First Compatriot (in Belgian café). "I beg your pardon, sirr. Are ye an Irishman?"
Second Compatriot. "I am!" [Silence.
First Compatriot. "I'd as soon meet a crocodile as an Irishman 'foreign parts. I beg ye'll not address yer conversation to me, sirr!!"
AN IDYLLIC ISLAND
When we came to Amsterdam, we determined, Pashley, Shirtliff and I, that we would take the earliest opportunity of seeing Marken. Wonderful place, by all accounts. Little island, only two miles from mainland, full of absolutely unsophisticated inhabitants. Most of them have never left Marken—no idea of the world beyond it! Everybody contented and equal; costumes quaint; manners simple and dignified. Sort of Arcadia, with dash of Utopia.
And here we are—actually at Marken, just landed by sailing-boat from Monnickendam.