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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Punch in the Highlands, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Mr. Punch in the Highlands
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: J. A. Hammerton
+
+Illustrator: Charles Keene
+             and others
+
+Release Date: October 30, 2011 [EBook #37882]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Neville Allen, Chris Curnow and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+    PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR
+
+    Edited by J. A. Hammerton
+
+Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the
+cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic
+draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch", from its
+beginning in 1841 to the present day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: THRIFT
+
+_Highlander (he had struck his foot against a "stane")._ "Phew-ts!--e-eh
+what a ding ma puir buit wad a gotten if a'd had it on!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+AS PICTURED BY
+
+CHARLES KEENE, JOHN LEECH, GEORGE DU MAURIER, W. RALSTON, L. RAVEN-HILL,
+J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE, E. T. REED, G. D. ARMOUR, CECIL ALDIN, A. S. BOYD,
+ETC.
+
+_WITH 140 ILLUSTRATIONS_
+
+PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"
+
+THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Punch Library of Humour
+
+_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages
+fully illustrated_
+
+    LIFE IN LONDON
+    COUNTRY LIFE
+    IN THE HIGHLANDS
+    SCOTTISH HUMOUR
+    IRISH HUMOUR
+    COCKNEY HUMOUR
+    IN SOCIETY
+    AFTER DINNER STORIES
+    IN BOHEMIA
+    AT THE PLAY
+    MR. PUNCH AT HOME
+    ON THE CONTINONG
+    RAILWAY BOOK
+    AT THE SEASIDE
+    MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
+    IN THE HUNTING FIELD
+    MR. PUNCH ON TOUR
+    WITH ROD AND GUN
+    MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
+    BOOK OF SPORTS
+    GOLF STORIES
+    IN WIG AND GOWN
+    ON THE WARPATH
+    BOOK OF LOVE
+    WITH THE CHILDREN
+
+[Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NORTHWARD HO!
+
+SCOTSMEN--Highlanders and Lowlanders--have furnished Mr. Punch with many
+of his happiest jokes. Despite the curious tradition which the Cockney
+imbibes with his mother's milk as to the sterility of Scotland in
+humour, the Scots are not only the cause of humour in others but there
+are occasions when they prove themselves not entirely bereft of the
+faculty which, with his charming egoism, the Cockney supposes to be his
+own exclusive birthright. Indeed, we have it on the authority of Mr.
+Spielmann, the author of "The History of _Punch_", that "of the accepted
+jokes from unattached contributors (to Punch), it is a notable fact that
+at least 75 per cent. comes from north of the Tweed." As a very
+considerable proportion of these Scottish jokes make fun of the national
+characteristics of the Scot, it is clear that Donald has the supreme
+gift of being able to laugh at himself. It should be noted, however,
+that Mr. Punch's most celebrated Scottish joke ("Bang went saxpence"),
+which we give on page 153, was no invention, but merely the record of an
+actual conversation overheard by an Englishman!
+
+In the present volume the purpose has been not so much to bring together
+a representative collection of the Scottish humour that has appeared in
+_Punch_, but to illustrate the intercourse of the "Sassenach" with the
+Highlander, chiefly as a visitor bent on sport, and incidentally to
+illustrate some of the humours of Highland life. Perhaps the distinction
+between Highlander and Lowlander has not been very rigidly kept, but
+that need trouble none but the pedants, who are notoriously lacking in
+the sense of humour, and by that token ought not to be peeping into
+these pages.
+
+Of all Mr. Punch's contributors, we may say, without risk of being
+invidious, that Charles Keene was by far the happiest in the portrayal
+of Scottish character. His Highland types are perhaps somewhat closer to
+the life than his Lowlanders, but all are invariably touched off with
+the kindliest humour, and never in any way burlesqued. If his work
+overshadows that of the other humorous artists past and present
+represented in this volume, it is for the reason stated; yet it will be
+found that from the days of John Leech to those of Mr. Raven-Hill. MR.
+PUNCH'S artists have seldom been more happily inspired than when they
+have sought to depict Highland life and the lighter side of sport and
+travel north of the Tweed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+SPORTING NOTES
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The following are the notes we have received from our Sporting
+Contributor. I wish we could say they were a fair equivalent for the
+notes he has received from _us_, to say nothing of that new Henry's
+patent double central-fire breech-loader, with all the latest
+improvements, and one of Mr. Benjamin's heather-mixture suits. Such as
+they are we print them, with the unsatisfactory consolation that if the
+notes are bad they are like the sport and the birds. Of all these it may
+be said that "bad is the best."
+
+_North and South Uist._--The awfully hard weather--the natives call it
+"soft" here--having rendered the chances of winged game out of the
+question, the sportsmen who have rented the shootings are glad to try
+the chances of the game, sitting, and have confined themselves to the
+whist from which the islands take their name. Being only two, they are
+reduced to double dummy. As the rental of the Uist Moors is £400, they
+find the points come rather high--so far.
+
+_Harris._--In spite of repeated inquiries, the proprietress of the
+island was not visible. Her friend, Mrs. Gamp, now here on a visit,
+declares she saw Mrs. H. very recently, but was quite unable to give me
+any information as to shootings, except the shootings of her own corns.
+
+_Fifeshire._--The renters of the Fife shootings generally have been
+seriously considering the feasibility of combining with those of the
+once well-stocked Drum Moor in Aberdeenshire, to get up something like
+a band--of hope, that a bag may be made some day. Thus far, the only
+bags made have been those of the proprietors of the shootings, who have
+bagged heavy rentals.
+
+_Rum._--I call the island a gross-misnomer, as there is nothing to drink
+in it but whiskey, which, with the adjacent "Egg", may be supposed to
+have given rise to the neighbouring "Mull"--hot drinks being the natural
+resource of both natives and visitors in such weather as we've had ever
+since I crossed the Tweed. I have seen one bird--at least so the gilly
+says--after six tumblers, but to me it had all the appearance of a
+brace.
+
+_Skye._--Birds wild. Sportsmen, ditto. Sky a gloomy grey--your
+correspondent and the milk at the hotel at Corrieverrieslushin alike
+sky-blue.
+
+_Cantire._--Can't you? Try tramping the moors for eight hours after a
+pack of preternaturally old birds that know better than let you get
+within half a mile of their tails. Then see if you can't tire. I beg
+your pardon, but if you knew what it was to make jokes under my present
+circumstances, you'd give it up, or do worse. If I should not turn up
+shortly, and you hear of an inquest on a young man, in one of
+Benjamin's heather-mixture suits, with a Henry's central-fire
+breech-loader, and a roll of new notes in his possession, found hanging
+wet through, in his braces in some remote Highland shieling--break it
+gently to the family of
+
+    Your Sporting Contributor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A PIBROCH FOR BREAKFAST.
+
+  Hech, ho, the Highland laddie!
+  Hech, ho, the Finnon haddie!
+        Breeks awa',
+        Heck, the braw,
+  Ho, the bonnie tartan plaidie!
+        Hech, the laddie,
+        Ho, the haddie,
+  Hech, ho, the cummer's caddie,
+        Dinna forget
+        The bannocks het,
+  Gin ye luve your Highland laddie.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Member for Sark writes from the remote Highlands of Scotland, where
+he has been driving past an interminable series of lochs, to inquire
+where the keys are kept? He had better apply to the local authorities in
+the Isle of Man. They have a whole House of Keys. Possibly those the
+hon. Member is concerned about may be found among them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ON THE HILLS
+
+_Deer Stalker (old hand, and fond of it)._ "Isn't it exciting? Keep
+cool!"
+
+  [_Jones isn't used to it, and, not having moved for the last half-hour,
+  his excitement has worn off. He's wet through, and sinking fast in the
+  boggy ground, and speechless with cold. So he doesn't answer._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: 1) MR. BUGGLE'S FIRST STAG.
+
+AT THE FIRST SHOT MR BUGGLE'S FIRST STAG LAY PRONE.]
+
+[Illustration: 2) ELATED WITH SUCCESS MR B. RUSHED UP AND SEATED HIMSELF
+ASTRIDE HIS VICTIM]
+
+[Illustration: 3) BUT ALAS IT WAS ONLY SLIGHTLY STUNNED, AND PROMPTLY
+ROSE TO THE OCCASION.]
+
+[Illustration: 4) SO DID MR B.]
+
+[Illustration: 5) THE LAW OF GRAVITY PROVED TOO STRONG WHEN A LUCKY SHOT
+FROM THE KEEPER]
+
+[Illustration: 6) PLACED MATTERS UPON A SATISFACTORY FOOTING ONCE MORE.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MY ONLY SHOT AT A CORMORANT.
+
+Here she comes!]
+
+[Illustration: There she goes!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FULL STOP IN THE DAWDLE FROM THE NORTH.
+
+(_Leaves from the Highland Journal of Toby, M.P._)
+
+"Here's a go", I said, turning to Sark, after carefully looking round
+the station to see if we really were back at Oban, having a quarter of
+an hour ago started (as we supposed) on our journey, already fifteen
+minutes late.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Well, if you put it in that way", he said, "I should call it an entire
+absence of go. I thought it was a peculiarly jolting train. Never passed
+over so many points in the same time in my life."
+
+"Looks as if we should miss train at Stirling", I remark, anxiously. "If
+so, we can't get on from Carlisle to Woodside to-night."
+
+"Oh, that'll be all right", said Sark, airy to the last; "we'll make it
+up as we go along."
+
+Again sort of faint bluish light, which I had come to recognise as a
+smile, feebly flashed over cadaverous countenance of the stranger in
+corner seat.
+
+Certainly no hurry in getting off. More whistling, more waving of green
+flag. Observed that natives who had come to see friends off had quietly
+waited on platform. Train evidently expected back. Now it had returned
+they said good-bye over again to friends. Train deliberately steams out
+of station thirty-five minutes late. Every eight or ten miles stopped at
+roadside station. No one got in or got out. After waiting five or six
+minutes, to see if any one would change his mind, train crawled out
+again. Performance repeated few miles further on with same result.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Don't put your head out of the window and ask questions", Sark
+remonstrated, as I banged down the window. "I never did it since I heard
+a story against himself John Bright used to tell with great glee.
+Travelling homeward one day in a particularly slow train, it stopped an
+unconscionably long time at Oldham. Finally, losing all patience, he
+leaned out of the window, and in his most magisterial manner said, 'Is
+it intended that this train shall move on to-night?' The porter
+addressed, not knowing the great man, tartly replied, 'Put in thy big
+white yedd, and mebbe the train'll start.'"
+
+Due at Loch Awe 1.32; half-past one when we strolled into Connel Ferry
+station, sixteen miles short of that point. Two more stations before we
+reach Loch Awe.
+
+"Always heard it was a far cry to Loch Awe", said Sark, undauntedly
+determined to regard matters cheerfully.
+
+"You haven't come to the hill yet", said a sepulchral voice in the
+corner.
+
+"What hill?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, you'll see soon enough. It's where we usually get out and walk. If
+there are on board the train any chums of the guard or driver, they are
+expected to lend a shoulder to help the train up."
+
+Ice once broken, stranger became communicative. Told us his melancholy
+story. Had been a W.S. in Edinburgh. Five years ago, still in prime of
+life, bought a house at Oban; obliged to go to Edinburgh once, sometimes
+twice, a week. Only thrice in all that time had train made junction
+with Edinburgh train at Stirling. Appetite failed; flesh fell away;
+spirits went down to water level. Through looking out of window on
+approaching Stirling, in hope of seeing South train waiting, eyes put on
+that gaze of strained anxiety that had puzzled me. Similarly habit
+contracted of involuntarily jerking up right hand with gesture designed
+to arrest departing train.
+
+"Last week, coming north from Edinburgh", said the hapless passenger,
+"we were two hours late at Loch Awe. 'A little late to-day, aren't we?'
+I timidly observed to the guard. 'Ou aye! we're a bit late,' he said.
+'Ye see, we had a lot of rams, and we couldna' get baith them and you up
+the hill; so we left ye at Tyndrum, and ran the rams through first, and
+then came back for ye.'"
+
+Fifty minutes late at Killin Junction. So far from making up time lost
+at Oban, more lost at every wayside station.
+
+"I hope we shan't miss the train at Stirling?" I anxiously inquired of
+guard.
+
+"Weel, no", said he, looking at his watch. "I dinna think ye'll hae
+managed that yet."
+
+This spoken in soothing tones, warm from the kindly Scottish heart.
+Hadn't yet finally lost chance of missing train at Stirling that should
+enable us to keep our tryst at Woodside. But no need for despair. A
+little more dawdling and it would be done.
+
+Done it was. When we reached Stirling, porters complacently announced
+English mail had left quarter of an hour ago. As for stationmaster, he
+was righteously indignant with inconsiderate travellers who showed
+disposition to lament their loss.
+
+"Good night", said cadaverous fellow-passenger, feebly walking out of
+darkling station. "Hope you'll get a bed somewhere. Having been going up
+and down line for five years, I keep a bedroom close by. Cheaper in the
+end. I shall get on in the morning."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MERE INVENTION.--Up the Highlands way there is, in wet weather, a
+handsome cataract, the name whereof is spelt anyhow you like, but is
+pronounced "Fyres." There is not much water in hot weather, and then art
+assists nature, and a bucket or so of the fluid is thrown over for the
+delectation of tourists. One of them, observing this arrangement, said
+that the proprietor
+
+     "Began to pail his ineffectual Fyres."
+
+[This story is quite false, which would be of no consequence, but that
+every Scottish tourist knows it to be false. Our contributor should
+really be more careful.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "Where can that confounded fellow have got to with the
+lunch-basket?"]
+
+[Illustration: Here he is, remarking, confidentially, that "that
+ginger-peer is apout the pest he ever tasted."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _Cockney Sportsman._ "Haw--young woman, whose whiskies do
+you keep here?"
+
+_Highland Lassie._ "We only keep McPherson's, sir."
+
+_C. S._ "McPherson? Haw--who the deuce is McPherson?"
+
+_H. L._ "My brother, sir."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: During Mr. Spoffin's visit to the Highlands, he found a
+difficulty in approaching his game--so invented a method of simplifying
+matters. His "make-up", however, was so realistic, that the jealous old
+stag nearly finished him!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: HIS IDEA OF IT
+
+_Native._ "Is 't no a daft-like place this tae be takin' a view? There's
+no naething tae be seen for the trees. Noo, if ye was tae gang tae the
+tap o' Knockcreggan, that wad set ye fine! Ye can see _five coonties_
+frae there!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TOURING IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+"Hullo, Sandy! Why haven't you cleaned my carriage, as I told you last
+night?"
+
+"Hech, sir, what for would it need washing? It will be just the same
+when you'll be using it again!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM OUR BILIOUS CONTRIBUTOR.
+
+_To_ MR. PUNCH.
+
+MY DEAR SIR,[A]
+
+Embarking at Bannavie very early in the morning--_diluculo surgere
+saluberrimum est_, but it is also particularly disagreeable--I was upon
+the canal of the Caledonians, on my way to the capital of the Highlands.
+This is the last voyage which, upon this occasion, I shall have the
+pleasure of describing. The vessel was commanded by Captain Turner, who
+is a remarkable meteorologist, and has emitted some wonderful weather
+prophecies. Having had, moreover, much opportunity of observing
+character, in his capacity of captain of boats chiefly used by tourists,
+he is well acquainted with the inmost nature of the aristocracy and
+their imitators. Being myself of an aristocratic turn of mind (as well
+as shape of body) it was refreshing to me to sit with him on the bridge
+and speak of our titled friends.
+
+[Footnote A: We perfectly understand this advance towards civility as
+the writer approaches the end of his journey. He is a superior kind of
+young man, if not the genius he imagines himself.--_Ed._]
+
+Fort Augustus, which we passed, is not called so from having been built
+by the Roman Emperor of that name, quite the reverse. The next object of
+interest is a thing called the Fall of Foyers, which latter word is
+sounded like fires, and the announcement to Cockneys that they are going
+to see the affair, leads them to expect something of a pyrotechnic
+character. It is nothing of that sort. The steamboat is moored, you rush
+on shore, and are instantly arrested by several pikemen--I do not mean
+soldiers of a mediæval date, but fellows at a gate, who demand fourpence
+apiece from everybody landing in those parts. Being in Scotland, this
+naturally made me think I had come to Johnny Groat's house, but no such
+thing, and I have no idea of the reason of this highway robbery, or why
+a very dirty card should have been forced upon me in proof that I had
+submitted. We were told to go up an ascending road, and then to climb a
+dreadfully steep hill, and that then we should see something. For my own
+part, I felt inclined to see everybody blowed first, but being
+over-persuaded, I saw everybody blowed afterwards, for that hill is a
+breather, I can tell you. However, I rushed up like a mounting deer, and
+when at the top was told to run a little way down again. I did, and saw
+the sight. You have seen the cataracts of the Nile? It's not like them.
