We visited various places of interest, in “Ould” Ireland and I was delighted with the quaint manners, and charmed with the open hospitality of its people. One incident I will relate. One day at Larne I took a stroll alone and then fell in with a couple of foreign gentlemen from a steamer for New York that was laying to for the day. We sauntered out towards the country and passing by a field where there were some beautiful cows grazing in clover, I suggested that we go to the house and ask for a cup of milk. The gentlemen expressed surprise that I should think of such a thing. I saw no harm in it as I proposed to pay for what we received, so we would not be beggars, and as I persisted, they said they would follow me. I accosted a man raking the yard and made my request. He replied that he would see the maister, and soon the latter appeared and invited us by the front door into his drawing room, beautifully furnished. He then called a maid and she soon brought a large glass pitcher of creamy yellow milk, that was a sight to me from India where we have to be happy with dudh pani, but with more pani than dudh. She also brought a large plate of biscuit and glasses. Our host handled the pitcher and served us with generous hospitality. We meantime had a delightful chat. He had just returned from the continent and was full of fresh incidents of his trip and asked many questions about India. He then took us into his garden where he showed, and also gave us some of his ripe gooseberries large as pigeon eggs, that he was reserving for the Annual Fair, stating that the year previous he had taken thirty-two prizes for various exhibits. All this greatly interested me. He then took us to his raspberry bushes laden with ripe fruit and bade us help ourselves while he picked liberal handfuls for us, we all the while keeping up a running talk. On leaving we thanked him again and again, and especially I, who had been the leader in this foray. I handed him my card and received his, when he informed us that the place was the Manse and he was the Presbyterian minister. He pressed us to call again when we came that way and stated that he would always remember us with pleasure. I could not help making a comparison between him and our Indian padris. It is true they have no gooseberry or raspberry bushes or such cream, and yet—but as comparisons are odious to those on whom they reflect, I will cease my mental meanderings. My two foreign comrades, the one from Vienna, the other from Berlin thanked me most courteously for the treat I had given them. I doubt if they knew that I was an Eurasian and do not believe it would have made any difference to them as they were real gentlemen.