Our drive to the Landsdown Road Grounds took us through many of the best parts of the city, which is beautiful, and can boast of as many handsome women as any place of its size in the world. The game that we played that afternoon was one of the best of the entire trip, from an American base-ball critic's point of view, though the score was too small to suit a people educated up to the big scores that are generally reached in cricket matches. Baldwin and Crane were both on their mettle and the fielding being of the sharpest kind safe hits were few and far between. Up to the ninth inning Chicago led by two runs, but here Earle's three-bagger, Hanlon's base on balls, Burns' fumble of Brown's hit and Carroll's double settled our chances, the All-Americas winning by a score of 4 to 3. This game made a total of twenty-eight that we had played since leaving San Francisco, of which the All-Americas had won fourteen and the Chicagos eleven, three being a tie, and had it not been for the accident in Paris that deprived us of Williamson's services, I am pretty certain that a majority of the games would have been placed to Chicago's credit. In the evening we left for Cork over the Southern Railway in three handsomely-appointed coaches decorated with American flags and bearing the inscription "Reserved for the American Base-Ball Party." We arrived at two o'clock the next morning, being at once driven to the Victoria Hotel. The same day we visited Blarney Castle, driving out and back in the jaunting cars for which Ireland is famous, and, though I kissed the blarney stone, I found after my return home that I could not argue my beliefs into an umpire any better than before. That night we left the quaint city of Cork behind and, after a beautiful ride of eleven miles by train, found ourselves standing on the docks at Queenstown, where a tender was in waiting to convey us to the White Star steamer that awaited us in the offing. CHAPTER XXXI. "HOME, SWEET HOME."