+You have seen a cataract in a party's eye. It's not like that. Foyers is
+a very fine waterfall, and worthy of much better verses than some which
+Mr. Burns addressed to it in his English style, which is vile. Still,
+the waterfall at the Colosseum, Regent's Park, is a good one, and has
+this advantage, that you can sit in a chair and look at it as long as
+you like, whereas you walk a mile to Foyers, goaded by the sailors from
+the vessel, who are perpetually telling you to make haste, and you are
+allowed about three minutes and fourteen seconds to gaze upon the scene,
+when the sailors begin to goad you back again, frightening you with
+hints that the captain will depart without you. Precious hot you come on
+board, with a recollection of a mass of foam falling into an abyss. That
+is not the way to see Foyers, and I hereby advise all tourists who are
+going to stop at Inverness, to drive over from thence, take their time
+at the noble sight, and do the pier-beggars out of their fourpences.
+
+The stately towers of the capital of the Highlands are seen on our
+right. A few minutes more, and we are moored. Friendly voices hail us,
+and also hail a vehicle. We are borne away. There is news for us. We are
+forthwith--even in that carriage, were it possible--to induct ourselves
+into the black tr × ws × rs of refined life and the white cravat of
+graceful sociality, and to accompany our host to the dinner of the
+Highland railwaymen. _We_ rail. We have not come six hundred miles to
+dress for dinner. Our host is of a different opinion, and being a host
+in himself, conquers our single-handed resistance. We attend the dinner,
+and find ourselves among Highland chieftains plaided and plumed in their
+"tartan array." (Why doesn't Horatio MacCulloch, noble artist and
+Highland-man, come to London and be _our_ tartan R.A.?) We hear wonders
+of the new line, which is to save folks the trouble of visiting the lost
+tribe at Aberdeen, and is to take them direct from Inverness to Perth,
+through wonderful scenery. We see a programme of toasts, to the number
+of thirty-four, which of course involves sixty-eight speeches. There is
+also much music by the volunteers--not, happily, by bag-pipers. We
+calculate, on the whole, that the proceedings will be over about four in
+the morning. Ha! ha! _Dremacky_. There is a _deus ex machiná_ literally,
+a driver on an engine, and he starts at ten. Numbers of the guests must
+go with him. _Claymore!_ We slash out the toasts without mercy--without
+mercy on men set down to speak and who have spoiled their dinner by
+thinking over their _impromptus_. But there is one toast which shall be
+honoured, yea, with the Highland honours. _Mr. Punch's_ health is
+proposed. It is well that this handsome hall is built strongly, or the
+Highland maidens should dance here no more. The shout goes up for _Mr.
+Punch_.
+
+I believe that I have mentioned to you, once or twice, that I am an
+admirable speaker, but upon this occasion I surpassed myself--I was in
+fact, as the Covent Garden play-bills say, "unsurpassingly successful."
+Your interests were safe in my hands. I believe that no person present
+heard a syllable of what I said. It was this:
+
+     [It may have been, but as what our correspondent has been pleased
+     to send as his speech would occupy four columns, we prefer to leave
+     it to immortality in the excellent newspaper of which he sends us a
+     "cutting." We incline to think that he _was_ weak enough to say
+     what he says he said, because he could not have invented and
+     written it out after a Highland dinner, and it was published next
+     morning. It is extremely egotistical, and not in the least
+     entertaining--_Ed._]
+
+Among the guests was a gentleman who owns the mare who will certainly
+win the Cesarewitch. _I know this for a fact_, and I advise you to put
+your money on _Lioness_. His health was proposed, and he returned thanks
+with the soul of wit. I hope he recollects the hope expressed by the
+proposer touching a certain saddling-bell. I thought it rather strong in
+"Bible-loving Scotland", but to be sure, we were in the Highlands, which
+are England, or at all events where the best English spoken in Scotland
+is heard.
+
+We reached our house at an early hour, and I was lulled to a gentle
+slumber by the sound of the river Ness. This comes out of Loch Ness, and
+in the latest geographical work with which I am acquainted, namely,
+"Geography Anatomiz'd, by Pat. Gordon, M.A.F.R.S. Printed for Andr.
+Bell, at the Cross Keys and Bible in Cornhill, and R. Smith, under the
+Royal Exchange, 1711", I read that "towards the north-west part of
+_Murray_ is the famous _Lough-Ness_ which never freezeth, but retaineth
+its natural heat, even in the extremest cold of winter, and in many
+places this lake hath been sounded with a line of 500 fathom, but no
+bottom can be found" (just as in the last rehearsal of the artisans'
+play in the _Midsummer Night's Dream_), but I believe that recent
+experiments have been more successful, and that though no lead plummet
+would go so deep, a volume by a very particular friend of mine was
+fastened to the line, and descended to the bottom in no time. I will
+mention his name if he is not kind to my next work, but at present I
+have the highest esteem and respect for him. I only show him that I know
+this little anecdote.
+
+There were what are called Highland games to be solemnised in Inverness.
+I resolved to attend them, and, if I saw fit, to join in them. But I was
+informed by a Highland friend of mine, Laidle of Toddie, a laird much
+respected, that all competitors must appear in the kilt. As my own
+graceful proportions would look equally well in any costume, this
+presented no difficulty, and I marched off to Mr. Macdougall, the great
+Highland costumier, and after walking through a dazzling array of Gaelic
+glories, I said, mildly, "Can you make me a Highland dress?"
+
+"Certainly, in a few hours", said Mr. Macdougall; but somehow I fancied
+that he did not seem to think that I was displaying any vast amount of
+sense.
+
+"Then, please to make me one, very handsome", said I; "and send it home
+to-night." And I was going out of the warehouse.
+
+"But, sir", said Mr. Macdougall, "do you belong to any clan, or what
+tartan will you have?"
+
+"Mr. Macdougall", said I, "it may be that I do belong to a clan, or am
+affiliated to one. It may be, that like Edward Waverley, I shall be
+known hereafter as the friend of the sons (and daughters) of the
+clan ----. It may be that if war broke out between that clan and another,
+I would shout our war-cry, and, drawing my claymore, would walk into the
+hostile clan like one o'clock. But at present that is a secret, and I
+wear not the garb of any clan in particular. Please to make me up a
+costume out of the garbs of several clans, but be sure you put the
+brightest colours, as they suit my complexion."
+
+I am bound to say that though Mr. Macdougall firmly declined being party
+to this arrangement, which he said would be inartistic, he did so with
+the utmost courtesy. My opinion is, that he thought I was a little
+cracked. Many persons have thought that, but there is no foundation for
+the suspicion.
+
+"You see, Mr. Macdougall", says I, "I am a Plantagenet by descent, and
+one of my ancestors was hanged in the time of George the Second. Do
+those facts suggest anything to you in the way of costume?"
+
+"The first does not", he said, "but the second may. A good many persons
+had the misfortune to be hanged about the time you mention, and for the
+same reason. I suppose your ancestor died for the Stuarts."
+
+"No, sir, he died for a steward. The unfortunate nobleman was most
+iniquitously destroyed for shooting a plebeian of the name of Johnson,
+for which reason I hate everybody of that name, from Ben downwards, and
+will not have a Johnson's _Dictionary_ in my house."
+
+"Then, sir", says Mr. Macdougall, "the case is clear. You can mark your
+sense of the conduct of the sovereign who executed your respected
+relative. You can assume the costume of his chief enemies. You can wear
+the Stuart tartan."
+
+"Hm", says I. "I should look well in it, no doubt; but then I have no
+hostility to the present House of Brunswick."
+
+"Why", says he, laughing; "Her Majesty dresses her own princes in the
+Stuart tartan. I ought to know that."
+
+"Then that's settled", I replied.
+
+Ha! You would indeed have been proud of your contributor, had you seen
+him splendidly arrayed in that gorgeous garb, and treading the heather
+of Inverness High Street like a young mountaineer. He did not look then
+like
+
+  EPICURUS ROTUNDUS.
+
+    _Inverness Castle._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOTICE TO THE HIGHLANDERS.--Whereas Mr. Punch, through his "Bilious
+Contributor", did on the 7th November, 1863, offer a prize of fifty
+guineas to the best Highland player at Spellikins, in the games for
+1873. And whereas Mr. Punch has had the money, with ten years' interest,
+quite ready, and waiting to be claimed. And whereas no Highland player
+at Spellikins appeared at the games of 1873. This to give notice that
+Mr. Punch has irrevocably confiscated the money to his own sole and
+peculiar use, and intends to use it in bribery at the next general
+election. He begs to remark to the Highlands, in the words of his
+ancestor, Robert Bruce, at Bannockburn--"There is a rose fallen from
+your wreath!"[B]
+
+    PUNCH.
+
+  7th November, 1873.
+
+[Footnote B: Of course the King said nothing so sweetly sentimental.
+What he did say to Earl Randolph was, "Mind your eye, you great stupid
+ass, or you'll have the English spears in your back directly." Nor did
+the Earl reply, "My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade. Follow, my
+household!" but, with an amazing great curse, "I'll cook 'em. Come on,
+you dawdling beggars, and fulfil the prophecies!" But so history is
+written.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MORE REVENGE FOR FLODDEN.--_Scene: a Scotch Hotel. Tourist (indignant at
+his bill)._ "Why, landlord, there must be some mistake there!"
+_Landlord._ "Mistake? Aye, aye. That stupid fellow, the waiter, has just
+charged you five shillings--too little."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM THE MOORS.--_Sportsman._ "Much rain Donald?" _Donald._ "A bit soft.
+Just wet a' day, wi' showers between."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A PLEASANT PROSPECT!
+
+_English Tourist._ "I say, look here. How far is it to this Glenstarvit?
+They told us it was only----"
+
+_Native._ "Aboot four miles."
+
+_Tourist_ (_aghast_). "All bog like this?"
+
+_Native._ "Eh--h--this is just naethin' till't!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ANOTHER MISUNDERSTANDING
+
+_'Arry_ (_on a Northern tour, with Cockney pronunciation_). "Then I'll
+'ave a bottle of aile."
+
+_Hostess of the Village Inn._ "_Ile_, sir? We've nane in the hoose, but
+castor ile or paraffin. Wad ony o' them dae, sir?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE WEIRD SISTERS]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: DEER-STALKING MADE EASY
+
+The patent silent motor-crawler.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ILLUSTRATED QUOTATIONS
+
+(_One so seldom finds an Artist who realises the poetic conception._)
+
+"Is this the noble Moor ...?"--_Othello_, Act IV., Scene 1.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: DRACONIAN
+
+SCENE.--_Police Court, North Highlands._
+
+_Accused._ "Put, Pailie, it's na provit!"
+
+_Bailie._ "Hoot toots, Tonal, and hear me speak! Aw'll only fine ye
+ha'f-a-croon the day, because et's no varra well provit. But if ever ye
+come before me again, ye'll no get aff under five shillin's, whether
+et's provit or no!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF YE ENGLYSHE IN 1849
+
+DEERE STALKYNGE IN YE HYGHLANDES]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES OF SHOOTING FROM A BUTT
+
+_Keeper (on moor rented by the latest South African millionaire, to
+guest)._ "Never mind the birds, sir. For onny sake, lie down! The
+maister's gawn tae shoot!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE TWELFTH
+
+(_Guilderstein in the Highlands_)
+
+_Guild. (His first experience)._ "I've been swindled! That confounded
+agent said it was all drivin' on this moor, and look at it, all hills
+and slosh! Not a decent carriage road within ten miles!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE MATERNAL INSTINCT
+
+_The Master._ "I'm sayin', wumman, ha'e ye gotten the tickets?"
+
+_The Mistress._ "Tuts, haud your tongue aboot tickets. Let me count the
+weans!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "NEMO ME IMPUNE", &c.
+
+_The Irrepressible._ "Hi, Scotty, tip us the 'Ighland fling."
+
+TIPPED!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Return of the wounded and missing Popplewitz omitted to
+send in after his day on the moors.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: RECRIMINATION
+
+_Inhabitant of Uist._ "I say, they'll pe speaking fa-ar petter English
+in Uist than in Styornaway."
+
+_Lass of the Lewis._ "Put in Styornaway they'll not pe caa-in' fush
+'feesh,' whatefer!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE HIGHLAND GAMES AT MACJIGGITY
+
+Whilst staying at MacFoozle Castle, my excellent host insisted that I
+should accompany him to see the Highland games. The MacFoozle himself is
+a typical Hielander, and appeared in a kilt and jelly-bag--philabeg, I
+mean. Suggested to him that I should go, attired in pair of
+bathing-drawers, Norfolk jacket, and Glengarry cap, but he, for some
+inscrutable reason of his own, negatived the idea. Had half a mind to
+dress in kilt myself, but finally decided against the national costume
+as being too draughty. Arrived on ground, and found that "tossing the
+caber" was in full progress. Braw laddies struggled, in turn, with
+enormous tree trunk. The idea of the contest is, that whoever succeeds
+in killing the greatest number of spectators by hurling the tree on to
+them, wins the prize. Fancy these laddies had been hung too long, or
+else they were particularly braw. Moved up to windward of them promptly.
+
+"Who is the truculent-looking villain with red whiskers?" I ask.
+
+"Hush!" says my host, in awed tones. "That is the MacGinger himself!"
+
+I grovel. Not that I have ever even heard his name before, but I don't
+want to show my ignorance before the MacFoozle. The competition of
+pipers was next in order, and I took to my heels and fled. Rejoined
+MacFoozle half an hour later to witness the dancing. On a large raised
+platform sat the judges, with the mighty MacGinger himself at their
+head. Can't quite make out whether the dance is a Reel, a Strathspey, a
+Haggis, or a Skirl--sure it is one or the other. Just as I ask for
+information, amid a confusing whirl of arms and legs and "Hoots!" a
+terrific crack is heard, and the platform, as though protesting at the
+indignities heaped upon it, suddenly gives way, and in a moment,
+dancers, pipers, and judges are hurled in a confused and struggling heap
+to the ground. The MacGinger falls upon some bag-pipes, which emit
+dismal groanings beneath his massive weight. This ends the dancing
+prematurely, and a notice is immediately put up all round the grounds
+that (to take its place) "There will be another competition of
+bag-pipes." I read it, evaded the MacFoozle, and fled.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SONG FOR A SCOTCH DUKE.
+
+  My harts in the Highlands shall have their hills clear,
+  My harts in the Highlands no serf shall come near--
+  I'll chase out the Gael to make room for the roe,
+  My harts in the Highlands were ever his foe.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THINGS NO HIGHLANDER CAN UNDERSTAND.
+
+Breaches of promise.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GUILDERSTEIN IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+Guilderstein. "Missed again! And dat fellow, Hoggenheimer, comin'on
+Monday too! Why did I not wire to Leadenhall for an 'aunch, as Betty
+told me!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Juvenis. "Jolly day we had last week at McFoggarty's
+wedding! Capital champagne he gave us, and we did it justice, I can tell
+you--"
+
+Senex (who prefers whiskey). "Eh-h, mun, it's a' verra weel weddings at
+ye-er time o' life. Gie me a gude funeral!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: HEBRIDEAN SPORT
+
+_Shooting Tenant (accounting for very large species of grouse which his
+setter has just flushed)._ "Capercailzie! By George!"
+
+_Under-keeper Neil._ "I'm after thinking, sir, you'll have killed Widow
+McSwan's cochin cock. Ye see the crofters were forced to put him and the
+hens away out here till the oats is ripe!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: LATEST FROM THE MOORS
+
+_Intelligent Foreigner._ "Tell me--zee 'Ilanders, do zay always wear zee
+raw legs?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A GROAN FROM A GILLIE
+
+    Lasses shouldna' gang to shoot,
+                                  Na, na!
+    Gillies canna' help but hoot,
+                                  Ha, ha!
+    Yon douce bodies arena' fittin'
+    Wi' the gudeman's to be pittin',
+    Bide at hame and mind yere knittin'!
+                                  Hoot, awa'!
+    "Wimmen's Rechts" is vara weel,
+                                  Ooh, aye!
+    For hizzies wha've nae hearts to feel;
+                                  Forbye
+    Wimmen's Rechts is aiblins Wrang
+     When nat'ral weak maun ape the strang,
+    An' chaney cups wi' cau'drons gang,
+                                  Auch, fie!
+    Hennies shouldna' try to craw
+                                  Sae fast--
+    Their westlin' thrapples canna' blair
+                                  Sic a blast.
+    Leave to men-folk bogs and ferns,
+    An' pairtricks, muircocks, braes, and cairns;
+    And lasses! ye may mind the bairns--
+                                  That's best!
