ing. At the close of the lecture the audience
arose and handkerchiefs, like so many white doves, fluttered in the
air. In the midst of that scene, an old superannuated minister of the
New York Methodist Conference planted a kiss on my cheek, and I have
wondered often, why a man should have thought of that instead of a
woman.

At the close of the service a friend said: "That must have been the
proudest moment of your life, for surely I never witnessed such a
scene."

I said: "No, I can recall one that was greater than the white lilies."

Away back in Bourbon county, Kentucky, when I was not quite twenty I
was married to a girl of nineteen. Soon after, we went to housekeeping
in a country home. It was supper time. I had fed the chickens and
horses, and washed my face in a tin pan on the kitchen steps, when a
sweet voice said: "Come, supper's ready." As I entered the dining room
my young wife came through the kitchen door, the coffee pot in her
hand, her cheeks the ruddier from the glow of the cook stove, her face
all lit up with expectancy as to what her young husband would think of
his first meal prepared by his wife. All the operas I have heard
since, and all the cities I have seen, dwindle into insignificance
compared with that pure, peaceful home in the country.

Another sweep of the searchlight brings us to the Immigration Problem.
We are today the most cosmopolitan country of the world. At the rate
of a million a year immigrants are pouring in upon us, and no wonder
they come, when they read of the marvelous fortunes made in the new
world; of Mackay a penniless boy in the old world, worth fifty
millions at middle life in America; A.T. Stewart peddling lace at
twenty, a merchant prince at fifty; Carnegie a poor Scotch lad at
eighteen, a half billionaire at seventy. These with many more such
results on a smaller scale, rainbow the sky that spans the sea, and
from the other end, this end is seen pouring its gold and greatness
into the lap of the land of the free. So they come, and though they do
not find all they expected, they do find far more here than they left
behind, and writing letters back over the ocean, they set others wild
with a desire to live in America. Many of them are excellent people;
their children go into our public schools and come out with ours, one
in thought, one in purpose, one in feeling. A little boy in Chicago
said:

"Papa, you were born in England?"

"Yes."

"And mama was born in Sc