young Australian, it is told that he 
 would not allow himself to be roused to ad- 
 miration for a structure so little up-to-date. 
 
 "My word," said he, "you should see the 
 Scotch church at Ballarat." 
 
 Few visitors really have the chance of com- 
 muning with the Abbey's shadowy inhabitants 
 as did Chateaubriand, who, by accident, was 
 locked up in the great cathedral for a night. 
 
 He shouted and beat upon the gates in vain 
 and had to resign himself to sleep with the 
 dead among whom nothing seemed to be alive, 
 but the hammer of the clock striking the long 
 hours. As from one world into another, there 
 reached his ears the muffled roll of wheels and 
 the cry of the watchman outside ; and into the 
 Abbey's solemn spaces stole the Thames fog 
 170 
 
THE ABBEY—THAT BOSTON GIRL 
 
 and London's smokey breath to deepen the 
 gathering darkness. 
 
 He groped around for a resting place, select- 
 ing a cold sarcophagus, shrouded in marble 
 and curtained by emblems of death, where, like 
 Charles V., he had a sensation of rehearsing 
 his own burial. 
 
 To himself he mused : "Bacon, Newton, Mil- 
 ton are as deeply buried, as much passed away 
 forever as are their most obscure contempor- 
 aries. Myself, exiled, vagabond, poor, would 
 I agree to be no more the forgotten and sor- 
 rowful nobody that I am, on condition of hav- 
 ing been one of those dead men, once famous?" 
 
 In this chilly hall of funereal spectacles he 
 could not help feeling his flesh creep for ap- 
 palling imaginations ; when at last a faint ray 
 dawned out of one of the blackest corners, he 
 fancied it an emanation from the spirits of the 
 young York Princes, murdered by their uncle. 
 This light proved not ghostly, merely a paper 
 shielded candle in the hand of a girl coming at 
 daybreak to take the place of her sick father 
 as bell ringer. 
 
 She might well be frightened to encounter 
 among the tombs of the Abbey a polite 
 stranger wanting to be let out. 
 
 Before leaving the hotel we encountered 
 Boniface who intimated he was going our way. 
 We urged him to accompany us. On top of 
 the 'bus he said the best summing up of the 
 spirit and history of the Abbey that he had 
 171 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 ever read was by the American dramatic critic, 
 William Winter. 
 
 It was the brilliant critic's idea that one can- 
 not long endure and never can express, the 
 sense of grandeur that is inspired by West- 
 minster Abbey ; but when at length its shrines 
 and tombs and statues become familiar, when 
 its chapels, aisles, arches and cloisters are 
 grown companionable, and one can stroll and 
 dream undisturbed "through rows of warriors 
 and through walks of kings," there is no limit 
 to the pensive memories they awaken and the 
 poetic fancies they prompt. In this church are 
 buried, amongst generations of their nobles 
 and courtiers, fourteen monarchs of England 
 — beginning with the Saxon Sebert and ending 
 with George II. Fourteen queens rest here 
 and many children of the royal blood who 
 never came to the throne. Here confronted in 
 a haughty rivalry of solemn pomp, rise the 
 equal tombs of Elizabeth Tudor and Mary 
 Stuart. Queen Eleanor's dust is here, and 
 here, too, is the dust of the grim Queen Mary. 
 At the tomb of Henry V may be seen the hel- 
 met, shield and saddle which were worn by the 
 valiant young knight at Agincourt; and close 
 by — on the tomb of Margaret Woodville, 
 daughter of Edward IV — the sword and shield 
 that were borne in royal state, before the great 
 Edward III five hundred years ago. The 
 princes whom Richard murdered in the Tower 
 are commemorated here by an altar. Richard 
 172 
 
THE ABBEY— THAT BOSTON GIRL 
 
 II, deposed and assassinated, is here en- 
 tombed; and within a few feet of him are the 
 relics of his uncle, the powerful Duke of Glou- 
 cester, who treacherously he ensnared and be- 
 trayed to death. Here, also, huge, rough and 
 grey, is the stone sarcophagus of Edward I, 
 which, when opened years ago, disclosed the 
 skeleton of departed majesty, still perfect, 
 wearing robes of gold tissue and crimson vel- 
 vet, and having a crown on his head and a 
 sceptre in the hand. So sleep, in jewelled 
 darkness and gaudy decay, what once were 
 monarchs ! All around are great lords, sainted 
 prelates, famous statesmen, renowned soldiers 
 and illustrious poets — names forever glorious, 
 are here enshrined in the grandest sepulchre 
 on earth. 
 