+
+      TONALT (X) _his mark._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A PRECISIAN
+
+_Artist (affably)._ "Fine morning." _Native._ "No' bad ava'."
+
+_Artist._ "Pretty scenery." _Native._ "Gey an' good."
+
+_Artist (pointing to St. Bannoch's, in the distance)._ "What place is
+that down at the bottom of the loch?"
+
+_Native._ "It's no at the bottom--it's at the fut!"
+
+_Artist (to himself)._ "You past-participled Highlander!"
+
+    [_Drops the subject!_
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE THING TO DO IN SCOTLAND
+
+(_More Leaves from the Highland Journal of Toby, M.P._)
+
+_Quiverfield, Haddingtonshire, Monday._--You can't spend twenty-four
+hours at Quiverfield without having borne in upon you the truth that the
+only thing to do in Scotland is to play goff. (On other side of Tweed
+they call it golf. Here we are too much in a hurry to get at the game to
+spend time on unnecessary consonant.) The waters of what Victor Hugo
+called "The First of the Fourth" lave the links at Quiverfield. Blue as
+the Mediterranean they have been in a marvellous autumn, soon to lapse
+into November. We can see the Bass Rock from the eighth hole, and can
+almost hear the whirr of the balls skimming with swallow flight over the
+links at North Berwick.
+
+Prince Arthur here to-day, looking fully ten years younger than when I
+last saw him at Westminster. Plays through live-long day, and drives off
+fourteen miles for dinner at Whittinghame, thinking no more of it than
+if he were crossing Palace Yard. Our host, Waverley Pen, is happy in
+possession of links at his park gates. All his own, for self and
+friends. You step through the shrubbery, and there are the far-reaching
+links; beyond them the gleaming waters of the Forth. Stroll out
+immediately after breakfast to meet the attendant caddies; play goff
+till half-past one; reluctantly break off for luncheon; go back to
+complete the fearsome foursome; have tea brought out to save time; leave
+off in bare time to dress for dinner; talk goff at dinner; arrange
+matches after dinner; and the new morning finds the caddies waiting as
+before.
+
+[Illustration: Fingen's finger.]
+
+Decidedly the only thing to do in Scotland is to play goff.
+
+_Deeside, Aberdeenshire, Wednesday._--Fingen, M.P., once told an abashed
+House of Commons that he "owned a mountain in Scotland." Find, on
+visiting him in his ancestral home, that he owns a whole range. Go up
+one or two of them; that comparatively easy; difficulty presents itself
+when we try to get down. Man and boy, Fingen has lived here fifty years;
+has not yet acquired knowledge necessary to guide a party home after
+ascending one of his mountains. Walking up in cool of afternoon, we
+usually get home sore-footed and hungry about midnight.
+
+"Must be going now", says Fingen, M.P., when we have seen view from top
+of mountain. "Just time to get down before dark. But I know short cut;
+be there in a jiffy. Come along."
+
+We come along. At end of twenty minutes find ourselves in front of
+impassable gorge.
+
+"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., cheerily. "Must have taken wrong turn; better
+go back and start again."
+
+All very well to say go back; but where were we? Fingen, M.P., knows;
+wets his finger; holds it up.
+
+"Ha!" he says, with increased joyousness of manner; "the wind is blowing
+that way, is it? Then we turn to the left."
+
+Another twenty minutes stumbling through aged heather. Path trends
+downwards.
+
+"That's all right", says Fingen, M.P.; "must lead on to the road."
+
+Instead of which we nearly fall into a bubbling burn. Go back again;
+make bee line up acclivity nearly as steep as side of house; find
+ourselves again on top of mountain.
+
+"How lucky!" shouts Fingen, M.P., beaming with delight.
+
+As if we had been trying all this time to get to top of mountain instead
+of to bottom!
+
+Wants to wet his finger again and try how the wind lies. We protest. Let
+us be saved that at least. Fingen leads off in quite another direction.
+By rocky pathway which threatens sprains; through bushes and brambles
+that tear the clothes; by dangerous leaps from rock to rock he brings us
+to apparently impenetrable hedge. We stare forlorn.
+
+[Illustration: The crack of the whip('s pate!)]
+
+"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., more aggressively cheerful than ever. "The road
+is on other side. Thought we would come upon it somewhere." Somehow or
+other we crawl through.
+
+"Nothing like having an eye to the lay of country", says Fingen, M.P.,
+as we limp along the road. "It's a sort of instinct, you know. If I
+hadn't been with you, you might have had to camp out all night on the
+mountain."
+
+They don't play goff at Deeside. They bicycle. Down the long avenue with
+spreading elm trees deftly trained to make triumphal arches, the
+bicycles come and go. Whipsroom, M.P., thinks opportunity convenient
+for acquiring the art of cycling. W. is got up with consummate art. Has
+had his trousers cut short at knee in order to display ribbed stockings
+of rainbow hue. Loose tweed-jacket, blood-red necktie, white felt hat
+with rim turned down all round, combine to lend him air of a Drury Lane
+bandit out of work. Determined to learn to ride the bicycle, but spends
+most of the day on his hands and knees, or on his back. Looking down
+avenue at any moment pretty sure to find W. either running into the iron
+fence, coming off sideways, or bolting head first over the handles of
+his bike. Get quite new views of him fore-shortened in all possible
+ways, some that would be impossible to any but a man of his
+determination.
+
+"Never had a man stay in the house", says Fingen, M.P., ruefully, "who
+so cut up the lawn with his head, or indented the gravel with his elbows
+and his knees."
+
+Evidently I was mistaken about goff. Cycling's the thing in Scotland.
+
+_Goasyoucan, Inverness-shire, Saturday._--Wrong again. Not goff nor
+cycling is the thing to do in Scotland. It's stalking. Soon learn that
+great truth at Goasyoucan. The hills that encircle the house densely
+populated with stags. To-day three guns grassed nine, one a royal. This
+the place to spend a happy day, crouching down among the heather
+awaiting the fortuitous moment. Weather no object. Rain or snow out you
+go, submissive to guidance and instruction of keeper; by comparison with
+whose tyranny life of the ancient galley-slave was perfect freedom.
+
+Consummation of human delight this, to lie prone on your face amid the
+wet heather, with the rain pattering down incessantly, or the snow
+pitilessly falling, covering you up flake by flake as if it were a robin
+and you a babe in the wood. Mustn't stir; mustn't speak; if you can
+conveniently dispense with the operation, better not breathe. Sometimes,
+after morning and greater part of afternoon thus cheerfully spent, you
+may get a shot; even a stag. Also you may not; or, having attained the
+first, may miss the latter. At any rate you have spent a day of
+exhilarating delight.
+
+Stalking is evidently the thing to do in Scotland. It's a far cry to the
+Highlands. Happily there is Arthur's Seat by Edinburgh town where
+beginners can practise, and old hands may feign delight of early
+triumphs.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE "IRREPRESSIBLE" AGAIN
+
+_Gent in Knickerbockers._ "Rummy speakers them 'Ighlanders, 'Enery. When
+we wos talking to one of the 'ands, did you notice 'im saying
+'_nozzing_' for '_nothink_,' and '_she_' for '_e_'?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "THE LAST STRAW"
+
+"Tired out, are you? Try a drop of brandy! Eh!--what!--confound----By
+jingo, I've forgotten my flask!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: NOTHING LIKE MOUNTAIN AIR
+
+_Tourist (who has been refreshing himself with the toddy of the
+country)._ "I shay, ole fler! Highlands seem to 'gree with you
+wonerfly--annomishtake. Why, you look DOUBLE the man already!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE HEIGHT OF BLISS
+
+_Highland Shepherd._ "Fine toon, Glasco', I pelieve, and lots o' coot
+meat there."
+
+_Tourist._ "Oh, yes, lots."
+
+_Highland Shepherd._ "An' drink, too?"
+
+_Tourist._ "Oh, yes."
+
+_Highland Shepherd (doubtingly)._ "Ye'll get porter tae yir parrich?"
+
+_Tourist._ "Yes, if we like."
+
+_Highland Shepherd._ "Cra-ci-ous!"
+
+    [_Speechless with admiration._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TENACITY
+
+_First North Briton_ (_on the Oban boat, in a rolling sea and dirty
+weather_). "Thraw it up, man, and ye'll feel a' the better!"
+
+_Second ditto_ (_keeping it down_). "Hech, mon, it's whuskey!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: EXCUSABLE WRATH
+
+_Drover_ (_exhausted with his struggles_). "Whit are ye wouf, woufan'
+there, ye stupit ass! It wud be wis-eer like if ye gang awn hame, an'
+bring a barrow!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A SOFT IMPEACHMENT
+
+_Sporting Saxon (mournfully, after three weeks' incessant down-pour)._
+"Does it always rain like this up here, Mr. McFuskey?"
+
+_His Guide, Philosopher, and Friendly Landlord (calmly)._ "Oo aye, it's
+a-ye just a wee bit shooery."!!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ANTIQUARIAN RESEARCH
+
+2 A.M.
+
+_Brown (who has taken a shooting-box in the Highlands, and has been
+"celebrating" his first appearance in a kilt)._ "Worsht of these
+ole-fashioned beshteads is, they take such a lot of climbin' into!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GUILDERSTEIN IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Mrs. G._ "We must leave this horrible place, dear. The keeper has just
+told me there is disease on the moor. Good gracious, the boys might take
+it!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A GREAT DRAWBACK
+
+_Dougal_ (_with all his native contempt for the Londoner_). "Aye, mon,
+an' he's no a bad shot?"
+
+_Davie._ "'Deed an' he's a verra _guid_ shot."
+
+_Dougal._ "Hech! it's an awfu' peetie he's a Londoner!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOTES FROM THE HIGHLANDS
+
+"_Jam satis terris,_" _&c._
+
+_Alt-na-blashy._--The aqueous and igneous agencies seem to be combined
+in these quarters, for since the rain we hear of a great increase of
+burns. In default of the moors we fall back on the kitchen and the
+cellar. I need hardly add that dry wines are almost exclusively used by
+our party, and moist sugar is generally avoided. Dripping, too, is
+discontinued, and everything that is likely to whet the appetite is at a
+discount.
+
+_Drizzle-arich._--A Frenchman, soaked out of our bothy by the moisture
+of the weather, was overheard to exclaim "_Après moi le déluge._"
+
+_Inverdreary._--Greatly to the indignation of their chief, several of
+the "Children of the Mist", in this romantic but rainy region, have
+assumed the garb of the Mackintoshes.
+
+_Loch Drunkie._--We have several partners in misery within hail, or life
+would be fairly washed out of us. We make up parties alternately at our
+shooting quarters when the weather allows of wading between them.
+Inebriation, it is to be feared, must be on the increase, for few of us
+who go out to dinner return without making a wet night of it.
+
+Meantime, the watering-places in our vicinity--in particular the Linns
+o' Dun-Dreepie--are literally overflowing.
+
+It is asserted that even young horses are growing impatient of the
+reins.
+
+Our greatest comfort is the weekly budget of dry humour from _Mr.
+Punch_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A DISAPPOINTING HOST.--_Sandy._ "A 'm tellt ye hev a new nebbur,
+Donal'." _Donald._ "Aye." _Sandy._ "An' what like is he?" _Donald._
+"Weel, he's a curious laddie. A went to hev a bit talk wi' him th' ither
+evenin', an' he offered me a glass o' whuskey, d'ye see? Weel, he was
+poorin' it oot, an' A said to him 'Stop!'--_an' he stoppit!_ That's the
+soort o' mon he is."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AMBIGUITY
+
+SCENE--_A Highland Ferry_
+
+_Tourist._ "But we paid you sixpence each as we came over, and you said
+the same fare would bring us back."
+
+_Skipper._ "Well, well, and I telled ye nothing but the truth, an' it'll
+be no more than the same fare I'm wantin' the noo for bringin' ye
+back."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AUGUST IN SCOTLAND
+
+_Bag Carrier (to Keeper)._ "What does the maister aye ask that body tae
+shoot wi' him for? He canna hit a thing!"
+
+_Keeper._ "Dod, man, I daur say he wishes they was a' like him. The same
+birds does him a' through the season!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+KINREEN O' THE DEE;
+
+A PIOBRACH HEARD WAILING DOWN GLENTANNER ON THE EXILE OF THREE
+GENERATIONS.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                Kinreen o' the Dee!
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+
+              I'll blaw up my chanter,
+                I've rounded fu' weel,
+              To mony a ranter,
+                In mony a reel,
+              An' pour'd a' my heart i' the win'bag wi' glee:
+                Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+    For licht wis the laughter in bonny Kinreen,
+    An' licht wis the footfa' that glanced o'er the green,
+    An' licht ware the hearts a' an' lichtsome the eyne,
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                Kinreen o' the Dee!
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+
+              The auld hoose is bare noo,
+                A cauld hoose to me,
+              The hearth is nae mair noo,
+                The centre o' glee,
+    Nae mair for the bairnies the bield it has been,
+              Och hey, for bonny Kinreen!
+    The auld folk, the young folk, the wee anes, an' a',
+    A hunder years' hame birds are harried awa',
+    Are harried an' hameless, whatever winds blaw,
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.
+
+              Fareweel my auld pleugh lan',
+                I'll never mair pleugh it:
+              Fareweel my auld cairt an'
+                The auld yaud[C] that drew it.
+    Fareweel my auld kailyard, ilk bush an' ilk tree!
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+    Fareweel the auld braes, that my hand keepit green,
+    Fareweel the auld ways where we waunder'd unseen
+    Ere the star o' my hearth came to bonny Kinreen,
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.
+
+              The auld kirk looks up o'er
+                The dreesome auld dead,
+              Like a saint speakin' hope o'er
+                Some sorrowfu' bed.
+    Fareweel the auld kirk, an' fareweel the kirk green,
+    They tell o' a far better hame than Kinreen!
+    The place we wad cling to--puir simple auld fules,
+    O' our births an' our bridals, oor blesses an' dools,
+    Whare oor wee bits o' bairnies lie cauld i' the mools.[D]
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.
+
+              I aft times hae wunder'd
+                If deer be as dear,
+              As sweet ties o' kindred,
+                To peasant or peer;
+    As the tie to the hames o' the land born be,
+                Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+    The heather that blossoms unkent o' the moor,
+    Wad dee in his lordship's best greenhoose, I'm sure,
+    To the wunder o' mony a fairy land flure.
+                Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.
+
+                Though little the thing be,
+                  Oor ain we can ca';
+                That little we cling be,
+                  The mair that it's sma';
+    Though puir wis oor hame, an' thogh wild wis the scene,
+    'Twas the hame o' oor hearts: it was bonnie Kinreen.
+    An yet we maun leave it, baith grey head an bairn;
+    Leave it to fatten the deer o' Cock-Cairn,
+    O' Pannanich wuds an' o' Morven o' Gairn.
+                Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                  Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                  Kinreen o' the Dee!
+        Sae Fareweel for ever, Kinreen of the Dee!
+
+[Footnote C: Mare.]
+
+[Footnote D: Earth.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: CANNY!
+
+_Sportsman._ "That's a tough old fellow, Jemmy!"
+
+_Keeper._ "Aye, sir, a grand bird to send to your freens!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: EXPERTO CREDE
+
+_Tourist_ (_on approaching hostelry_). "What will you have, coachman?"
+
+_Driver._ "A wee drap whuskey, sir, thank you."
+
+_Tourist._ "All right I'll get down and send it out to you."
+
+_Driver._ "Na, na, gie me the saxpence. They'll gie you an unco sma'
+gless!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A LAMENT FROM THE NORTH
+
+"And then the weather's been so bad, Donald!"
+
+"Ou ay, sir. Only three fine days--and twa of them snappit up by the
+Sawbath!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TWO ON A TOUR
+
+"Can you tell me which is Croft Lochay?"
+
+The smith leant on his pitchfork--he had been up at the hay--and eyed
+Gwendolen and myself with friendly interest.
+
+"Ye'll be the gentry from London Mistress McDiarmat is expectin'?"
+
+"And which is the way to her house?"
+
+"Well", said the smith, shading his eyes as he peered up at the Ben, "ye
+can't see it rightly from here, as it lies behind yon knowe. It's a
+whole year whatever since I hev not been up myself; but if you follow
+the burn----"
+
+I glanced at Gwen and saw that she shared my satisfaction. To cross the
+edge of civilisation had for months past been our hearts' desire; and to
+have achieved a jumping-off place only approachable by a burn exceeded
+our wildest ambitions.
+
+We thanked the smith, and set off on our expedition up the mountain
+side.
+
+"We twa hae paidlit in the burn", sang Gwendolen as she skipped like a
+goat from stone to stone. "O Jack, isn't it too primitive and
+delightful!"
+
+"Rather", said I, inhaling great draughts of the mountain air.
