I never shall forget it.
At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us, Mr.Lennox, and when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney, he sighed, and sung, with a look at me...
"Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney?
She lives on the banks of Killarney; From the glance of her eye, Shun danger and fly, For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney." Wasn't that nonsensical?
We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours.

It's a dirty, noisy place, and I was glad to leave it.

Uncle rushed out and bought a pair of dogskin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an umbrella, and got shaved _a la_ mutton chop, the first thing.

Then he flattered himself that he looked like a true Briton, but the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the little bootblack knew that an American stood in them, and said, with a grin, "There yer har, sir.

I've given 'em the latest Yankee shine." It amused Uncle immensely.