 Standing on the pavement, having descend- 
 ed from the 'bus, we were about to part with 
 our friend, when I noticed a policeman at my 
 elbow directing a small child to a place about 
 which she had asked him. He was so pains- 
 taking I could not refrain from paying a com- 
 pliment to the London constabulary. 
 
 The countenance of Boniface brightened as 
 he replied: 
 
 "Strangers may criticize loudly our institu- 
 tions, grumble against our climate, groan over 
 our cookery, shrug their shoulders in front of 
 our architecture, hiss at our drama, sniggle at 
 our prudery, even jeer at our Lif eguardsmen ; 
 but all of them, like you, join chorus of admir- 
 173 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 ation for our police constables. Citizens of 
 liberal empires and subjects of Republican 
 bosses alike envy us the stolid figure that, 
 without visible weapons, without official pride, 
 without fuss, stands controlling a maelstrom 
 of traffic, a living statue of British respect for 
 law and order. The London police force 
 makes a model to the world, copied, helmet 
 and all, so far as Siam, and so near as Paris. 
 No agent of oppression could enjoy credit at 
 home, testified to by the very jests and nick- 
 names fastened on him by the vulgar ; 'Peeler,' 
 almost extinct, and 'Bobby' are, from Sir 
 Robert Peel, under whose ministry he came 
 into being; while his later sobriquet 'copper' 
 seems to be of a much older origin, perhaps 
 akin to the German 'caper,' a pirate or catcher." 
 
 As we approached the great portal of the 
 Abbey, we bade Boniface good-bye. 
 
 On our return to London from Ireland, there 
 was awaiting our arrival a communication from 
 the Editor of one of Chicago's dailies. Inci- 
 dentally, he asked me to place a wreath on the 
 resting place of Sir Henry Irving, who was 
 honored in death by being assigned burial in 
 the Abbey. 
 
 Suggesting that Madam and Junior investi- 
 gate the historic cathedral for awhile, I started 
 to acquire information on the proper procedure 
 in securing permission to carry out the Editor's 
 wishes. 
 
 174 
 
THE ABBEY— THAT BOSTON GIRL 
 
 Ah, the verger in the long flowing black cas- 
 sock; he must be the authority I was seeking. 
 Accosting him, as he moved slowly down one 
 of the aisles, I soon submitted my proposition. 
 He seemed impressed with the importance of 
 the publication I represented, but shook his 
 head as if in doubt how to answer. 
 
 Presently he said : "Sir, before granting your 
 request I shall have to get the sanction of the 
 Canon in residence, don't you know." 
 
 "Very well," I replied, "kindly ask the Can- 
 on; can I do anything to assist the cause?" 
 
 The lips of the verger split into a faint smile ; 
 the fingers of the left hand seemed instinct- 
 ively to come in contact with what might be 
 a palm suddenly irritated. As he turned in 
 the direction of the door, leading to the Can- 
 on's residence, I slipped a crown piece into 
 that nervous member of his. Without resist- 
 ance or comment he disappeared. 
 
 "It's all right, sir; you may decorate Sir 
 Henry's grave," he said when he came back. 
 
 Agreeing to return at two o'clock that after- 
 noon with the floral tribute, I went out in 
 search of a green house where I could have 
 prepared a token worthy of the memory of the 
 deceased histrion. 
 
 When the beautiful wreath was finished and 
 
 tied with a long wide, flowing ribbon, it was 
 
 placed in a large box which I ordered delivered 
 
 to my new acquaintance, the verger of West- 
 
 175 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 minster Abbey. After luncheon, I entered the 
 cathedral to find a very small boy, in heated 
 argument with a black robed attache — a ver- 
 ger, but not mine. 
 
 A word from me relieved the situation ; I ex- 
 plained the Canon's permission had been ob- 
 tained; the true verger was named. He was 
 sent for and soon appeared, smiling at the 
 close call the boy had had to being inconti- 
 nently sent away with his box. 
 
 In a little recess of the wall my own verger 
 and I removed the heavy paper and yards of 
 string from the package. When the cover was 
 off we took out the floral emblem, which I bal- 
 anced on two fingers of my right hand, lest it 
 be spoiled by contact with any profane object, 
 if such could be found anywhere in that edi- 
 fice. 
 
 When the verger had deftly disposed of the 
 wrappings, he beckoned me to follow him. 
 
 With all the dignity at my command, and 
 with the wreath still resting lightly on my 
 digits, my arm extended at full length in front 
 of me, we walked together down the main 
 aisle to a spot not far from the altar railing. 
 