+
+"Aren't you hungry?"
+
+"Rather", I repeated. "Wonder what there'll be to eat."
+
+"Oh, I don't care what it is. Anything will be delicious. Is that the
+house, do you think?"
+
+I looked up and saw above us a low white-washed shanty covered with
+thatch which was kept in its place by a network of laths. A few heavy
+stones were evidently designed to keep the roof from blowing off in
+winter storms.
+
+"No", said Gwen. "That must be the cowhouse byre, don't you call it?"
+
+"I'm not so sure", said I.
+
+While we were still uncertain, a figure came to the door and bade us
+welcome.
+
+"Come in, come in. Ye'll be tired with the travelling, and ye'll like to
+see the rooms."
+
+We acquiesced, and Mistress McDiarmat led the way into the cowhouse.
+
+"Shoo!" she cried as she opened the door of the bedroom. "Get away,
+Speckle! The hens _will_ lay their bit egg on the bed, sir."
+
+"What fresh eggs we shall get!" cried Gwen, delighted with this fresh
+proof of rusticity and with the Gaelic gutturals with which Mistress
+McDiarmat emphasized her remarks to Speckle.
+
+The "other end" was furnished with two hard chairs, a table and a bed.
+
+"Fancy a bed in the dining-room and hens in your bed!" said Gwen, in the
+highest of spirits. "And here comes tea! Eggs and bacon--Ah! how lovely
+they smell, and how much nicer than horrid, stodgy dinners! And
+oatcakes--and jelly--and the lightest feathery scones! O Jack, isn't it
+heavenly?"
+
+"Rather", I agreed, beginning the meal with tremendous gusto. The eggs
+and bacon disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, and then we fell to on
+the light feathery scones. "Wish we hadn't wasted a fortnight's time
+and money in ruinous Highland hotels. Wonder what Schiehallion thinks of
+hot baths and late dinners, not to speak of waiters and wine-lists."
+
+"I suppose", remarked Gwendolen, "one _could_ get a bath at the
+Temperance Inn we passed on the road?"
+
+"Baths!" cried I. "Why, my dear, one only has to go and sit under the
+neighbouring waterfall." Gwen did not laugh, and looking up I saw she
+had stopped in the middle of a scone on which she had embarked with
+great appetite.
+
+"Try an oat-cake", I suggested.
+
+"No, thanks", said Gwen.
+
+"A little more jelly?"
+
+Gwen shook her head.
+
+I finished my meal in silence and pulled out my pipe.
+
+"Going to smoke in here?" asked Gwen.
+
+"It's raining outside, my dear."
+
+"Oh, very well. But remember this is my bedroom. I decline to sleep with
+hens."
+
+I put the pipe away and prepared for conversation.
+
+"Can't you sit still?" asked Gwen after a long pause.
+
+"This chair is very hard, dear."
+
+"So is mine."
+
+"Don't you think we might sit on the bed?"
+
+"Certainly not. I shouldn't sleep a wink if we disarranged the clothes,
+and only an expert can re-make a chaff bed."
+
+"Wish we had something to read", I remarked, after another long pause.
+
+"Do you expect a circulating library on the top of Ben-y-Gloe?"
+
+I began to realise that Gwen was no longer in a conversational mood, and
+made no further efforts to break the silence. Half-an-hour later Gwen
+came across the room and laid her hand on my shoulder. "What are you
+reading, dear?" she asked.
+
+"I find we can get a train from Struan to-morrow afternoon which catches
+the London connection at Perth when the train's not more than two hours
+late."
+
+"We can't risk that. Isn't there a train in the morning?"
+
+"It would mean leaving this at five."
+
+"So much the better. O Jack, if I eat another meal like that it will be
+fatal. To think we shall be back in dear old Chelsea to-morrow!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ORIGIN OF THE HIGHLAND SCHOTTISCHE
+
+  "This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay, tread the hay;
+      This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay in Scotland!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GROUSE SHOOTING LATE IN THE SEASON.
+JOLLY, VERY!
+
+"Come along, old fellow! Here's a point!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: DEER-STALKING MADE EASY. A HINT TO
+LUSTY SPORTSMEN]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SOONER OR LATER
+
+_Old Gent._ "When is the steamer due here?"
+
+_Highland Pier-Master._ "Various. Sometimes sooner,
+sometimes earlier, an' even sometimes before that, too."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "HARMLESS"
+
+_Cockney Sporting Gent._ "But I think it's a 'en!"
+
+_Sandy (his keeper)._ "Shoot, man, shoot! She'll be no
+muckle the waur o' ye!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: PLEASANT
+
+_Friend (to novice at salmon fishing)._ "I say, old boy, mind how you
+wade; there are some tremendous holes, fourteen or fifteen feet deep."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration:AN IMPORTANT DETAIL
+
+_Our latest Millionaire_ (_to Gillie, who has brought him within
+close range of the finest stag in the forest_). "I say, Mac, confound
+it all, _which eye do you use_?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _English Tourist (in the far North, miles from anywhere)._
+"Do you mean to say that you and your family live here
+all the winter? Why, what do you do when any of you
+are ill? You can never get a doctor!"
+
+_Scotch Shepherd._ "Nae, sir. We've just to dee a natural
+death!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SCENE--A ROADSIDE INN IN A MOORLAND
+DISTRICT, SCOTLAND
+
+(_The Captain and Gamekeeper call in to have some Refreshment_)
+
+_Landlady_ (_enters in fear_). "Eh, sir, yer gun's no loaded
+is't? for a never would bide in a hoose whaur the wur a
+loaded gun in a' m'life."
+
+_Captain_ (_composedly_). "Oh, we'll soon put that all right--have
+you got a cork?"
+
+  [_Exit Landlady and brings a cork, which the Captain
+  carefully sticks in the muzzle of the gun, and assures
+  her it is all right now_--
+
+
+_Landlady_ (_relieved_). "Ou, aye! it's a' right noo, but it
+wasna safe afore, ye ken."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "A MONARCH OF THE GLEN"
+
+_Transatlantic Millionaire (surveying one of his deer-forests)._
+"Ha! look there! I see _three excursionists_! Send 'em to
+the----!"
+
+_Gigantic Gillie (and chucker-out)._ "If you please, Mr.
+Dollers, they're _excisemen_!"
+
+_T. M._ "I don't care _who_ they are! Send 'em to
+the----!"
+
+_G. G._ "Yes, Mr. Dollers."
+
+    [_Proceeds to carry out order._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Sportsman (who declines to be told where to go and
+what to do by his gillie), after an arduous stalk in the
+blazing sun, at last manages to crawl within close range of
+those "brown specks" he discovered miles distant on the
+hill-side!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: PROMISING!
+
+_Tourist._ "Have you any decent cigars?"
+
+_Highland Grocer._ "Decent cigars? Ay, here are decent
+cigars enough."
+
+_Tourist._ "Are they Havanahs, or Manillas?"
+
+_Highland Grocer._ "They're just from Kircaldy!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "THE MISS"
+
+_Gillie._ "Eh, mon! But it's fortunate there's beef in Aberdeen!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. BRIGGS IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_By_ JOHN LEECH
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Briggs, feeling that his heart is in the Highlands
+a-chasing the deer, starts for the North.]
+
+[Illustration: Before going out, Mr. Briggs and his friends have a
+quiet chat about deer-stalking generally. He listens with much
+interest to some pleasing anecdotes about the little incidents
+frequently met with--such as balls going through caps--toes being shot
+off!--occasionally being gored by the antlers of infuriate stags, &c.,
+&c., &c.]
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Briggs, previous to going through his course of
+deer-stalking, assists the forester in getting a hart or two for the
+house. Donald is requesting our friend to hold the animal down by the
+horns.
+
+    [N.B. The said animal is as strong as a bull, and uses his legs like
+a race-horse.
+
+]
+
+[Illustration: The deer are driven for Mr. Briggs. He has an excellent
+place, but what with waiting by himself so long, the murmur of the
+stream, the beauty of the scene, and the novelty of the situation, he
+falls asleep, and while he takes his forty winks, the deer pass!]
+
+[Illustration: As the wind is favourable, the deer are driven again.]
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Briggs is suddenly face to face with the monarch of
+the glen! He is so astonished that he omits to fire his rifle.]
+
+[Illustration: To-day he goes out for a stalk, and Donald shows Mr.
+Briggs the way!]
+
+[Illustration: After a good deal of climbing, our friend gets to the top
+of Ben-something-or-other, and the forester looks out to see if there
+are any deer on the hills. Yes! several hinds, and perhaps the finest
+hart that ever was seen.]
+
+[Illustration: To get at him, they are obliged to go a long way round.
+Before they get down, the shower, peculiar to the country, overtakes
+them, so they "shelter a-wee."]
+
+[Illustration: With extraordinary perseverance they come within shot of
+"the finest hart." Mr. B. is out of breath, afraid of slipping, and
+wants to blow his nose (quite out of the question), otherwise he is
+tolerably comfortable.]
+
+[Illustration: After aiming for a quarter of an hour, Mr. B. fires both
+his barrels--and--misses!!!! _Tableau_--The forester's anguish]
+
+[Illustration: The royal hart Mr. Briggs did NOT hit.]
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Briggs has another day's stalking, and his rifle
+having gone off sooner than he expected, he kills a stag. As it is his
+first, he is made free of the forest by the process customary on the
+hills!--]
+
+[Illustration: And returns home in triumph. He is a little knocked up,
+but after a nap, will, no doubt, go through the broad-sword dance in the
+evening as usual.]
+
+[Illustration: MR. BRIGGS GROUSE SHOOTING
+
+9 A.M. His arrival on the moor.--Mr. Briggs says that the fine bracing
+air makes him so vigorous that he shall never be beat. He also
+facetiously remarks that he is on "his native heath", and that his "name
+is Macgregor!"
+
+    [_The result of the day's sport will be communicated by electric
+    telegraph._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SKETCHES FROM SCOTLAND
+
+AT THE DRUMQUHIDDER HIGHLAND GATHERING.
+
+    SCENE--_A meadow near Drumquhidder, South Perthshire, where the
+    annual Highland Games are being held. The programme being a long
+    one, there are generally three events being contested in various
+    parts of the ground at the same time. On the benches immediately
+    below the Grand Stand are seated two Drumquhidder worthies_, MR.
+    PARRITCH _and_ MR. HAVERS, _with_ MRS. McTAVISH _and her niece, two
+    acquaintances from Glasgow, to whom they are endeavouring--not
+    altogether successfully--to make themselves agreeable_.
+
+_Mr. Havers_ (_in allusion to the dozen or so of drags, landaus, and
+waggonettes on the ground_). There's a number o' machines hier the day,
+Messis McTarvish, an' a wonderfu' crood; there'll be a bit scarceness
+ower on yon side, but a gey many a'thegither. I conseeder we're jest
+awfu' forrtunate in the day an' a'.
+
+    [_Mrs. McTavish assents, but without enthusiasm._
+
+_Mr. Parritch._ I've jist ben keekin into the Refraishmen' Tent. It's an
+awfu' peety they're no pairmeetin' ony intoaxicans--naethin' but
+non-alcohoalic liquors an' sic like, an' the hawm-sawndwiches no verra
+tender. (_With gallantry._) What do ye say, noo, Messis McTarvish--wull
+ye no come an' tak' a bite wi' me?
+
+_Mrs. McTavish (distantly)._ Ah'm no feelin' able for't jist the noo,
+Mester Pairritch.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ Ye'll hae a boatle o' leemonade at my expense? Ye'll no?
+Then ye wull, Mess Rawse. (_With relief, as Miss Rose declines also._)
+Aweel, I jist thocht I'd pit the quaistion. (_To a friend of his, who
+joins them._) An' hoo's a' wi' ye, Mester McKerrow? Ye're a member o'
+the Cawmittee, I obsairve, sae I'll hae to keck up a bet row wi' ye.
+
+_Mr. McKerrow (unconcernedly)._ Then ye'll jist to hae to keck it doon
+again. What's wrang the noo?
+
+_Mr. Parr._ I'd like to ask ye if ye conseeder it fair or jest to
+charrge us tippence every time we'd go aff the groon? Man, it's jist an
+extoartion.
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ I'm no responsible for't; but, if I'd ben there, I'd ha'
+chairged ye twa shellins; sae ye'd better say nae mair aboot the
+maitter.
+
+    [_Mr. Parritch does not pursue the subject._
+
+_Mr. Havers (as a detachment of the Black Watch Highlanders conclude an
+exhibition of musical drill)._ Ye'll be the baiter o' haeing the Block
+Wetch hier the day. Man, they gie us a colour! It's verra pretty hoo
+nicely they can pairforrm the drill.... An' noo them sojers is gaun to
+rin a bet race amang theirsels. This'll be an extry cawmpeteetion, I
+doot. (_As the race is being run._) It's no a verra suitable dress for
+rinnin'--the spleughan--or "sporran", is it?--hairrts them tairible.
+
+_Mr. McKerr. (contradictiously)._ The sporran does na hairrt them at a'.
+
+_Mr. Havers._ Man, it's knockin' against them at every stride they tak'.
+(_His attention wanders to a Highland Fling, which three small boys are
+dancing on a platform opposite._) He's an awfu' bonnie dauncer that wee
+laddie i' the meddle!
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ Na sae awfu' bonnie, he luiks tae much at his taes. Yon on
+the richt is the laddie o' the lote! He disna move his boady at a'....
+This'll be the Half Mile Handicap they're stairting for down yonder.
+It'll gae to Jock Alister--him in the blue breeks.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ Yon grup-luikin' tyke? I canna thenk it.
+
+_Mr. Havers._ Na, it'll be yon bald-heided man in broon. He's verra
+enthusiastic. He's ben rinnin' in a' the races, I obsairve. "Smeth" did
+ye say his neem was? (_To Miss Rose, "pawkily"._) Ye'll hae an
+affaictionate regaird for that neem, I'm thenking, Mess Rawse?
+
+_Miss Rose (with maidenly displeasure)._ 'Deed, an I'm no unnerstanding
+why ye should thenk ony sic a thing!
+
+_Mr. Havers (abashed)._ I beg your pairrdon. I don't know hoo it was I
+gethered Smeth was your ain neem. (_Miss Rose shakes her head._) No?
+Then maybe ye'll be acquaint with a Mester Alexawnder Smeth fro'
+Paisley? (_Miss Rose is not, nor apparently desires to be, and Mr.
+Havers returns to the foot-race._) The baldheid's leadin' them a', I
+tellt ye he'd----Na, he's gien up! it'll be the little block fellow,
+he's peckin' up tairible!
+
+_Mr. Parr._ 'Twull no be him. Yon lang chap has an easy jobe o't. Ye'll
+see he'll jist putt a spairrt on at yon faur poast--he's comin' on
+noo--he's.... Losh! he's only thirrd after a'; he didna putt the spairrt
+on sune eneugh; that was the gran' fau't he made!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ They'll be begenning the wrustling oot yon in the
+centre....(_As the competitors grip._) Losh! that's no the way to
+wrustle; they shouldna left the ither up; they're no allowed to threp!
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething at
+a' aboot it!
+
+[Illustration: "That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething
+at a' aboot it!"]
+
+_Mr. Havers._ I'd sthruggle baiter'n that mysel', it's no great
+wrustling at a', merely bairrns' play!
+
+_Mr. McKerr (as a corpulent elderly gentleman appears, in very pink
+tights)._ Ye'll see some science noo, for hier's McBannock o'
+Balwhuskie, the chawmpion.
+
+_Mr. Havers (disenchanted)._ Wull yon be him in the penk breeks. Man,
+but he's awfu' stoot for sic wark!
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ The wecht of him's no easy put doon. The rest are boys to
+him.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ I doot the little dairk fellow'll hae him ... it's a gey
+sthruggle.
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ He's not doon yet. Wull ye bait sexpence against
+McBannock, Mester Pairritch?
+
+_Mr. Parr. (promptly)._ Aye, wull I--na, he's got the dairk mon doon. I
+was jist mindin' the sword-daunce, sae the bait's aff. (_Three men in
+full Highland costume step upon the platform and stand, proud and
+impassive, fronting the grand stand, while the judges walk round them,
+making careful notes of their respective points._) What wull _they_ be
+aboot?
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ It'll be the prize for the mon who's the best dressed
+Hielander at his ain expense. I'm thenkin' they'll find it no verra easy
+to come to a deceesion.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ Deed, it's no sae deeficult; 'twill be the mon in the
+centre, sure as deith!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ Ye say that because he has a' them gowd maidles hing on
+his jocket!
+
+_Mr. Parr_. (_loftily_). I pay no attention to the maidles at a'. I'm
+sayin' that Dougal Macrae is the best dressed Hielander o' the three.
