I went to the hotel, and tried to forget the audience I had just had by recalling to my mind a joyous evening in Scotland. This happened about a year ago, in a mining town in the neighborhood of Glasgow, where I had been invited to lecture, on a Saturday night, to the members of a popular--very popular--Institute. [Illustration: I AM ESCORTED TO THE HALL.] I arrived at the station from Glasgow at half-past seven, and there found the secretary and the treasurer of the Institute, who had been kind enough to come and meet me. We shook hands. They gave me a few words of welcome. I thought my friends looked a little bit queer. They proposed that we should walk to the lecture hall. The secretary took my right arm, the treasurer took my left, and, abreast, the three of us proceeded toward the hall. They did not take me to that place; _I_ took them, holding them fast all the way--the treasurer especially. We arrived in good time, although we stopped once for light refreshment. At eight punctually, I entered the hall, preceded by the president, and followed by the members of the committee. The president introduced me in a most queer, incoherent speech. I rose, and was vociferously cheered. When silence was restored, I said in a calm, almost solemn manner: "Ladies and Gentlemen." This was the signal for more cheering and whistling. In France whistling means hissing, and I began to feel uneasy, but soon I bore in mind that whistling, in the North of Great Britain, was used to express the highest pitch of enthusiasm. So I went on. The audience laughed at everything I said, and even before I said it. I had never addressed such keen people. They seemed so anxious to laugh and cheer in the right place that they laughed and cheered all the time--so much so that in an hour and twenty minutes, I had only got through half my lecture, which I had to bring to a speedy conclusion. The president rose and proposed a vote of thanks in another most queer speech, which was a new occasion for cheering. When we had retired in the committee room, I said to the secretary: "What's the matter with the president? Is he quite right?" I added, touching my forehead. "Oh!" said the secretary, striking his chest as proudly as possible, "he is drunk--and so am I." [Illustration: "HE'S DRUNK, AND SO AM I."] The explanation of the whole strange evening dawned upon me. Of course they were drunk, and so was the audience. That night, I believe I was the only sober person on the premises. * * * * * Yesterday, I had an interesting chat with a native of the State of Maine on the subject of my lecture at Portsea.