 Sir Henry's place of final rest, in area, is not 
 extensive. His cremated remains are covered 
 with one fair sized slab, in the floor. 
 
 As we approached the spot, which the ver- 
 ger had pointed out to me in the morning, im- 
 agine my feelings of chagrin, when I beheld 
 176 
 
THE ABBEY— THAT BOSTON GIRL 
 
 there, at the place of interment, not less than 
 twenty American sightseers, all intent on dis- 
 cussing in low tones the merits of the great 
 departed actor. 
 
 In my modesty I could have sunk through 
 the floor, had it but conveniently opened for 
 me. How could I within the range of sanity 
 turn and run away? Doubtless, I would have 
 followed the prompting and have done so, but 
 I knew the cathedral official would intervene 
 and prevent so foolish a flight. 
 
 My psychic dice box took another shake; 
 an unaccountable force sustained me. I real- 
 ized I was the most conspicuous object in the 
 whole place. Again how could I retreat, toy- 
 ing a wreath on my finger tips? I must go 
 forth and meet the unlooked for assemblage. 
 
 Despite the crowd's inquisitive glances at 
 our approaching figures, by this time my up- 
 per lip maintained a commendable rigidity; 
 my stage fright was disappearing. 
 
 To land the wreath, bearing the card of my 
 Chicago newspaper friend, on the tile, it was 
 necessary for me to make a profound genuflec- 
 tion. The wreath and my right knee came in 
 contact with the dull, cold marble floor, with 
 a modified thud, in unison. Then the lookers 
 on became busy. They bent over, grasping 
 the card bearing the donor's name and address. 
 One Chicagoan in the cluster recognized the 
 publisher's well known cognomen at once; he 
 lost no time in explaining who the editor was, 
 177 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 and what a close, confidential friend he had 
 been to Sir Henry Irving when the great actor 
 was alive. 
 
 Winding up his little speech, he said : "Why, 
 that man is the greatest humanitarian we have 
 in Chicago!" 
 
 The Boston girl, who had not in any way 
 been obtrusive, now broke in and was up and 
 at the Chicagoan in a moment. 
 
 "Oh, but truly, now, he isn't that ; not really 
 as bad as that, is he?" 
 
 "Why sure ! he certainly has that reputation. 
 What do you mean by 'bad as that?' " 
 
 "Well, it's an unfortunate revelation," re- 
 joined the young lady from the Hub. "I un- 
 derstood he was a good, philanthropic, re- 
 ligious gentleman." 
 
 The Chicagoan and the rest of the group ex- 
 pressed amazement. What could this refined 
 young woman be driving at? They were soon 
 to find out. 
 
 "Don't you know what a humanitarian is?" 
 she inquired modestly. 
 
 "Why of course I do." 
 
 "Well go look up your dictionary, read, and, 
 henceforth be careful how you speak of good 
 men, especially leading lights in Christian 
 work, as 'humanitarian !' " 
 
 Nobody had a dictionary; the verger was 
 appealed to. 
 
 "Have you a Webster's Unabridged within 
 easy command?" asked the Boston girl, 
 
 178 
 
THE ABBEY— THAT BOSTON GIRL 
 
 "Within five minutes' reach ; I am interested 
 in this controversy; if you'll wait, I'll copy 
 the definition verbatim for you and bring it 
 here." 
 
 When the verger returned he exclaimed: 
 
 "There's but one definition for the word hu- 
 manitarian in our edition, don't you know. My 
 eye, really now I thought it meant philan- 
 thropist. Believe me, here 'tis, word for word 
 without any omission: 
 
 " 'Humanitarian — one v/ho denies the divin- 
 ity of Christ.' " 
 
 All admitted it was a new one on them, and 
 some secretly resolved to look out for breakers 
 ahead in conversation with that beautiful bean- 
 eating Bostonian. 
 
 179 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 A WHIRL IN GAY PAREE— HOME AGAIN 
 
 Tempus fugit! We had been abroad ten 
 v/eeks and hadn't visited France, which, in our 
 itinerary had been given a very large para- 
 graph. 
 
 More packing of trunks and we were off to 
 Southampton where a boat awaited us for La 
 Havre. Arrival there seemed like dropping 
 from earth to another planet. 
 