+
+_Mr. Havers._ It'll no be Macrae at a'. Jock McEwan, that's furthest
+west, 'll be the mon.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ (_dogmatically_). It'll be Macrae, I'm tellin' ye. He has
+the nicest kelt on him that iver I sa'!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ It's no the _kelt_ that diz it, 'tis jist the way they pit
+it on. An' Macrae'll hae his tae faur doon, a guid twa enches too low,
+it is.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ Ye're a' wrang, the kelt is on richt eneugh!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ I know fine hoo a kelt should be pit an, though I'm no
+Hielander mysel', and I'll ask ye, Mess Rawse, if Dougal Macrae's kelt
+isn't too lang; it's jist losin his knees a' thegither, like a lassie he
+looks in it!
+
+    [_Miss Rose declines, with some stiffness, to express an opinion on
+    so delicate a point._
+
+_Mr. Parr. (recklessly)._ I'll pit a sexpence on Macrae wi' ye, come
+noo!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ Na, na, pit cawmpetent jedges on to deceede, and they'll
+be o' my opeenion; but I'll no bait wi' ye.
+
+_Mr. Parr. (his blood up)._ Then I'll hae a sexpence on 't wi you,
+Mester McKerrow!
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ Nay, I'm for Macrae mysel'.... An' we're baith in the
+richt o't too, for they've jist gien him the bit red flag--that means
+he's got firsst prize.
+
+_Mr. Parr. (to Mr. Havers, with reproach)._ Man, if ye'd hed the speerit
+o' your opeenions, I'd ha' won sexpence aff ye by noo!
+
+_Mr. Havers (obstinately)._ I canna thenk but that Macrae's kelt was too
+lang--prize or no prize. I'll be telling him when I see him that he
+looked like a lassie in it.
+
+_Mr. Parr. (with concern)._ I wouldna jist advise ye to say ony sic a
+thing to him. These Hielanders are awfu' prood; and he micht tak' it gey
+ill fro' ye!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ I see nae hairrm mysel' in jist tellin' him, in a
+pleesant, daffin-like way, that he looked like a lassie in his kelt. But
+there's nae tellin' hoo ye may offend some fowk; an' I'm thenking it's
+no sae verra prawbable that I'll hae the oaportunity o' saying onything
+aboot the maitter to him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AWKWARD FOR HIM.--_Tam._ "I'm sayin', man, my cairt o' hay's fa'en ower.
+Will ye gie 's a haund up wi' 't?" _Jock._ "'Deed will I. But ye'll be
+in nae hurry till I get tae the end o' the raw?" _Tam._ "Ou no. I'm in
+nae hurry, but I doot my faither 'll be wearyin'." _Jock._ "An' whaur's
+yer faither?" _Tam._ "He's in below the hay!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "MISTAKEN IDENTITY"
+
+SCENE--_Northern Meeting at Inverness._ PERSONS REPRESENTED--Ian Gorm
+_and_ Dougald Mohr, _gillies_. Mr. Smith, _of London_.
+
+_First Gillie._ "Wull yon be the MacWhannel, Ian Gorm?"
+
+_Second ditto._ "No!! Hes nae-um is Muster Smuth! And he ahl-ways wears
+the kult--and it is foohl that you aar, Tougalt Mohr!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: (LOCH) FYNE GRAMMAR
+
+(_A Sad Fact for the School Board_)
+
+_Tugal._ "Dud ye'll ever see the _I-oo-na_ any more before?"
+
+_Tonal._ "Surely I was."
+
+_Tugal._ "Ay, ay! Maybe you was never on poard too, after thus----"
+
+_Tonal._ "I dud."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: NON BEN (LOMOND) TROVATO.
+
+_Rory (fresh from the hills)._ "Hech, mon! Ye're loassin' a' yer
+watter!!"
+
+_Aungus._ "Haud yer tongue, ye feul! Ett's latt oot to stoap the laddies
+frae ridin' ahint!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "NOTHING LIKE LEATHER"
+
+_Bookseller_ (_to Lanarkshire country gentleman who had brought his back
+numbers to be bound_). "Would you like them done in 'Russia' or
+'Morocco,' sir?"
+
+_Old Gentleman._ "Na, never maind aboot Rooshy or Moroccy. I'll just hae
+'em boond in Glasgy here!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE TROUBLES OF STALKING
+
+_Irate Gillie_ (_on discovering in the distance, for the third time that
+morning, a "brute of a man" moving about in his favourite bit of
+"forest"_). "Oh! deil take the people! Come awa', Muster Brown, sir;
+_it's just Peekadilly!!!_"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A FALLEN ASS
+
+_Indignant Gillie_ (_to Jones, of London, who has by mistake killed a
+hind_). "I thoucht ony fule ken't it was the stags that had the horns!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: BONCHIENIE
+
+_Young Lady Tourist_ (_caressing the hotel terrier, Bareglourie, N.B._).
+"Oh, Binkie is his name! He seems inclined to be quite friendly with
+me."
+
+_Waiter._ "Oo, aye, miss, he's no vera parteec'lar wha he taks oop wi!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "CANNY"
+
+_First North Briton._ "'T's a fine day, this?"
+
+_Second ditto._ "No ill, ava."
+
+_First ditto._ "Ye'll be travellin'?"
+
+_Second ditto._ "Weel, maybe I'm no."
+
+_First ditto._ "Gaun t'Aberdeen, maybe?"
+
+_Second ditto._ "Ye're no faur aff't!!"
+
+    [_Mutually satisfied, each goes his respective way_
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE PURCHASING LIMIT
+
+_Mr. Steinsen_ (_our latest millionaire--after his third fruitless
+stalk_). "Now, look here, you rascal! if you can't have the brutes
+tamer, I'm hanged if I don't sack you!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GROWING POPULARITY OF THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Mrs. Smith_ (_of Brixton_). "Lor', Mr. Brown, I 'ardly knoo yer! Only
+think of our meetin' _'ere_, this year, instead of dear old Margit! An'
+I suppose that's the costume you go _salmon-stalking_ in?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MORE SKETCHES FROM SCOTLAND
+
+ON A CALLANDER CHAR-A-BANC.
+
+     SCENE--_In front of the Trossachs Hotel. The few passengers bound
+     for Callander have been sitting for several minutes on the coach
+     "Fitz-James" in pelting rain, resignedly wondering when the driver
+     will consider them sufficiently wet to start._
+
+_The Head Boots (to the driver)._ There's another to come yet; he'll no
+be lang now. (_The cause of the delay comes down the hotel steps, and
+surveys the vehicle and its occupants with a surly scowl._) Up with ye,
+sir, plenty of room on the second seats.
+
+_The Surly Passenger._ And have all the umbrellas behind dripping on my
+hat! No, thank you, I'm going in front. (_He mounts, and takes up the
+apron._) Here, driver, just look at this apron--it's sopping wet!
+
+_The Driver (tranquilly)._ Aye, I'm thinking it wull ha' got a bet
+domp.
+
+[Illustration: "Ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to
+it."]
+
+_The Surly P._ Well, I'm not going to have this over me. Haven't you got
+a _dry_ one somewhere?
+
+_The Driver._ There'll be dry ones at Collander.
+
+_The Surly P. (with a snort)._ At Callander! Much good that is! (_With
+crushing sarcasm._) If I'm to keep dry on this concern, it strikes me
+I'd better get inside the boot at once!
+
+_The Driver (with the air of a man who is making a concession)._ Ou aye,
+ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to it.
+
+    [_The coach starts, and is presently stopped at a corner to take up
+    a male and a female passenger, who occupy the seats immediately
+    behind the Surly Passenger._
+
+_The Female P. (enthusiastically, to her companion)._ There's dear old
+Mrs. Macfarlane, come out to see the last of us! Look at her standing
+out there in the garden, all in the rain. That's what I always say about
+the Scotch--they _are_ warm-hearted!
+
+    [_She waves her hand in farewell to some distant object._
+
+_Her Companion. That_ ain't her; that's an old apple-tree in the garden
+_you_'re waving to. _She's_ keeping indoors--and shows her sense too.
+
+_The Female P. (disgusted)._ Well, I _do_ think after our being at the
+farm a fortnight and all, she _might_----But that's Scotch all _over_,
+that is; get all they can out of you, and then, for anything _they_
+care----!
+
+_The Surly P._ I don't know whether you are aware of it, ma'am, but that
+umbrella of yours is sending a constant trickle down the back of my
+neck, which is _most_ unpleasant!
+
+_The Female P._ I'm sorry to hear it, sir, but it's no worse for you
+than it is for me. I've got somebody else's umbrella dripping down _my_
+back, and _I_ don't complain.
+
+_The Surly P._ I _do_, ma'am, for, being in front, I haven't even the
+poor consolation of feeling that my umbrella is a nuisance to anybody.
+
+_A Sardonic P. (in the rear, politely)._ On the contrary, sir, I find it
+a most pleasing object to contemplate. Far more picturesque, I don't
+doubt, than any scenery it may happen to conceal.
+
+_A Chatty P. (to the driver; not because he cares, but simply for the
+sake of conversation)._ What fish do you catch in that river there?
+
+_The Driver (with an effort)._ There'll be troots, an', maybe, a pairrch
+or two.
+
+_The Chatty P._ Perch? Ah, that's rather like a goldfish in shape, eh?
+
+_Driver (cautiously)._ Aye, it would be that.
+
+_Chatty P._ Only considerably bigger, of course.
+
+_Driver (evasively)._ Pairrch is no a verra beg fesh.
+
+_Chatty P._ But bigger than goldfish.
+
+_Driver (more confidently)._ Ou aye, they'll be begger than goldfesh.
+
+_Chatty P. (persistently)._ You've seen goldfish--know what they're
+like, eh?
+
+_Driver (placidly)._ I canna say I do.
+
+    [_They pass a shooting party with beaters._
+
+_Chatty P. (as before)._ What are they going to shoot?
+
+_Driver._ They'll jist be going up to the hells for a bet grouse
+drivin'.
+
+_A Lady P._ I wonder why they carry those poles with the red and yellow
+flags. I suppose they're to warn tourists to keep out of range when they
+begin firing at the butts. I know they _have_ butts up on the moor,
+because I've seen them. Just look at those birds running after that man
+throwing grain for them. Would those be _grouse_?
+
+_Driver._ Ye'll no find grouse so tame as that, mem; they'll jist be
+phaysants.
+
+_The Lady P._ Poor dear things! why, they're as tame as chickens. It
+_does_ seem so cruel to kill them!
+
+_Her Comp._ Well, but they kill chickens, occasionally.
+
+_The Lady P._ Not with a horrid gun; and, besides, that's such a totally
+different thing.
+
+_The Chatty P._ What do you call that mountain, driver, eh?
+
+_Driver._ Yon hell? I'm no minding its name.
+
+_The Surly P._ You don't seem very ready in pointing out the objects of
+interests on the route, I must say.
+
+_Driver (modestly)._ There'll be them on the corch that know as much
+aboot it as myself. (_After a pause--to vindicate his character as a
+cicerone._) Did ye nottice a bit building at the end of the loch over
+yonder?
+
+_The Surly P._ No, I didn't.
+
+_Driver._ Ye might ha' seen it, had ye looked.
+
+    [_He relapses into a contented silence._
+
+_Chatty P._ Anything remarkable about the building?
+
+_Driver._ It was no the building that's remairkable. (_After a severe
+struggle with his own reticence._) It was jist the spoat. 'Twas there
+_Roderick Dhu_ fought _Fitz-James_ after convoying him that far on his
+way.
+
+    [_The Surly Passenger snorts as though he didn't consider this
+    information._
+
+_The Lady P. (who doesn't seem to be up in her "Lady of the Lake").
+Fitz-James who?_
+
+_Her Comp._ I fancy he's the man who owns this line of coaches. There's
+his name on the side of this one.
+
+_The Lady P._ And I saw _Roderick Dhu's_ on another coach. I _thought_
+it sounded familiar, somehow. He must be the _rival_ proprietor, I
+suppose. I wonder if they've made it up yet.
+
+_The Driver (to the Surly Passenger, with another outburst of
+communicativeness)._ Yon stoan is called "Sawmson's Putting Stoan." He
+hurrled it up to the tope of the hell, whaur it's bided ever sence.
+
+    [_The Surly Passenger receives this information with an incredulous
+    grunt._
+
+_The Lady P._ What a magnificent old ruin that is across the valley,
+some ancient castle, evidently; they can't build like that nowadays!
+
+_The Driver._ That's the Collander Hydropawthec, mem; burrnt doon two or
+three years back.
+
+_The Lady P. (with a sense of the irony of events)._ _Burnt_ down! A
+Hydropathic! Fancy!
+
+_Male P. (as they enter Callander and pass a trim villa)._ There,
+_that's_ Mr. Figgis's place.
+
+_His Comp._ What--_that_? Why, it's quite a _bee-yutiful_ place, with
+green venetians, and a conservatory, and a croaky lawn, and everything!
+Fancy all that belonging to _him!_ It's well to be a grocer--in _these_
+parts, seemingly!
+
+_Male P._ Ah, _we_ ought to come up and start business here; it 'ud be
+better than being in the Caledonian Road!
+
+    [_They meditate for the remainder of the journey upon the caprices
+    of Fortune with regard to grocery profits in Caledonia and the
+    Caledonian Road respectively._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER"
+
+_Mr. Punch_ is at present in the Highlands "a-chasing the deer."
+
+_Mrs. Punch_ is at home, and has promised all her friends haunches of
+venison as soon as they arrive!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "DESIRABLE"
+
+_Saxon Passenger (on Highland coach)._ "Of course you're well acquainted
+with the country round about here. Do you know 'Glen Accron'?"
+
+_Driver._ "Aye, weel."
+
+_Saxon Passenger (who had just bought the estate)._ "What sort of a
+place is it?"
+
+_Driver._ "Weel, if ye saw the deil tethered on't, ye'd just say 'Puir
+brute'!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ISOLATION!--OFF THE ORKNEYS
+
+_Southern Tourist._ "'Get any newspapers here?"
+
+_Orcadian Boatman._ "Ou aye, when the steamer comes. If it's fine,
+she'll come ance a week; but when it's stormy, i' winter, we dinna catch
+a glint o' her for three months at a time."
+
+_S. T._ "Then you'll not know what's goin' on in London!"
+
+_O. B._ "Na--but ye see ye're just as ill aff i' London as we are, for
+ye dinna ken what's gaun on here!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ON THE MOORS
+
+_The Laird's Brother-in-law (from London)._ "It's very strange, Lachlan!
+I'm having no luck!--and yet I seem to see two birds in place of one?
+That was surely very strong whiskey your master gave me at lunch?"
+
+_Keeper._ "Maybe aye and maybe no--the whuskey was goot; but any way ye
+dinna manage to hit the richt bird o' the twa!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A POOR ADVERTISEMENT
+
+_Tourist._ "I suppose you feel proud to have such a distinguished man
+staying in your house?"
+
+_Host of the "Drumdonnachie Arms."_ "'Deed no! A body like that does us
+mair hairm than guid; his appearance is nae credit tae oor
+commissariat!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GENEROSITY
+
+_Noble Lord (whose rifle has brought to a scarcely untimely end a very
+consumptive-looking fallow deer)._ "Tut--t, t, t, t, tut! O, I say,
+Stubbs!"--(_to his keeper_)--"you shouldn't have let me kill such a
+poor, little, sickly, scraggy thing as this, you know! It positively
+isn't fit for human food! Ah! look here, now! I'll tell you what. You
+and McFarlin may have this buck between you!!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TRAVELLER TOO BONÂ FIDE
+
+_Dusty Pedestrian._ "I should like a glass of beer, missis, please----"
+
+_Landlady._ "Hae ye been trevellin' by rell?"
+
+_Pedestrian._ "No, I've been walking--fourteen miles."
+
+_Landlady._ "Na, na, nae drink will ony yin get here, wha's been
+pleesure-seekin' o' the Sawbath day!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+He goes on board the _Iona_. The only drawback to his perfect enjoyment
+is the jealousy caused among all the gentlemen by the ladies clustering
+round him on all occasions.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS
+
+There were often unforeseen circumstances which gave to the Highland
+stalking of those days an added zest!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE PLEASURES OF TRAVEL
+
+(_By Ane that has kent them_)
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    'Tis a great thing, the Traivel; I'll thank ye tae find
+    Its equal for openin' the poors o' the mind.
+    It mak's a man polished, an' gies him, ye ken,
+    Sic a graun' cosmypollitan knowledge o' men!
+
+    I ne'er was a stay-at-hame callant ava,
+    I aye must be rantin' an' roamin' awa',
+    An' far hae I wandered, an' muckle hae seen
+    O' the ways o' the warl' wi' ma vara ain een.
