In the course of our tour in the Far West of America in 1893–4 we had an experience which Irving now and again told with great enjoyment to his friends. From San Francisco we went to Tacoma and Seattle, two towns on Puget Sound between which is a mighty rivalry. In Seattle we were walking along the main street when we saw a crowd outside the window of a drug store and went over to see the cause. The whole window-space was cleared and covered with sheets of white paper. In the centre, raised on a little platform, was an immense Tropical American horned beetle quite three inches from feelers to tail. Behind it was propped a huge card on which was printed in ink with a brush in large letters: “ORDINARY BED-BUG CAPTURED IN TACOMA.” XXXIX TWO STORIES I Naturally the form of humour that appealed most to Irving was that based on human character. This feeling he shared with Tennyson—indeed with all in whom a deep knowledge of the “essential difference” of character is a necessity of their art. Perhaps the two following stories, of which he was exceedingly fond, will illustrate the bent of his mind. The first, having heard from some one else, he told me; the second I told him. I have heard him tell them both several times in his own peculiar way. II An English excursionist was up near Balmoral in the later days of Queen Victoria. The day being hot, he went into a cottage to get a glass of water. He sat mopping his forehead, whilst the guidwife was polishing the glass and getting fresh water from the well. He commenced to talk cheerfully: “So the Queen is a neighbour of yours!” “Ooh, aye!” “And she is quite neighbourly, isn’t she? And comes to visit you here in your own cottages?” “Ooh, aye! She’s weel eneuch!” “And she asks you to tea sometimes at Balmoral?” “Ooh, aye! She’s nae that bad!” The tourist was rather struck with the want of enthusiasm shown and ventured to comment on it inquiringly: “Look here, ma’am; you don’t seem very satisfied with Her Majesty! May I ask you why?” “Weel, I’ll tell ye if ye wish. The fac’ is we don’t leik the gangin’s on at the Caastle.” “Oh, indeed, ma’am! How is that? What is it that displeases you?” “We don’t leik the way they keep—or don’t keep—the Sawbath. Goin’ oot in bo-ats an’ rowin’ on the Sawbath day!” The tourist tried to appease her and suggested: “Oh, well! after all, ma’am, you know there is a precedent for that. You remember Our Lord, too, went out on the Sabbath——” She interrupted him: “Ooh, aye! I ken it weel eneuch. Ye canna’ tell me aught aboot Hem that I dinna ken a’ready. An’ I can tell ye this: we don’t think any moor o’ Hem for it either!” III