 What bustle and confusion the custom 
 house people created as the passengers disem- 
 barked! Our experience at Quebec was a 
 quaker meeting compared to this. The excited 
 tones and gestures of the Frenchmen — and 
 women too — who have a hand in baggage in- 
 spection for the government, gave the impres- 
 sion that everyone had a grouch and was ut- 
 tering vehement expletives. Nothing of the 
 kind. The people on the dock were just hand- 
 ing out a lingo to which as yet we were unac- 
 customed, but with which perforce we were to 
 become more familiar. 
 
 "Donnez moi de Tor," or "de l'argent," we 
 understood; we were prepared to have these 
 demands made in earnest for the first time. 
 
 The interpreter on the dock was found to be 
 the line of least resistance in overcoming the 
 180 
 
A WHIRL IN GAY PAREE— HOME AGAIN 
 
 zeal of the revenue inspectors, and as a time- 
 saver was worth the investment. 
 
 A luncheon at the Frascati Hotel refreshed 
 us. Our minds could not be averted from the 
 renowned French capital ; so we did not tarry. 
 
 To relate in detail experiences in gay Paree, 
 with its smooth inhabitants, would require an 
 exclusive volume, the writing of which must 
 be deferred. The mixture of the Parisian 
 tongue, as the natives thought it should be 
 used, with ours, and we were sure we talked 
 it fairly well, led to many amusing episodes. 
 
 One little incident prompted me to abandon 
 the French tongue and confine myself to that 
 which I was supposed to know better. 
 
 After leaving the hotel, as I strolled along 
 the boulevard des Italiens, near rue Scribe, I 
 noticed the portal of an upstairs tonsorial es- 
 tablishment. Stroking my chin, I was forced 
 to realize its need of attention. I entered the 
 spacious, well appointed shop ; the chairs num- 
 bered at least a score. Beside each stood a tall 
 barber clad in spotless white; every man wore 
 a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard. Indeed 
 the atmosphere of the place was so ideally 
 French that diplomacy warned me to conceal 
 all I thought I possessed of their language. 
 To my mind the sign code would be more ef- 
 fective. 
 
 Throwing myself into one of the modern 
 adjustable seats, the first I had seen since leav- 
 ing the comforts of home, I passed my digits 
 181 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 over my lower jaw, and meekly murmured, 
 "la barbe." 
 
 "Oui, oui!" came right back from the at- 
 tendant, as he tucked the napkin under my 
 collar. When he began to apply the lather in 
 the regulation way, without getting any of it 
 in my ears, I felt safe and remained silent. 
 
 With his final dab of talcum, I awoke from 
 a sweet reverie, to quote from the little phrase 
 book which reposed peacefully in my vest 
 pocket : 
 
 "Quel est le prix?" 
 
 "Oh," responded the dignified barber, in the 
 best of English, "you can cut that short; just 
 say, 'Combien?' " 
 
 As you know, I had said literally, "What is 
 the price?" 
 
 He would have me use the idiomatic form, 
 "How much?" 
 
 We both laughed on discovering we were in 
 accord; he assured me he had spent years in 
 England and America and had found his ex- 
 perience of great value to him in Paris. 
 
 In cur sight seeing the Madelaine was the 
 first religious edifice to impress itself upon us. 
 In all our travels it stood unique. Like a 
 Roman temple in style, it was erected on the 
 foundation of another church, by Napoleon I, 
 who intended it for a "temple of glory." A 
 striking feature of the design is the absence of 
 windows. 
 
 182 
 
A WHIRL IN GAY PAREE— HOME AGAIN 
 
 Having emerged from the throng attending 
 the services, Madam expressed a desire to 
 visit the world famous Latin Quarter; her 
 wish could not be denied. This is the oldest 
 section of the city, and has long since ceased 
 to be the center of Parisian life. 
 
 We had acquired the habit of selecting the 
 white hatted chauffeurs when seeking a taxi; 
 why? I don't remember; but their rigs, per- 
 haps, were more sightly than those of the 
 black hatted gentry. 
 
 After traversing several squares along the 
 boulevard one of our favorites was espied 
 and hailed by me. 
 
 "Oui, oui, monsieur!" he responded. 
 
 "The Latin Quarter !" said I. 
 
 "Non comprenez-vous," quoth he. 
 
 "The Latin Quarter," I insisted in a little 
 louder tone. 
 
 He looked stupefied and shook his head. 
 
 "The Latin Quarter!" I shouted, nearly at 
 the top of my voice, and naturally felt he 
 ought to understand that; he remained un- 
 moved. Looking around for a friendly Ameri- 
 can face, I beheld over my head a sign which 
 seemed inviting, because it reminded me of my 
 own country: 
 
 "American Bar." 
 