+
+    I've been tae Kingskettle wi' Wullie an' Jeames,
+    I've veesited Anster an' Elie an' Wemyss,
+    I've walked tae Kirkca'dy an' Cupar an' Crail,
+    An' I aince was awa' tae Dundee wi' the rail.
+
+    Losh me, sir! The wonnerfu' things that I saw!
+    The kirks wi' their steeples, sae bonny an' braw
+    An' publics whauriver ye turned wi' yer ee--
+    'Tis jist a complete eddication, Dundee!
+
+    Theer's streets--be the hunner! An' shops be the score!
+    Theer's bakers an' grocers an' fleshers galore!
+    An' milliners' winders a' flauntin' awa'
+    Wi' the last o' the fashions frae Lunnon an' a'.
+
+    An' eh, sic a thrang, sir! I saw in a minnit
+    Mair folk than the toun o' Kinghorn will hae in it
+    I wadna hae thocht that the hail o' creation
+    Could boast at ae time sic a vast population!
+
+    Ma word, sir! It gars ye clap haun' tae yer broo
+    An' wunner what's Providence after the noo
+    That he lets sic a swarm o' they cratur's be born
+    Wham naebody kens aboot here in Kinghorn.
+
+    What?--Leeberal minded?--Ye canna but be
+    When ye've had sic a graun' eddication as me.
+    For oh, theer is naethin' like traivel, ye ken,
+    For growin' acquent wi' the natur' o' men.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"FALLS OF FOYERS."--A correspondent writes:--"I have seen a good many
+letters in the _Times_, headed 'The Falls of the Foyers.' Here and
+abroad I have seen many Foyers, and only fell down once. This was at the
+Théâtre Francais, where the Foyer is kept highly polished, or used to be
+so. If the Foyers are carpeted or matted, there need be no 'Falls.'
+
+  Yours,
+
+    COMMON SENSE."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "WINGED"
+
+_First Gael._ "What's the matter, Tonal?"
+
+_Second ditto (who had been out with Old Briggs)._ "Matter! Hur legs is
+full o' shoots".]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MR. PUNCH AT THE HIGHLAND GAMES
+
+Shows the natives how to "put the stone."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AN ARTIST SCAMP IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Artist (entering)._ "My good woman, if you'll allow me, I'll just paint
+that bedstead of yours."
+
+_Cottager (with bob-curtsey)._ "Thank ye, sir, I' sure it's very kind of
+ye--but dinna ye think that little one over yonder wants it more?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+EN ÉCOSSE
+
+_À Monsieur Punch_
+
+DEAR MISTER,--I come of to make a little voyage in Scotland. Ah, the
+beautiful country of Sir Scott, Sir Wallace, and Sir Burns! I am gone to
+render visit to one of my english friends, a charming boy--_un charmant
+garçon_--and his wife, a lady very instructed and very spiritual, and
+their childs. I adore them, the dear little english childs, who have the
+cheeks like some roses, and the hairs like some flax, as one says in
+your country, all buckled--_bouclés_, how say you?
+
+I go by the train of night--in french one says "_le sleeping_"--to
+Edimbourg, and then to Calendar, where I attend to find a coach--in
+french one says "_un mail_" or "_un fourinhand_." _Nom d'une pipe_, it
+is one of those ridicule carriages, called in french "_un breack_" and
+in english a char-à-banc--that which the english pronounce
+"_tcherribaingue_"--which attends us at the going out of the station! Eh
+well, in voyage one must habituate himself to all! But a such carriage
+discovered--_découverte_--seems to me well unuseful in a country where
+he falls of rain without cease.
+
+Before to start I demand of all the world some _renseignements_ on the
+scottish climate, and all the world responds me, "All-days of the rain."
+By consequence I procure myself some impermeable vestments, one
+mackintosch coat, one mackintosch cape of Inverness, one mackintosch
+covering of voyage, one south-western hat, some umbrellas, some gaiters,
+and many pairs of boots very thick--not boots of town, but veritable
+"shootings."
+
+I arrive at Edimbourg by a morning of the most sads; the sky grey, the
+earth wet, the air humid. Therefore I propose to myself to search at
+Calender a place at the interior, _et voilà_--and see there--the
+_breack_ has no interior! There is but that which one calls a "boot",
+and me, Auguste, can I to lie myself there at the middle of the
+baggages? Ah no! Thus I am forced to endorse--_endosser_--my impermeable
+vestments and to protect myself the head by my south-western hat. Then,
+holding firmly the most strong of my umbrellas, I say to the coacher,
+"He goes to fall of the rain, is it not?" He makes a sign of head of not
+to comprehend. Ah, for sure, he is scottish! I indicate the sky and my
+umbrella, and I say "Rain?" and then he comprehends. "_Eh huile_", he
+responds to me, "_ah canna sé, mébi huile no hé meukl the dé_." I write
+this phonetically, for I comprehend not the scottish language. What
+droll of conversation! Him comprehends not the english; me I comprehend
+not the scottish.
+
+But I essay of new, "How many has he of it from here to the lake?"
+_C'est inutile_--it is unuseful. I say, "Distance?" He comprehends.
+"_Mébi oui taque toua hours_", says he; "_beutt yile no fache yoursel,
+its no sé lang that yile bi ouishinn yoursel aoua_." _Quelle
+langue_--what language, even to write phonetically! I comprehend one
+sole word, "hours." Some hours! _Sapristi!_ I say, "Hours?" He says
+"_Toua_" all together, a monosyllable. _Sans aucune doute ça veut dire_
+"twelve"--_douze_. Twelve hours on a _breack_ in a such climate! Ah, no!
+_C'est trop fort_--it is too strong! "Hold", I cry myself, "attend, I
+descend, I go not!" It is true that I see not how I can to descend, for
+I am _entouré_--how say you? of voyagers. We are five on a bench, of the
+most narrows, and me I am at the middle. And the bench before us is also
+complete, and we touch him of the knees. And my neighbours carry on the
+knees all sorts of packets, umbrellas, canes, sacks of voyage, &c. _Il
+n'y a pas moyen_--he has not there mean. And the coacher says me "_Na,
+na, monne, yile no ghitt doun, yile djest baïd ouar yer sittinn._" Then
+he mounts to his place, and we part immediately. _Il va tomber de la
+pluie! Douze heures! Mon Dieu, quel voyage!_
+
+  Agree, &c.,
+
+    AUGUSTE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ZEAL
+
+_Saxon Tourist._ "Been at the kirk?"
+
+_Celt._ "Aye."
+
+_Saxon T._ "How far is it?"
+
+_Celt._ "Daur say it'll be fourteen mile."
+
+_Saxon T._ "Fourteen miles!!"
+
+_Celt._ "Aye, aw'm awfu' fond o' the preachin'"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THRIFT
+
+_Peebles Body (to townsman who was supposed to be in London on a
+visit)._ "E--eh Mac! ye're sune hame again!"
+
+_Mac._ "E--eh, it's just a ruinous place, that! Mun, a had na' been
+the-erre abune twa hoours when--_bang_--went _saxpence!!!_"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A SATISFACTORY SOLUTION
+
+"I fear, Duncan, that friend of mine does not seem overly safe with his
+gun."
+
+"No, sir. But I'm thinkin' it'll be all right if you wass to go wan side
+o' him and Mr. John the ither. He canna shoot baith o' ye!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "VITA FUMUS"
+
+_Tonal._ "Whar'll ye hae been till, Tugal?"
+
+_Tugal._ "At ta McTavishes' funeral----"
+
+_Tonal._ "An' is ta Tavish deed?"
+
+_Tugal._ "Deed is he!!"
+
+_Tonal._ "Losh, mon! Fowk are aye deein' noo that never used to dee
+afore!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: PRECAUTIONS
+
+_Saxon Angler (to his keeper)._ "You seem in a great hurry with your
+clip! I haven't seen a sign of a fish yet--not a rise!"
+
+_Duncan._ "'Deed, sir, I wisna a botherin' mysel' aboot the fush; but
+seein' you wis new to the business, I had a thocht it widna be lang
+afore you were needin' a left oot o' the watter yoursel'!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: HIS POUND OF FLESH
+
+_Financier (tenant of our forest, after a week's unsuccessful
+stalking)._ "Now, look here, my man. I bought and paid for ten stags. If
+the brutes can't be shot, you'll have to trap them! I've promised the
+venison, and I mean to have it!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SCRUPULOUS
+
+_Shepherd._ "O, Jims, mun! Can ye no gie a whustle on tha ram'lin' brute
+o' mine? I daurna mysel'; it's just fast-day in oor parish!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "THE LAND OF LORN"
+
+_It has drizzled incessantly, for a fortnight, since the Smiths came
+down to their charming villa at Braebogie, in Argyleshire._
+
+_Keeper (who has come up to say the boat is ready on the loch, if
+"they're for fushin' the day")._ "Eh! I should na wonder if this weather
+tur-rns ta rain!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: LOCAL
+
+SUNDAY MORNING
+
+_Tourist (staying at the Glenmulctem Hotel--dubiously)._ "Can
+I--ah--have a boat?"
+
+_Boatman._ "Oo--aye!"
+
+_Tourist._ "But I thought you--ah--never broke the--aw--Sabbath in
+Scotland?"
+
+_Boatman._ "Aweel, ye ken the Sawbath disna' come doon to the loch--it
+just staps at the hottle!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+EN ÉCOSSE (ENCORE)
+
+_À Monsieur Punch_
+
+DEAR MISTER,--I have spoken you of my departure from Calendar on the
+_breack_. Eh, well, he rained not of the whole of the whole--_du tout
+du tout! Il faisait un temps superbe_--he was making a superb time, the
+route was well agreeable, and the voyage lasted but two hours, and not
+twelve. What droll of idea! In Scottish _twa_ is two, not twelve. I was
+so content to arrive so quick, and without to be wetted that I gave the
+coacher a good to-drink--_un bon pourboire_--though before to start all
+the voyagers had paid him a "tipp", that which he called a "driver's
+fee." Again what droll of idea! To give the to-drink before to start,
+and each one the same--six pennys.
+
+My friend encountered me and conducted me to his house, where I have
+passed fifteen days, a sojourn of the most agreeables. And all the time
+almost not one sole drop of rain! _J'avais beau_--I had fine--to buy all
+my impermeable vestments, I carry them never. One sole umbrella suffices
+me, and I open him but two times. And yet one says that the Scotland is
+a rainy country. It is perhaps a season _tout à fait_--all to
+fact--exceptional. But fifteen days almost without rain! One would
+believe himself at the border of the Mediterranean, absolutely at the
+South. And I have eaten of the "porridg", me Auguste! _Partout_ I essay
+the dish of the country. I take at first a spoonful pure and simple. _Oh
+la, la!_ My friend offers me of the cream. It is well. Also of the salt.
+_Quelle idée!_ But no, before me I perceive a dish of _confiture_, that
+which the Scottish call "marmaladde." _A la bonne heure!_ With some
+marmaladde, some cream, and much of sugar, I find that the "porridg" is
+enough well, for I taste him no more.
+
+One day we make an ascension, and we see many grouses. Only we can not
+to shoot, for it is not yet the season of the huntings. It is but a hill
+that we mount. The name appears me to be french, but bad written. "Ben
+Venue", that is to say, "_Bienvenu_"--_soyez le bienvenu_. She is one of
+the first of the Scottish hills, and she says "welcome" in french. It is
+a pretty idea, and a politeness very amiable towards my country. I
+salute the hospitable Scotland and I thank her. It is a great country,
+of brave men, of charming women--ah, I recall to myself some eyes so
+beautiful, some forms so attracting!--of ravishing landscapes, and, at
+that epoch there, of a climate so delicious. She has one sole and one
+great defect. The best Scottish hotels cost very dear, and, my faith,
+the two or three that I visited are not great thing like
+comfortable--_ne sont pas grand'chose comme comfortable!_
+
+One day we make a little excursion on the Lake of Lomond. The lake is
+well beautiful, and the steamboat is excellent. But in one certain
+hotel, in descending from a _breack_, and before to embark, we take the
+"lunch." We bargain not, we ask not even the price, we eat at the _table
+d'hôte_ like all the world in Swiss, in France, even in Germany, when
+there is but one half hour before the departure of the train or of the
+boat. _Oh la, la!_ I have eaten in the spanish hotels, on the steamboats
+of the italian lakes, even in the _restaurants--mon Dieu!_--of the
+english railways, but never, never--_au grand jamais_--have I eaten a
+_déjeuner_ like that! One dish I shall forget never; some exterior green
+leaves of lettuce, without oil or vinegar, which they called a "salad."
+_Parbleu_--by blue! In all the history of the world there has been but
+one man who would have could to eat her with pleasure--Nabuchodonosor!
+
+  Agree, &c.,
+
+    AUGUSTE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "CANNY"
+
+_Sister._ "Why, Charles, you've got raw whiskey here!"
+
+_Charles._ "Well, it's hardly worth while to bring water. We can always
+find that as we go along--when we want it."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: CAUTIOUS
+
+_Visitor (at out-of-the-way inn in the North)._ "Do you know anything
+about salmon-poaching in this neighbourhood?"
+
+_Landlady (whose son is not above suspicion)._--"Eh--no, sir. Maybe it's
+a new style of cooking as we haven't heard of in these parts, as you
+see, sir, we only do our eggs that way; and"--(_brightening up_)--"if
+you like 'em, I can get you a dish at once!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A DECIDED OPINION
+
+_Proprietor of shootings ("in the course of conversation")._ "Yes, but
+you know, Sandy, it's difficult to choose between the Scylla of a shy
+tenant, and the Charybdis of----"
+
+_Sandy (promptly)._ "Aweel! Gie me the siller, an' anybuddy that likes
+may hae the tither!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _Chappie (after missing his fourth stag, explains)._
+"Aw--fact is, the--aw--waving grass was in my way."
+
+_Old Stalker._ "Hoot, mon, wad he hae me bring out a scythe?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Our artist catches it again this winter in the
+Highlands.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A FINE HEAD (BUT NOT OF THE RIGHT SORT OF CATTLE) Perkins
+has paid a mint of money for his shooting, and has had bad luck all the
+season. To-day, however, he gets a shot, only--it turns out to be at a
+cow!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A "SCENE" IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Ill-used husband_ (_under the bed_). "Aye! Ye may crack me, and ye may
+thrash me, but ye canna break my manly sperrit. I'll na come oot!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+He is at present on a boating excursion, and describes the motion as
+extremely pleasant, and has no dread of sea-sickness.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "GAME" IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Captain Jinks._ "Birds plentiful, I hope, Donald?"
+
+_Donald._ "Tousans, sir--in tousans."
+
+_Captain J._ "Any zebras?"
+
+_Donald_ (_anxious to please_). "Is't zebras? They're in tousans, too."
+
+_Captain J._ "And gorillas, no doubt?"
+
+_Donald._ "Well, noo an' then we see ane or twa--just like yerself."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES'S ADVENTURES IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+Lavinia takes a siesta,]
+
+[Illustration: And the frightful situation she finds herself in at the
+end of it.]
+
+[Illustration: Lavinia arrives at a waterfall, and asks its name. The
+shepherd (not understanding English) informs her in Gaelic that it is
+called (as Lavinia supposes) "Vicharoobashallochoggilnabo." Lavinia
+thinks it a very pretty name.]
+
+[Illustration: A bright idea strikes the shepherd, and before Lavinia
+can remonstrate, he transports her, in the usual manner, to the other
+side.]
+
+[Illustration: MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES
+
+She comes suddenly on a strange structure--apparently a native fort, and
+is just going to sketch it, when a savage of gigantic stature, and armed
+to the teeth, starts from an ambush, and menaces her in Gaelic!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TWENTY HOURS AFTER
+
+EUSTON, 8 P.M.
+
+    I'm sick of this sweltering weather.
+      Phew! ninety degrees in the shade!
+    I long for the hills and the heather,
+      I long for the kilt and the plaid;
+    I long to escape from this hot land
+      Where there isn't a mouthful of air,
+    And fly to the breezes of Scotland--
+      It's never too stuffy up there.
+
+    For weeks I have sat in pyjamas,
+      And found even these were _de trop_,
+    And envied the folk of Bahamas
+      Who dress in a feather or so;
+    But now there's an end to my grilling,
+      My Inferno's a thing of the past;
+    Hurrah! there's the whistle a-shrilling--
+      We are off to the Highlands at last!
+
+CALLANDER, 4 P.M.
+
+    The dull leaden skies are all clouded
+      In the gloom of a sad weeping day,
+    The desolate mountains are shrouded
+      In palls of funereal grey;
+    'Mid the skirl of the wild wintry weather
+      The torrents descend in a sheet
+    As we shiver all huddled together
+      In the reek of the smouldering peat.
