schoolmaster presiding, the entire neighborhood, sweethearts and all, in attendance, and the boys for the first time testing their oratorical powers. Vigilant preparations having been made for the discussion of such momentous questions as: "Which deserves the most credit, Columbus for discovering America, or Washington for defending it?" or "Which brings the greater happiness to mankind, pursuit or possession?"

In "Georgia Scenes" is an amusing account of a debate in a backwoods "Academy" nearly a century ago. The two brightest boys, after anxious preparation, succeeded in formulating for debate a question utterly meaningless, but which appeared upon hurried reading to touch the very bed-rock of human government. The "conspirators" mentioned were the respective leaders in the debate which closed the public exercises of the annual "Exhibition" of the Academy. The leaders had made careful preparation for the contest, and appeared fully to understand the question, and each in turn highly complimented the able argument of his rival. Much amusement was caused by the remaining speakers, when called in order, who candidly admitted that they did n't understand the question, and patiently submitted to the fine imposed by the rules of the Society. That a boy of but mediocre talents should have failed to participate in the debate, will not be considered remarkable when the question is stated: "Whether, in public elections, the vote of faction should prevail by internal suggestions, or the bias of jurisprudence?"

The late General Gordon related to me the above incident, and added that the leaders mentioned were at a later day well known to the country, one the learned Bishop Longstreet of Georgia, the other the eloquent Senator McDuffie of South Carolina.

Events almost forgotten, forms long since vanished, were vividly recalled as, after long absence, I revisited the spot inseparably blended with the joyous associations of childhood. The platform from which I was to speak had been erected near the ruins of the old church above mentioned, of

which my grandfather had been a ruling elder, my father, mother, and other kindred the earliest members.

Upon my introduction to the vast assemblage - the good things suggested by "barbecue" having meanwhile given to all an abundant feeling of contentment - I began by brief reference to the pleasure I experienced in again visiting, after the passing of the years which separated childhood from middle age, scenes once so familiar, and meeting face to face so many of my early associates and friends, and remarked, that in the early days in Illinois the not unusual reply of the Kentucky emigrant, when asked what part of the Old Commonwealth he came from was, "From the Blue Grass," or "From near Lexington," but that my invariable answer to that inquiry had ever been, "From the Pennyrile!"

Some mention I made of Mr. Caskie, the dreaded schoolmaster of the long ago, caused a momentary commotion in the audience, and immediately a man of white hairs and bowed by the weight of more than fourscore years, was lifted to the front of the platform. With arm about my neck, he earnestly inquired: "Adlai, I came twenty miles to hear you speak; don't you remember me?" The audience apparently appreciated the instant reply: "Yes, Mr. Caskie, I still have a few marks left to remember you by!"

The venerable and long ago forgiven schoolmaster was fearfully deaf, and to prevent the possibility of a single word escaping him, he stood close beside me, and with his hand. behind his ear and the other resting tenderly on my shoulder, faithfully followed me in my journeyings to and fro across the stage during the two-hours' speech which followed.

My speech at length concluded, I was warmly greeted by scores of old neighbors and friends. Just forty years had passed since my father had removed his family to Illinois, and it may well be believed that it was difficult to recall promptly all the names and faces of those I had known in childhood. Even a candidate has, at such times, "some rights under the Constitution"; one of which, I honestly believe, is total exemption from the tormenting inquiries: "Do you know me? Well, what is my name?" The laurels,

even of Job, had he ever been a candidate, would probably have turned to willows.

I am here reminded of an experience of one of my early competitors for Congress. It was his happy forte to remember instantly all his old acquaintances; not only that, but to know their full names. To call out in friendly and familiar tone, in and out of season, "Bill," "Dick," "Sam," "Bob," a hundred times a day, was as natural to him as to breathe.

Upon one occasion, however, the fates seemed slightly untoward. At the close of one of our joint debates, in the southern part of the district, he was greeted by a demurelooking individual with the salutation, "How are you, Judge?"

"My dear sir," exclaimed the regular candidate, grasping the interrogator warmly by the hand, "how are you, and how is the old lady?"