 Losing no time I darted in, exclaiming to 
 the white-aproned barkeep: 
 
 183 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 "Here's a cabby out here who can't under- 
 stand my French. Is there any special ex- 
 pression in this town for Latin Quarter?" 
 
 "Sure," said the smiling purveyor of Ameri- 
 can cocktails, winking at his companion be- 
 hind the bar; "just whisper in his ear, 'Quar- 
 tier Latin,' with a rising inflection, as you pro- 
 ceed, and let the last syllable of the second 
 word come easily through your nose and you'll 
 have him." 
 
 Thanking my friendly informant for his 
 French lesson, I again appeared on the walk; 
 triumphantly I approached the curb at which 
 the tall white hat still stood by the machine. 
 "Kar-te-ay La-tan!" I sweetly murmured in 
 the chauffeur's organ of hearing. 
 
 His under lip dropped; then he brightened; 
 intelligence illumined his face, which quickly 
 settled into a broad grin; again and again he 
 said "Oui, oui!" before ushering us into the 
 machine. Jumping to his seat, he gave vent to 
 the "juice," and we were flying over the boule- 
 vards. 
 
 "Wouldn't you think anyone would under- 
 stand 'Latin Quarter' without having the 
 words transposed?" I said to Madam. 
 
 Before she could answer, Junior broke in: 
 
 "Well, Pop, there was more than getting the 
 cart before the horse; the way you said it the 
 last time, when you came out of that place, 
 sounded very funny; how did you get it so 
 quick?" 
 
 184 
 
A WHIRL IN GAY PAREE— HOME AGAIN 
 
 But as we whirred through beautiful 
 Champs-Elysees, the man in front was evi- 
 dently thinking hard in an effort to locate my 
 nativity. He seemed somehow to believe I 
 was not a Parisian ; but could not quite hit up- 
 on my nationality. Finally curiosity overcame 
 him. Turning around in his place, he ad- 
 dressed me tentatively with a smile: 
 
 "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" 
 
 "Ya! Prosit! Gesundheit ist besser wie 
 Krankheit," I replied with all the German I 
 possessed. 
 
 "Sehr schon. Ich erkennte Sie als ein Ber- 
 liner!" he exclaimed exultantly. 
 
 Oh, the flatterer; from my annunciation he 
 knew I was from Berlin! Wouldn't that hold 
 any body for awhile? 
 
 By this time Madam and the boy were 
 nearly convulsed. Were it not for the aid of 
 handkerchiefs for stiffling purposes, their snig- 
 gle would have been audible to him of the 
 white plug-hat, in front. 
 
 The long anticipated view of famous 
 Champs-Elysees was delightful and quite up 
 to our expectations. In the strict significa- 
 tion, it includes only the small park adjoining 
 the Place de Concorde ; but the name has been 
 extended to the whole of the handsome mod- 
 ern quarter farther to the Northwest. The 
 beautiful avenue about a mile and a third long 
 which intersects it and ascends to the mag- 
 185 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 nificent Arc de Triomphe, was constructed in 
 1670. The park and avenue are the most fash- 
 ionable promenades in Paris. 
 
 At the hotel that evening the experiences of 
 the day were recounted to the American group. 
 All evinced interest and seemed to enjoy the 
 talkfest. 
 
 There was Price, of Chicago, who was with 
 us on the steamer coming over. He and his 
 charming wife had just returned from Italy. 
 They had a budget of real experiences; but 
 resorted to it sparingly. One incident they 
 revealed animated the whole party with laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 "We had a blow up in Italy," said Price, 
 "that didn't emanate from Vesuvius, nor bak- 
 ing powder. The eruption was of the mirthful 
 kind. To make a long story short, we drove 
 up to the hotel in Naples, told the man at the 
 wheel to entertain himself for awhile, and ap- 
 plied for accommodations. We were assigned 
 a pleasant suite, and when our wraps were re- 
 moved and we sat down for refreshments, I 
 gave the order for our favorite wine, adding as 
 a final injunction, don't forget to have it iced. 
 
 "The waiter nodded, as if he understood. 
 Presently the tray came up bearing the bottle 
 and hollow-stem glasses ; but f rappe was lack- 
 ing. 
 
 " 'Ice,' I said to the waiter ; 'where is the 
 ice?' 
 
 186 
 
A WHIRL IN GAY PAREE— HOME AGAIN 
 
 " 'Oh,' he replied in his own tongue ; 'did 
 you say ice?' 
 
