the voyage the ship reached Moville, Ireland,
where a small vessel came out and took off the passengers for
Londonderry. The tilled land, visible from the ship, reminded me of a
large garden. Some time that night we anchored in the harbor at
Greenock, near the mouth of the River Clyde. About one o'clock the
second steward came in, calling out: "Janes!" I answered from my berth
and heard him call out: "Don Carlos Janes!" Again I answered and learned
that he had some mail for me. I told him to hand it in, not remembering
that the door was locked, but that made no difference, for he handed it
in anyhow, but the locking arrangement on that door needed repairing
after he went away. I arose and examined the two pieces of mail, which
were from friends, giving me directions as to where I should go when the
ship got up to Glasgow, twenty-two miles from the sea. There was but one
case of sea sickness reported on the whole voyage. There was one death,
but the corpse was carried into port instead of being buried at sea.

The home of Brother and Sister Henry Nelmes, which was my home while I
staid in Glasgow, is nicely located. Brother Nelmes and his wife are
excellent people, and treated me with much kindness. Glasgow is a large
and important city, with many interesting places in it. The Municipal
Building with its marble stairs, alabaster balustrade, onyx columns, and
other ornamentation, is attractive on the inside, but the exterior
impressed me more with the idea of stability than of beauty. The old
Cathedral, which I visited twice, is in an excellent state of
preservation, although founded in the eleventh century. There is an
extensive burial ground adjoining the Cathedral, and one of the
prominent monuments is at the grave of John Knox, the reformer. These
impressive words, written from memory, were spoken by the Regent at the
burial of Knox, and have been carved upon his monument: "Here lieth he
who never feared the face of man, who was often threatened with dag and
dagger, yet hath ended his days in peace and honor." Carlyle spoke of
him as a man "fearing God, without any other fear."

One day I visited the birth-place of Robert Burns, at Ayr, a point not
far from Glasgow. I not only saw the "lowly thatched cottage," but a
monument to the poet, "Auld Kirk Alloway," the "brig o' Doon," and many
interesting articles in the museum. When the street car came to a
standstill, I had the old church and cemetery on my right hand, an