+
+    A plague on the Highlands! to think of
+      The heat that but lately we banned;
+    Oh! what would we give for a blink of
+      The bright sunny side of the Strand!
+    To think there are folk that still revel
+      In Summer, and fling themselves down,
+    In the Park, or St. James? What the d----
+      Possessed us to hurry from town?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"OUT OF TUNE AND HARSH."--_First Elder_ (_at the Kirk "Skellin'"_). "Did
+ye hear Dougal? More snorin' in the sermon?"
+
+_Second Elder_, "Parefec'ly disgracefu'! He's waukened 's a'!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: OVERHEARD IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_First Chieftain._ "I say, old chap, what a doose of a bore these games
+are!"
+
+_Second Chieftain._ "Ah, but, my dear boy, it is this sort of thing that
+has made us Scotchmen _what we are!!_"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "SERMONS IN STONES"
+
+_Tourist_ (_of an inquiring and antiquarian turn_). "Now I suppose,
+farmer, that large cairn of stones has some history?"
+
+_Highland Farmer._ "Ooh, aye, that buig o' stanes has a gran' history
+whatever!"
+
+_Tourist_ (_eagerly_). "Indeed! I should like to----What is the
+legend----?"
+
+_Farmer._ "Just a gran' history!" (_Solemnly._) "It took a' ma cairts
+full and horses sax months to gather them aff he land and pit them
+ther-r-re!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: JETSAM AND FLOTSAM
+
+Smith being shut out from the Continent this year, takes a cottage ornée
+on Dee-Side. Scotland. The children are sent up first. The house is
+described as "conveniently furnished"--they find it so!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: IN THE WILDS OF THE NORTH.
+
+_Hungry Saxon_ (_just arrived, with equally hungry family_). "Well,
+now--er--what can you give us for dinner, as soon as we've had a wash?"
+
+_Scotch Lassie._ "Oh, jist onything!"
+
+_H. S._ (_rubbing his hands in anticipation_). "Ah! Now we'll have a
+nice juicy steak."
+
+_Lassie._ "A--weel. We'll be haein' some steak here maybe by the boat i'
+the morn's morn!"
+
+_H. S._ (_a little crestfallen_). "Oh--well--chops then. We'll say
+mutton chops."
+
+_Lassie._ "Oh, ay, but we've no been killin' a sheep the day!"
+
+    [_Ends up with boiled eggs, and vows to remain at home for the future._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE DUKE OF ATHOLL'S SHILLING (1851)
+
+The _North British Mail_ assures us that the Duke of Atholl exacts one
+shilling a head from every person taking a walk in his ground at
+Dunkeld. This is rather dear; but the impost would be insupportable if
+his Grace insisted upon also showing himself for the money.
+
+A HIGHLAND CORONACH
+
+_Or Lament over the Acts and State of the Duke of Atholl._
+
+After Scott.
+
+    He has shut up the mountain,
+    He has locked up the forest,
+    He has bunged up the fountain,
+    When our need was the sorest;
+    The traveller stirring
+    To the North, may dogs borrow;
+    But the Duke gives no hearing,
+    No pass--but to sorrow.
+
+    The hand of the tourist
+    Grasps the carpet-bag grimly,
+    But a face of the dourest
+    Frowns through the Glen dimly.
+    The autumn winds, rushing,
+    Stir a kilt of the queerest,
+    Duke and gillies come crushing
+    Where pleasure is nearest!
+
+    Queer foot on the corrie,
+    Oddly loving to cumber--
+    Give up this odd foray,
+    Awake from your slumber!
+    Take your ban from the mountain,
+    Take your lock from the river,
+    Take your bolt from the fountain,
+    Now at once, and for ever!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: The sad fate of our only ham.--The pursuit.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A RARA MONGRELLIS
+
+_Tourist._ "Your dog appears to be deaf, as he pays no attention to me."
+
+_Shepherd._ "Na, na, sir. She's a varra wise dog, for all tat. But she
+only speaks Gaelic."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "IN FOR IT"
+
+_Innocent Tourist._ "No fish to be caught in Loch Fine now? And how do
+you support yourself?"
+
+_Native._ "Whiles she carries parcels, and whiles she raws people in ta
+poat, and whiles a shentleman 'ull give her a saxpence or a shillin'!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A BLANK DAY
+
+_The Keeper_ (_to Brown, who rents the forest_). "Doon wi' ye! Doon wi'
+ye! Get ahint a stang!"
+
+_Brown_ (_out of temper--he had been "stalking" about all the morning,
+and missed several times_). "Yes, it's all very well to say 'Get behind
+a stone.' But show me one!--show me one!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Punch passes a night at McGillie Cullum Castle.]
+
+[Illustration: The Laird, as a delicate compliment, serenades him.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A BAD SEASON
+
+_Sportsman._ "I can assure you, what with the rent of the moor, and my
+expenses, and 'what not,' the birds have cost me--ah--a sovereign
+apiece!!"
+
+_Keeper._ "A' weel, sir! 'Deed it's a maircy ye didna kill na mair o'
+'em!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: CANDID
+
+_Sportsman._ "Boy, you've been at this whiskey!"
+
+_Boy_ (_who has brought the luncheon-basket_). "Na! The cooark wadna
+come oot!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "UNCO CANNY"
+
+_Noble Sportsman._ "Missed, eh?"
+
+_Cautious Keeper._ "Weel, a' wadna gang quite sae faur as to say that;
+but a' doot ye hay'na _exactly_ hit."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE SONG OF THE SCOTCH TOURIST
+
+    Those Scotch hotels! Those Scotch hotels
+    Are fit for princes and for swells;
+    But their high charges don't agree
+    With humbler travellers like me.
+
+    Twelve shillings daily for my board
+    Is more than I can well afford,
+    For this includes nor ale nor wine,
+    Whereof I drink some when I dine.
+
+    Bad sherry's charged at eight-and-six,
+    A price that in my gizzard sticks:
+    And if I want a pint of port,
+    A crown is what I'm pilfer'd for 't.
+
+    For service, too, I have to pay,
+    Two shillings, as a rule, per day:
+    Yet always, when I leave the door,
+    The boots and waiter beg for more.
+
+    So, till a fortune I can spend,
+    Abroad my autumn steps I'll bend;
+    Far cheaper there, experience tells,
+    Is living than at Scotch hotels!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A VERY DIFFERENT MATTER
+
+_Southern Lord_ (_staying at Highland castle_). "Thank you so much.
+I--ah--weally enjoy your music. I think of having a piper at my own
+place."
+
+_Sandy the piper._ "An' fat kin' o' a piper would your lordship be
+needin'?"
+
+_Southern Lord._ "Oh, certainly a good piper like yourself, Sandy."
+
+_Sandy_ (_sniffing_). "Och! Inteet!--Ye might easily fin' a lord like
+your lordship, but it's nae sae easy to fin' a piper like me whatever!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE END
+
+BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Punch in the Highlands, by Various
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mr. Punch In The Highlands.</title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Punch in the Highlands, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Mr. Punch in the Highlands
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: J. A. Hammerton
+
+Illustrator: Charles Keene
+             and others
+
+Release Date: October 30, 2011 [EBook #37882]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Neville Allen, Chris Curnow and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
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+
+</pre>
+
+
+<h1>MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS</h1>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cover" id="Page_cover">[Cover]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 30%">
+<a href="images/i_cover.png">
+<img src="images/i_cover.png" width="100%" alt="Cover" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<h3>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE.</h3>
+
+<p>Some pages of this work have been moved from the original sequence to enable
+the contents to continue without interruption. The page numbering remains unaltered.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h3>PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR</h3>
+
+<h4>Edited by J. A. Hammerton</h4>
+
+<p>Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the
+cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic
+draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch", from its
+beginning in 1841 to the present day.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 30%">
+<a href="images/i_002b.png">
+<img src="images/i_002b.png" width="100%" alt="Dog in highland dress" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_003.png">
+<img src="images/i_003.png" width="100%" alt="THRIFT" /></a>
+<h3>THRIFT</h3>
+<p><i>Highlander (he had struck his foot against a "stane").</i> "Phew-ts!&mdash;e-eh
+what a ding ma puir buit wad a gotten if a'd had it on!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS</h2>
+
+<table summary="contributors">
+<tr>
+<td>
+
+AS PICTURED BY<br /><br />
+<br />
+CHARLES KEENE,<br />
+JOHN LEECH,<br />
+GEORGE DU MAURIER,<br />
+W. RALSTON,<br />
+L. RAVEN-HILL,<br />
+J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE,<br />
+E. T. REED,<br />
+G. D. ARMOUR,<br />
+CECIL ALDIN,<br />
+ A. S. BOYD,<br />
+ETC.<br />
+</td>
+<td>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 30%">
+<a href="images/i_004a.png">
+<img src="images/i_004a.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. P. in the moumtains" /></a>
+</div>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<center><i>WITH 140 ILLUSTRATIONS</i><br />
+<br />
+PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"<br />
+<br />
+THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.<br />
+</center>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p><hr />
+
+<h3>THE PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR</h3>
+
+<center>
+<i>Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo. 192 pages<br />
+fully illustrated</i><br />
+<br />
+LIFE IN LONDON<br />
+<br />
+COUNTRY LIFE<br />
+<br />
+IN THE HIGHLANDS<br />
+<br />
+SCOTTISH HUMOUR<br />
+<br />
+IRISH HUMOUR<br />
+<br />
+COCKNEY HUMOUR<br />
+<br />
+IN SOCIETY<br />
+<br />
+AFTER DINNER STORIES<br />
+<br />
+IN BOHEMIA<br />
+<br />
+AT THE PLAY<br />
+<br />
+MR. PUNCH AT HOME<br />
+<br />
+ON THE CONTINONG<br />
+<br />
+RAILWAY BOOK<br />
+<br />
+AT THE SEASIDE<br />
+<br />
+MR. PUNCH AFLOAT<br />
+<br />
+IN THE HUNTING FIELD<br />
+<br />
+MR. PUNCH ON TOUR<br />
+<br />
+WITH ROD AND GUN<br />
+<br />
+MR. PUNCH AWHEEL<br />
+<br />
+BOOK OF SPORTS<br />
+<br />
+GOLF STORIES<br />
+<br />
+IN WIG AND GOWN<br />
+<br />
+ON THE WARPATH<br />
+<br />
+BOOK OF LOVE<br />
+<br />
+WITH THE CHILDREN<br />
+</center>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 30%">
+<a href="images/i_005.png">
+<img src="images/i_005.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. P. with dog." /></a>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>NORTHWARD HO!</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 20%">
+<a href="images/i_006.png">
+<img src="images/i_006.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. P. with shot bird." /></a>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Scotsmen</span>&mdash;Highlanders and Lowlanders&mdash;have furnished Mr. Punch with many
+of his happiest jokes. Despite the curious tradition which the Cockney
+imbibes with his mother's milk as to the sterility of Scotland in
+humour, the Scots are not only the cause of humour in others but there
+are occasions when they prove themselves not entirely bereft of the
+faculty which, with his charming egoism, the Cockney supposes to be his
+own exclusive birthright. Indeed, we have it on the authority of Mr.
+Spielmann, the author of "The History of <i>Punch</i>", that "of the accepted
+jokes from unattached contributors (to Punch), it is a notable fact that
+at least 75 per cent. comes from north of the Tweed." As a very
+considerable proportion of these Scottish jokes make fun of the national
+characteristics of the Scot, it is clear that Donald has the supreme
+gift of being able to laugh at himself. It should be noted, however,
+that Mr. Punch's most celebrated Scottish joke ("Bang went saxpence"),
+which we give on page 153, was no invention, but merely the record of an
+actual conversation overheard by an Englishman!</p>
+
+<p>In the present volume the purpose has been not so much to bring together
+a representative collection of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> the Scottish humour that has appeared in
+<i>Punch</i>, but to illustrate the intercourse of the "Sassenach" with the
+Highlander, chiefly as a visitor bent on sport, and incidentally to
+illustrate some of the humours of Highland life. Perhaps the distinction
+between Highlander and Lowlander has not been very rigidly kept, but
+that need trouble none but the pedants, who are notoriously lacking in
+the sense of humour, and by that token ought not to be peeping into
+these pages.</p>
+
+<p>Of all Mr. Punch's contributors, we may say, without risk of being
+invidious, that Charles Keene was by far the happiest in the portrayal
+of Scottish character. His Highland types are perhaps somewhat closer to
+the life than his Lowlanders, but all are invariably touched off with
+the kindliest humour, and never in any way burlesqued. If his work
+overshadows that of the other humorous artists past and present
+represented in this volume, it is for the reason stated; yet it will be
+found that from the days of John Leech to those of Mr. Raven-Hill, <span class="smcap">Mr.
