"I'm the only one o' its kind in the wurruld," grinned Sir Harry Lauder, as he painted a picture of himself in makeup grease upon the mirror in front of him. "By Saturday night I'll have the whole picture, and then we'll start in all over again in Quebec."

"Americans are the most lawless people that I have ever seen," he continued on another strain. "I have been following the papers regularly, a murder here, and a murder there, murders everywhere. And if they are not acquitted they hang, two years later. In England it is done in two to three weeks, no longer than the time taken to empanel a jury in this country.

"American humor has changed greatly since I have been here, and more still in the last 20 years. Also, it changes so much faster. A good thing in New York is known on the Pacific the next day, and the third day it is thrown out. In Scotland we take it for what it's worth, but we don't scrap it without consideration. As for the jokes about the Scotch, we laugh at them too, but they don't mean anything to us.

"There's another idea that has hit this country--companionate marriage. Lindsey is a disgrace! Those things could only originate from an immoral man."

Here Sir Harry went back to his picture and after daubing a few more greases upon the glass, turned to explain his work. "I shall go on till I die. It is my work, and I am a worker. I want to get the children singing, to know my songs, and to know me, as I have their parents and their grandparents in all parts of the world. And if, in the course of this work. I happen to help some poor fellow over the top, that is my reward."

"That knife", and he pointed to the sheath in his stocking. "It's a Scotch ornament, or," and he scowled ominously, "for reporters who are not careful of the truth. I don't like reporters and I don't receive even the big ones, but I like to encourage young fellows on down the road. I suppose I am by now the old generation, and my ideas are different but the Scotch of me is still there, and my heart is right."

The kilt was thrown on, and Sir Harry, who has been called the greatest recruiter in the British Empire, trotted on stage, with a "Waggle, waggle, waggle of his kilt",--"On to the end of the road"