.
Hayes' political opinions and, besides that, was his rival upon
tea-meeting platforms. He had convinced himself that it was due to the
Presbyterian minister's interference that he, a Methodist, had been
denied the honour of being the speaker of the evening. He, a
class-leader in the very church where the performance was given, to be
set aside for that Irish Catholic! He would show them all a thing or
two before he sat down. He was standing now, looking straight ahead of
him, and grasping the back of the seat before him, with true Saxon
doggedness.

"Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen," he shouted, and Mr. Hayes, who
had met Sim Basketful many a time in his political campaigns, sat down,
somewhat disconcerted.

"Mr. Chairman, Ladies _and_ Gentlemen, if there's anybody in this 'ere
haudience wants to know wot's the matter with Hingland, I'm 'ere
prepared to state, sir, that there ain't one bloomin' thing the matter
with 'er!" (Loud cheers from his Anglo-Saxon hearers.) "And wot's
more, _Ladies_ and Gentlemen _and_ Mr. Chairman, I think it's 'igh time
we were 'earin' just a little about that country that's made us all wot
we are!" (Applause, mingled with noises of an indefinite character.)
"We've been 'earin' a lot o' nonsense about Hireland and Hirish scenery
and Hirish soldiers, but wot I'd like to be hinformed about, Ladies and
Gentlemen _and_ Mr. Chairman, is if anybody in this 'ere haudience is
under the himpression that a Canadian Patriotic Society is a _Hirish_
society!"

The withering contempt of the last words, and the cheers they elicited,
brought the first speaker indignantly to his feet. Not one word could
he get in, however. Mr. Basketful was a true Briton, and with the aid
of a voice which drowned all competitors he clung to his theme with
magnificent tenacity. When the noise calmed sufficiently for him to be
heard, the audience found that he was discoursing fiercely and doggedly
upon the inimitable land of his birth.

Sandy Neil, his eyes dancing, slipped out of his place in the choir,
and made his way softly down the aisle at the side of the church.
"Catchach's down there," he whispered to the choir leader as he passed;
"I'm goin' to stir him up;" and Wee Andra threw back his head with a
laugh which blew out the lamp on the organ.

But none of these things moved the patriotic Englishman. He was
launched upon his favourite theme, his native land, and was
irresistible. England was the onl