he asked me whether I had written anything, next whether I
was an Irishman or a Frenchman, etc.

[Illustration: "MARCUS AURELIUS VOS NEFFER IN TE UNIDED SHTAATES!"]

Sometimes the chairman is nervous; he hems and haws, cannot find the
words he wants, and only succeeds in fidgeting the audience. Sometimes,
on the other hand, he is a wit. There is danger again. I was once
introduced to a New York audience by General Horace Porter. Those of my
readers who know the delightful general and have heard him deliver one
of those little gems of speeches in his own inimitable manner, will
agree with me that certainly there was danger in that; and they will not
be surprised when I tell them that after his delightfully witty and
graceful little introduction, I felt as if the best part of the show was
over.

Sometimes the chair has to be offered to a magnate of the neighborhood,
though he may be noted for his long, prosy orations--which annoy the
public; or to a very popular man in the locality who gets all the
applause--which annoys the lecturer.

"Brevity is the soul of wit," should be the motto of chairmen, and I
sympathize with a friend of mine who says that chairmen, like little
boys and girls, should be seen and not heard.

Of those chairmen who can and do speak, the Scotch ones are generally
good. They have a knack of starting the evening with some droll Scotch
anecdote, told with that piquant and picturesque accent of theirs, and
of putting the audience in a good humor. Occasionally they will also
make _apropos_ and equally droll little speeches at the close. One
evening, in talking of America, I had mentioned the fact that American
banquets were very lively, and that I thought the fact of Americans
being able to keep up such a flow of wit for so many hours, was perhaps
due to their drinking Apollinaris water instead of stronger things after
dessert. At the end of the lecture, the chairman rose and said he had
greatly enjoyed it, but that he must take exception to one statement the
lecturer had made, for he thought it "fery deeficult to be wutty on
Apollinaris watter."

Another kind of chairman is the one who kills your finish, and stops all
the possibility of your being called back for applause, by coming
forward, the very instant the last words are out of your mouth, to
inform the audience that the next lecture will be given by Mr.
So-and-So, or to make a statement of the Society's financial position,
concluding by a