"Begorra, the ould counthry is all foine enough in a picture or lecture; but Oi loike the Imerald Oile on this soide betther. The Imerald Oile of Ameriky, bounded on the north, by the North Pole; on the east, by the Atlanthic; on the south, by the South Pole; on the wist, by the Pacific; an' on the top, by the rist o' the universe. Hoorah fur the Imerald Oile of Ameriky!" A howl went up, and a laugh from everyone, followed by much clapping. "Where did you learn so much geography?" asked one. Again there was a laugh. "And this," said the speaker, as a new picture flashed before their eyes, "is Blarney Castle. Here is where Patrick learned his blarney." But Patrick was not to be outdone. He chuckled. "The blairney stone was all roight whin Oi was at Blairney Castle in the ould counthry; but whin Oi landed in Ameriky, Oi wint to Plymouth, an' there Oi found an Oirish saint holdin' a rock. Oi sez ter him, sez Oi, 'Phat do yez call the rock where the Pilgrims landed'? An' he looks at me scornful loike, an' sez he ter me, sez he, 'Y're mishthaken', sez he, 'this is the blairney stone of Killairney. Ameriky imports all the bist things from the ould counthry." The people fairly howled. "Includin' you, eh, Patrick?" shouted an Englishman, above the uproar of laughter. The address held everyone's attention, and at its close, both Lord Kelwin and Mr. Clayton were loudly applauded. "This closes our programme," said John Harding. "We hope ye'll talk an' have a good time, an' look about the room ter see what the children of the school have been doin'. Then the women folks will feed yer cake an' coffee." This announcement, too, was applauded. Mrs. Murphy, belle of the back East barn raisings, separated herself from the company. She came upon a good-sized play house, neatly painted and papered. It was furnished tastefully with little woven rugs, wire furniture, and crocheted window curtains. Over different articles, were placed the names of the children who had made them. Mrs. Murphy stood in amazed admiration, for her own children had been among the most skilled workers. She found simple garments, neatly made, and here and there bits of sewing, clumsy, and botched in some cases, because baby fingers had been at work. The teacher joined Mrs. Murphy, who said to her: "You don't say, schoolma'am, as you learns the young uns to do sich things as this?" "Yes. Don't you like it?" "Like it! I should say! Why, fust I know, they'll be makin' their own cloes, an' their pap's an' mine!" "Perhaps." But in another part of the room, a different conversation was going on. "I tell ye," said Jessie Roth, who was talking to Bobbie Burns, "schoolma'am kens an awfu' lot." "How dae ye ken?" he asked with an air of scorn, "ye dinna ken muckle yirsel'." "Ye jist shut up, Bob Burns," she replied testily. "I may not ken muckle, neither do ye. Ye has no manners. I tell ye I want ter learn. I'm a mind ter quit the range an' go ter school."