"I am not married, Judge," was the deliberate response, as of one assuming the entire responsibility.

"Certainly not, certainly not, my dear sir; I meant your mother. How is that excellent old lady?"

"My mother has been dead twenty years, Judge," was the mournful reply.

A trifle embarrassed, but not entirely off his base, the judge looked earnestly into the face of the bereaved, and said:

"My friend, excuse me, your countenance is perfectly familiar to me, but I do not at this moment remember exactly who you are."

The response was, "Judge, I am an evangelist."

To which the candidate for Congress, now upon a firm footing, tapped the man of the sacred office familiarly upon the shoulder and cheerfully exclaimed, "Why, damn it, Van, I thought I ought to know you!"

Returning now for brief sojourn to the afore-mentioned barbecue, with a faithful kinsman as monitor, aided by a slight moiety of tact to be credited to personal account, I managed passably well to get through the trying ordeal. "The old gentleman with the long white beard, coming

toward us," observed my monitor, "is Uncle Jake Anderson. He has a hat bet that you will know him." Thus advised, I was ready for trial, and warmly grasping the hand extended I earnestly inquired, "Uncle Jake, how are you?" "Do you know me, boy?" was his immediate response. "Know you?" I replied. "You and my father were near neighbors for years; how could I help knowing you?" "Yes, of course,' he said, "but you being gone so long, and now running for President, I did n't know but what you had forgotten all about the old neighbors down on the Lick." Assuring him that I had forgotten none of them, and congratulating him upon the hat he had won, I passed on to the next.

The interview described was repeated with slight variations, many times, when my attendant remarked:

"That man leaning against the tree is John Dunloe; do you remember him?"

"Certainly," I replied, "I went to school with him.” Immediately approaching my early classmate I took him by the hand and said, “How are you, John?”

"Why, Adlai, do you know me?" was the prompt response. "Know you," said I, "did n't we go to school together to Mr. Caskie right here at Blue Water, when we were boys?"

"Yas, of course we did," slowly answered my sometime school-fellow, "but you been 'sociatin' with them big fellows down about Washington so long, that I did n't know but what you had forgot us poor fellows down in the Pennyrile."

Assuring him that I never forgot my old friends, I inquired, "John, where is your brother Bill?"

"He's here," was the instant reply "Me and Bill started before daylight to get to this barbecue in time. Bill 'lowed he'd ruther go forty miles on foot to hear you make a speech, than go to a hangin'."

XXXII

A TRIBUTE TO IRELAND *

HIS

THE WRITER'S VISIT TO NOTABLE PLACES IN IRELAND TRIBUTE OF PRAISE TO HER GREAT MEN AMERICA'S OBLIGATION TO IRISH SOLDIERS AND STATESMEN.

I

ACCEPTED with pleasure the invitation to meet with you. For the courtesy so generously extended me I am profoundly grateful.

Within late years it has been my privilege to visit Ireland; and I can truly say that no country in Europe possessed for me a deeper interest than the little island about whose name clusters so much of romance and of enchantment. I saw Ireland in its beauty and in its gloom; in its glory and in its desolation. I stood upon the Giant's Causeway, one of the grand masterpieces of the Almighty; I visited the historic parks and deserted legislative halls of venerated Dublin; threaded the streets and byways of the quaint old city of Cork; listened to the bells of Shandon; sailed over the beautiful lakes of Killarney, and gazed upon the old castles of Muckross and of Blarney, whose ivy-covered ruins tell of the far-away centuries. What a wonderful island! The birthplace of wits, of warriors, of statesmen, of poets, and of orators. Of its people it has been truly said: "They have fought successfully the battles of every country but their own."

Upon occasion such as this, the Irishman - to whatever spot in this wide world he may have wandered - lives in the shadow of the past. In imagination he is once more under the ancestral roof; the vine-clad cottage is again a thing of reality. Again he wears the shamrock; again he hears the songs of his native land, while his heart is stirred by memories of her wrongs and of her glory.

What a splendid contribution Ireland has made to the

*Speech delivered by Mr. Stevenson at a banquet of the United Irish Societies of Chicago, September, 1900.