 "With that he disappeared, soon to return 
 bearing a big tray containing about ten pounds 
 of the precious material, and laid it on the 
 table with an additional check for its cost." 
 
 "What did you do with so much froezn water 
 in one chunk?" asked the school teacher, who 
 was doing Paris for the first time, and took 
 herself and the French capital rather seriously. 
 
 "Why," replied Price, "the episode provoked 
 so prolonged a laugh that you couldn't fill a 
 cocktail muggier with what was left, on that 
 hot day, when quiet was restored." 
 
 The attorney in the party was inspired to 
 say that he remembered a humorous para- 
 graph or two : 
 
 "May it please your honor," said a lawyer, 
 "I brought the prisoner from jail on a habeas 
 corpus." 
 
 "Well," said a man in an undertone, who 
 was standing in the rear of the court room, 
 "these lav/yers will say anything. I saw that 
 man get cut of a taxi at the court door." 
 
 The journalist rung one in at this juncture: 
 
 "An English tourist," he said, "was seeing 
 the sights in Ireland. The guide pointed out 
 the Devil's Gap, the Devil's Peak, and the 
 Devil's Leap to him. 
 
 " 'Pat,' he said, 'the devil seems to have a 
 great deal of property here.' 
 187 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 " 'He has, sorr,' replied the guide ; 'but, sure, 
 he's like all the landlords — he lives in Eng- 
 land.' " 
 
 Many other bright, crisp stories were told 
 before the party disbanded for the night. 
 
 Our time for sightseeing in the French cap- 
 ital was growing short. We visited the 
 Bourse, a magnificent structure, surrounded 
 like so many French buildings by Corinthian 
 columns. It is an imitation of the Temple of 
 Vespasian in the Forum of Rome. While ad- 
 mission is free, ladies are not allowed inside 
 the hall where the jam and uproar is far from 
 pleasant. The railed off space is the parquet, 
 which sworn brokers, or agents de change, are 
 alone privileged to enter. The hubbub was 
 quite equal to any of our American Exchanges. 
 
 A final view of Paris was taken from Eiffel 
 Tower. This monument evoked expressions 
 of admiration from Junior when he was in- 
 formed the stilt like skeleton could be seen 
 from any point in Paris, or its environs. 
 Nearly twice as high as the shaft which com- 
 memorates the father of our country in Wash- 
 ington, D. C, it is the loftiest structure in the 
 world. 
 
 After a delightful sail on the Seine as far as 
 St. Cloud, a visit to Napoleon's Tomb and trip 
 to Versailles, and other points of interest, we 
 turned towards London, as the initial step of 
 our homeward journey. Many pleasant ex- 
 periences were encountered en route; but time 
 and space prevent specific mention of them. 
 188 
 
A WHIRL IN GAY PAREE— HOME AGAIN 
 
 Once more in London we finished our sight- 
 seeing. The historic Tower of London, the 
 scene of so many tragedies; the Art Galleries, 
 including the National Gallery and the Wal- 
 lace Collection; the British Museum, and the 
 famous London docks were visited and en- 
 joyed. 
 
 High noon on a bright day in October, found 
 the family on a train speeding towards Tilbury 
 Docks, where a big liner was waiting to take 
 the now seasoned sailors on a ten days' cruise 
 to the shores of a country for which in no de- 
 gree had love been lost. 
 
 It was a pleasant sensation we experienced 
 on awakening one clear morning, to learn we 
 were plowing into New York harbor. 
 
 The venerable professor from Washington 
 University, who proved an intelligent and de- 
 lightful companion on the way over, was on 
 deck before I was dressed. 
 
 As the inspiring statue of Liberty came into 
 view, bathed in a flood of morning sunlight, 
 the octogenarian surpassed everybody in his 
 fervent expressions of patriotism. In his en- 
 thusiasm, he pulled off his overcoat and waved 
 it frantically at the emblem of freedom. The 
 others were content to flourish diminutive 
 handkerchiefs, or caps, in the direction of the 
 shore. 
 
 "Rah, Rah! for Columbia the gem of the 
 ocean!" shouted the professor in ecstacy, and 
 all joined in a rousing cheer. 
 
 189 
 
TOLD ON THE WAY 
 
 While the sentiment was not absolutely 
 new, it was the concensus of thought among 
 the passengers, before the custom officials 
 commanded their attention, that travel where 
 he may, the citizen of the United States, hav- 
 ing seen the other man's country, and noted 
 the manner of his life, inevitably returns to his 
 own shore a better American. 
 
 END. 
 
 H 61- 79 
 
 
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