+Punch's</span> artists have seldom been more happily inspired than when they
+have sought to depict Highland life and the lighter side of sport and
+travel north of the Tweed.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>
+<br /><br />
+<h2>MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS</h2>
+<br /><br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<h2>"SPORTING NOTES"</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 30%">
+<a href="images/i_008.png">
+<img src="images/i_008.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. P on a shoot." /></a>
+</div>
+
+<p>The following are the notes we have received from our Sporting
+Contributor. I wish we could say they were a fair equivalent for the
+notes he has received from <i>us</i>, to say nothing of that new Henry's
+patent double central-fire breech-loader, with all the latest
+improvements, and one of Mr. Benjamin's heather-mixture suits. Such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> as
+they are we print them, with the unsatisfactory consolation that if the
+notes are bad they are like the sport and the birds. Of all these it may
+be said that "bad is the best."</p>
+
+<p><i>North and South Uist.</i>&mdash;The awfully hard weather&mdash;the natives call it
+"soft" here&mdash;having rendered the chances of winged game out of the
+question, the sportsmen who have rented the shootings are glad to try
+the chances of the game, sitting, and have confined themselves to the
+whist from which the islands take their name. Being only two, they are
+reduced to double dummy. As the rental of the Uist Moors is £400, they
+find the points come rather high&mdash;so far.</p>
+
+<p><i>Harris.</i>&mdash;In spite of repeated inquiries, the proprietress of the
+island was not visible. Her friend, Mrs. Gamp, now here on a visit,
+declares she saw Mrs. H. very recently, but was quite unable to give me
+any information as to shootings, except the shootings of her own corns.</p>
+
+<p><i>Fifeshire.</i>&mdash;The renters of the Fife shootings generally have been
+seriously considering the feasibility of combining with those of the
+once well-stocked Drum Moor in Aberdeenshire, to get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> up something like
+a band&mdash;of hope, that a bag may be made some day. Thus far, the only
+bags made have been those of the proprietors of the shootings, who have
+bagged heavy rentals.</p>
+
+<p><i>Rum.</i>&mdash;I call the island a gross-misnomer, as there is nothing to drink
+in it but whiskey, which, with the adjacent "Egg", may be supposed to
+have given rise to the neighbouring "Mull"&mdash;hot drinks being the natural
+resource of both natives and visitors in such weather as we've had ever
+since I crossed the Tweed. I have seen one bird&mdash;at least so the gilly
+says&mdash;after six tumblers, but to me it had all the appearance of a
+brace.</p>
+
+<p><i>Skye.</i>&mdash;Birds wild. Sportsmen, ditto. Sky a gloomy grey&mdash;your
+correspondent and the milk at the hotel at Corrieverrieslushin alike
+sky-blue.</p>
+
+<p><i>Cantire.</i>&mdash;Can't you? Try tramping the moors for eight hours after a
+pack of preternaturally old birds that know better than let you get
+within half a mile of their tails. Then see if you can't tire. I beg
+your pardon, but if you knew what it was to make jokes under my present
+circumstances, you'd give it up, or do worse. If I should not turn up
+shortly, and you hear of an inquest on a young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> man, in one of
+Benjamin's heather-mixture suits, with a Henry's central-fire
+breech-loader, and a roll of new notes in his possession, found hanging
+wet through, in his braces in some remote Highland shieling&mdash;break it
+gently to the family of</p>
+
+<p class="author">Your Sporting Contributor.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>A PIBROCH FOR BREAKFAST.</h2>
+<div class="poem w26"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">Hech, ho, the Highland laddie!</p>
+<p class="i2">Hech, ho, the Finnon haddie!</p>
+<p class="i8">Breeks awa',</p>
+<p class="i8">Heck, the braw,</p>
+<p class="i2">Ho, the bonnie tartan plaidie!</p>
+<p class="i8">Hech, the laddie,</p>
+<p class="i8">Ho, the haddie,</p>
+<p class="i2">Hech, ho, the cummer's caddie,</p>
+<p class="i8">Dinna forget</p>
+<p class="i8">The bannocks het,</p>
+<p class="i2">Gin ye luve your Highland laddie.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>The Member for Sark writes from the remote Highlands of Scotland, where
+he has been driving past an interminable series of lochs, to inquire
+where the keys are kept? He had better apply to the local authorities in
+the Isle of Man. They have a whole House of Keys. Possibly those the
+hon. Member is concerned about may be found among them.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_010.png">
+<img src="images/i_010.png" width="100%" alt="ON THE HILLS" /></a>
+<h3>ON THE HILLS</h3>
+<p><i>Deer Stalker (old hand, and fond of it).</i> "Isn't it exciting? Keep
+cool!"</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>Jones isn't used to it, and, not having moved for the last half-hour,
+his excitement has worn off. He's wet through, and sinking fast in the
+boggy ground, and speechless with cold. So he doesn't answer.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>MR. BUGGLE'S FIRST STAG</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_012a.png">
+<img src="images/i_012a.png" width="100%" alt="STAG LAY PRONE" /></a>
+<h3>1) AT THE FIRST SHOT MR BUGGLE'S FIRST STAG LAY PRONE.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_012b.png">
+<img src="images/i_012b.png" width="100%" alt="ELATED WITH SUCCESS" /></a>
+<h3>2) ELATED WITH SUCCESS MR B. RUSHED UP AND SEATED HIMSELF
+ASTRIDE HIS VICTIM.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_013a.png">
+<img src="images/i_013a.png" width="100%" alt="IT WAS ONLY SLIGHTLY STUNNED" /></a>
+<h3>3) BUT ALAS IT WAS ONLY SLIGHTLY STUNNED, AND PROMPTLY
+ROSE TO THE OCCASION.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_013b.png">
+<img src="images/i_013b.png" width="100%" alt="SO DID MR B." /></a>
+<h3>4) SO DID MR B.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_014a.png">
+<img src="images/i_014a.png" width="100%" alt="LAW OF GRAVITY PROVED TOO STRONG" /></a>
+<h3>5) THE LAW OF GRAVITY PROVED TOO STRONG WHEN A LUCKY SHOT
+FROM THE KEEPER</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_014b.png">
+<img src="images/i_014b.png" width="100%" alt="A SATISFACTORY FOOTING ONCE MORE" /></a>
+<h3>6) PLACED MATTERS UPON A SATISFACTORY FOOTING ONCE MORE.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>MY ONLY SHOT AT A CORMORANT.</h2>
+<table summary="shooting at a cormorant">
+<tr>
+<td>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 90%">
+<a href="images/i_016a.png">
+<img src="images/i_016a.png" width="100%" alt="Here she comes" /></a>
+<h3>Here she comes!</h3>
+</div>
+</td><td>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 90%">
+<a href="images/i_016b.png">
+<img src="images/i_016b.png" width="100%" alt="There she goes" /></a>
+<h3>There she goes!</h3>
+</div>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>FULL STOP IN THE DAWDLE FROM THE NORTH.</h2>
+
+<center><i>(Leaves from the Highland Journal of Toby, M.P.)</i></center>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 25%">
+<a href="images/i_017.png">
+<img src="images/i_017.png" width="100%" alt="Cartoon dog" title="" /></a>
+</div>
+<p>"Here's a go", I said, turning to Sark, after carefully looking round
+the station to see if we really were back at Oban, having a quarter of
+an hour ago started (as we supposed) on our journey, already fifteen
+minutes late.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you put it in that way", he said, "I should call it an entire
+absence of go. I thought it was a peculiarly jolting train. Never passed
+over so many points in the same time in my life."</p>
+
+<p>"Looks as if we should miss train at Stirling", I remark, anxiously. "If
+so, we can't get on from Carlisle to Woodside to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that'll be all right," said Sark, airy to the last; "we'll make it
+up as we go along."</p>
+
+<p>Again sort of faint bluish light, which I had come to recognise as a
+smile, feebly flashed over <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>cadaverous countenance of the stranger in
+corner seat.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly no hurry in getting off. More whistling, more waving of green
+flag. Observed that natives who had come to see friends off had quietly
+waited on platform. Train evidently expected back. Now it had returned
+they said good-bye over again to friends. Train deliberately steams out
+of station thirty-five minutes late. Every eight or ten miles stopped at
+roadside station. No one got in or got out. After waiting five or six
+minutes, to see if any one would change his mind, train crawled out
+again. Performance repeated few miles further on with same result.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 20%">
+<a href="images/i_018.png">
+<img src="images/i_018.png" width="100%" alt="Cartoon dog" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Don't put your head out of the window and ask questions", Sark
+remonstrated, as I banged down the window. "I never did it since I heard
+a story against himself John Bright used to tell with great glee.
+Travelling homeward one day in a particularly slow train, it stopped an
+unconscionably long time at Oldham. Finally, losing all patience, he
+leaned out of the window, and in his most magisterial manner said, 'Is
+it intended that this train shall move on to-night?' The porter
+addressed, not knowing the great man, tartly replied, 'Put in thy big
+white yedd, and mebbe the train'll start.'"</p>
+
+<p>Due at Loch Awe 1.32; half-past one when we strolled into Connel Ferry
+station, sixteen miles short of that point. Two more stations before we
+reach Loch Awe.</p>
+
+<p>"Always heard it was a far cry to Loch Awe", said Sark, undauntedly
+determined to regard matters cheerfully. </p>
+
+<p>"You haven't come to the hill yet", said a sepulchral voice in the
+corner.</p>
+
+<p>"What hill?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you'll see soon enough. It's where we usually get out and walk. If
+there are on board the train any chums of the guard or driver, they are
+expected to lend a shoulder to help the train up."</p>
+
+<p>Ice once broken, stranger became communicative. Told us his melancholy
+story. Had been a W.S. in Edinburgh. Five years ago, still in prime of
+life, bought a house at Oban; obliged to go to Edinburgh once, sometimes
+twice, a week. Only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> thrice in all that time had train made junction
+with Edinburgh train at Stirling. Appetite failed; flesh fell away;
+spirits went down to water level. Through looking out of window on
+approaching Stirling, in hope of seeing South train waiting, eyes put on
+that gaze of strained anxiety that had puzzled me. Similarly habit
+contracted of involuntarily jerking up right hand with gesture designed
+to arrest departing train.</p>
+
+<p>"Last week, coming north from Edinburgh", said the hapless passenger,
+"we were two hours late at Loch Awe. 'A little late to-day, aren't we?'
+I timidly observed to the guard. 'Ou aye! we're a bit late,' he said.
+'Ye see, we had a lot of rams, and we couldna' get baith them and you up
+the hill; so we left ye at Tyndrum, and ran the rams through first, and
+then came back for ye.'"</p>
+
+<p>Fifty minutes late at Killin Junction. So far from making up time lost
+at Oban, more lost at every wayside station.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope we shan't miss the train at Stirling?" I anxiously inquired of
+guard.</p>
+
+<p>"Weel, no", said he, looking at his watch. "I dinna think ye'll hae
+managed that yet."</p>
+
+<p>This spoken in soothing tones, warm from the kindly Scottish heart.
+Hadn't yet finally lost chance of missing train at Stirling that should
+enable us to keep our tryst at Woodside. But no need for despair. A
+little more dawdling and it would be done.</p>
+
+<p>Done it was. When we reached Stirling, porters complacently announced
+English mail had left quarter of an hour ago. As for stationmaster, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
+was righteously indignant with inconsiderate travellers who showed
+disposition to lament their loss.</p>
+
+<p>"Good night", said cadaverous fellow-passenger, feebly walking out of
+darkling station. "Hope you'll get a bed somewhere. Having been going up
+and down line for five years, I keep a bedroom close by. Cheaper in the
+end. I shall get on in the morning."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Mere Invention.</span>&mdash;Up the Highlands way there is, in wet weather, a
+handsome cataract, the name whereof is spelt anyhow you like, but is
+pronounced "Fyres." There is not much water in hot weather, and then art
+assists nature, and a bucket or so of the fluid is thrown over for the
+delectation of tourists. One of them, observing this arrangement, said
+that the proprietor</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"Began to pail his ineffectual Fyres." </p></blockquote>
+
+<p>[This story is quite false, which would be of no consequence, but that
+every Scottish tourist knows it to be false. Our contributor should
+really be more careful.]</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_019.png">
+<img src="images/i_019.png" width="100%" alt="Where is the lunch basket" /></a>
+<p>"Where can that confounded fellow have got to with the lunch basket?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_020.png">
+<img src="images/i_020.png" width="100%" alt="Here he is" /></a>
+<p>Here he is, remarking confidentially, that that "ginger-peer is apout the
+pest he ever tasted."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_022.png">
+<img src="images/i_022.png" width="100%" alt="whose whiskies do you keep" /></a>
+<p><i>Cockney Sportsman.</i> "Haw&mdash;young woman, whose whiskies do
+you keep here?"</p>
+<p><i>Highland Lassie.</i> "We only keep McPherson's, sir."</p>
+<p><i>C. S.</i> "McPherson? Haw&mdash;who the deuce is McPherson?"</p>
+<p><i>H. L.</i> "My brother, sir."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_023.png">
+<img src="images/i_023.png" width="100%" alt="the stag nearly finished him" /></a>
+<p>During Mr. Spoffin's visit to the Highlands, he found a
+difficulty in approaching his game&mdash;so invented a method of simplifying
+matters. His "make-up", however, was so realistic, that the jealous old
+stag nearly finished him!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 40%">
+<a href="images/i_024.png">
+<img src="images/i_024.png" width="100%" alt="HIS IDEA OF IT" /></a>
+<h3>HIS IDEA OF IT</h3>
+<p><i>Native.</i> "Is 't no a daft-like place this tae be takin' a view? There's
+no naething tae be seen for the trees. Noo, if ye was tae gang tae the
+tap o' Knockcreggan, that wad set ye fine! Ye can see <i>five coonties</i>
+frae there!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 40%">
+<a href="images/i_026.png">
+<img src="images/i_026.png" width="100%" alt="TOURING IN THE HIGHLANDS" /></a>
+<h3>TOURING IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p>"Hullo, Sandy! Why haven't you cleaned my carriage, as I told you last
+night?"</p>
+<p>"Hech, sir, what for would it need washing? It will be just the same
+when you'll be using it again!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_027.png">
+<img src="images/i_027.png" width="100%" alt="Highland dancer" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>FROM OUR BILIOUS CONTRIBUTOR.</h2>
+
+<center><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch.</span></center>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">My dear sir</span>,
+<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor"><sup>[1]</sup></a></p>
+
+<p>Embarking at Bannavie very early in the morning&mdash;<i>diluculo surgere
+saluberrimum est</i>, but it is also particularly disagreeable&mdash;I was upon
+the canal of the Caledonians, on my way to the capital of the Highlands.
+This is the last voyage which, upon this occasion, I shall have the
+pleasure of describing. The vessel was commanded by Captain Turner, who
+is a remarkable meteorologist, and has emitted some wonderful weather
+prophecies. Having had, moreover, much opportunity of observing
+character, in his capacity of captain of boats chiefly used by tourists,
+he is well acquainted with the inmost nature of the aristocracy and
+their imitators. Being myself of an aristo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>cratic turn of mind (as well
+as shape of body) it was refreshing to me to sit with him on the bridge
+and speak of our titled friends.</p>
+
+<p>Fort Augustus, which we passed, is not called so from having been built
+by the Roman Emperor of that name, quite the reverse. The next object of
+interest is a thing called the Fall of Foyers, which latter word is
+sounded like fires, and the announcement to Cockneys that they are going
+to see the affair, leads them to expect something of a pyrotechnic
+character. It is nothing of that sort. The steamboat is moored, you rush
+on shore, and are instantly arrested by several pikemen&mdash;I do not mean
+soldiers of a mediæval date, but fellows at a gate, who demand fourpence
+apiece from everybody landing in those parts. Being in Scotland, this
+naturally made me think I had come to Johnny Groat's house, but no such
+thing, and I have no idea of the reason of this highway robbery, or why
+a very dirty card should have been forced upon me in proof that I had
+submitted. We were told to go up an ascending road, and then to climb a
+dreadfully steep hill, and that then we should see something. For my own
+part, I felt inclined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> to see everybody blowed first, but being
+over-persuaded, I saw everybody blowed afterwards, for that hill is a
+breather, I can tell you. However, I rushed up like a mounting deer, and
+when at the top was told to run a little way down again. I did, and saw
+the sight. You have seen the cataracts of the Nile? It's not like them.
+You have seen a cataract in a party's eye. It's not like that. Foyers is
+a very fine waterfall, and worthy of much better verses than some which
+Mr. Burns addressed to it in his English style, which is vile. Still,
+the waterfall at the Colosseum, Regent's Park, is a good one, and has
+this advantage, that you can sit in a chair and look at it as long as
+you like, whereas you walk a mile to Foyers, goaded by the sailors from
+the vessel, who are perpetually telling you to make haste, and you are
+allowed about three minutes and fourteen seconds to gaze upon the scene,
+when the sailors begin to goad you back again, frightening you with
+hints that the captain will depart without you. Precious hot you come on
+board, with a recollection of a mass of foam falling into an abyss. That
+is not the way to see Foyers, and I hereby advise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> all tourists who are
+going to stop at Inverness, to drive over from thence, take their time
+at the noble sight, and do the pier-beggars out of their fourpences.</p>
+
+<p>The stately towers of the capital of the Highlands are seen on our
+right. A few minutes more, and we are moored. Friendly voices hail us,
+and also hail a vehicle. We are borne away. There is news for us. We are
+forthwith&mdash;even in that carriage, were it possible&mdash;to induct ourselves
+into the black tr × ws × rs of refined life and the white cravat of
+graceful sociality, and to accompany our host to the dinner of the
+Highland railwaymen. <i>We</i> rail. We have not come six hundred miles to
+dress for dinner. Our host is of a different opinion, and being a host
+in himself, conquers our single-handed resistance. We attend the dinner,
+and find ourselves among Highland chieftains plaided and plumed in their
+"tartan array." (Why doesn't Horatio MacCulloch, noble artist and
+Highland-man, come to London and be <i>our</i> tartan R.A.?) We hear wonders
+of the new line, which is to save folks the trouble of visiting the lost
+tribe at Aberdeen, and is to take them direct from Inverness to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> Perth,
+through wonderful scenery. We see a programme of toasts, to the number
+of thirty-four, which of course involves sixty-eight speeches. There is
+also much music by the volunteers&mdash;not, happily, by bag-pipers. We
+calculate, on the whole, that the proceedings will be over about four in
+the morning. Ha! ha! <i>Dremacky</i>. There is a <i>deus ex machiná</i> literally,
+a driver on an engine, and he starts at ten. Numbers of the guests must
+go with him. <i>Claymore!</i> We slash out the toasts without mercy&mdash;without
+mercy on men set down to speak and who have spoiled their dinner by
+thinking over their <i>impromptus</i>. But there is one toast which shall be
+honoured, yea, with the Highland honours. <i>Mr. Punch's</i> health is
+proposed. It is well that this handsome hall is built strongly, or the
+Highland maidens should dance here no more. The shout goes up for <i>Mr.
+Punch</i>.</p>
+
+<p>I believe that I have mentioned to you, once or twice, that I am an
+admirable speaker, but upon this occasion I surpassed myself&mdash;I was in
+fact, as the Covent Garden play-bills say, "unsurpassingly successful."
+Your interests were safe in my hands. I believe that no person present
+heard a syllable of what I said. It was this:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>[It may have been, but as what our correspondent has been pleased
+to send as his speech would occupy four columns, we prefer to leave
+it to immortality in the excellent newspaper of which he sends us a
+"cutting." We incline to think that he <i>was</i> weak enough to say
+what he says he said, because he could not have invented and
+written it out after a Highland dinner, and it was published next
+morning. It is extremely egotistical, and not in the least
+entertaining&mdash;<i>Ed.</i>] </p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Among the guests was a gentleman who owns the mare who will certainly
+win the Cesarewitch. <i>I know this for a fact</i>, and I advise you to put
+your money on <i>Lioness</i>. His health was proposed, and he returned thanks
+with the soul of wit. I hope he recollects the hope expressed by the
+proposer touching a certain saddling-bell. I thought it rather strong in
+"Bible-loving Scotland", but to be sure, we were in the Highlands, which
+are England, or at all events where the best English spoken in Scotland
+is heard.</p>
+
+<p>We reached our house at an early hour, and I was lulled to a gentle
+slumber by the sound of the river Ness. This comes out of Loch Ness, and
+in the latest geographical work with which I am acquainted, namely,
+"Geography Anatomiz'd, by Pat. Gordon, M.A.F.R.S. Printed for Andr.
+Bell, at the Cross Keys and Bible in Cornhill, and R. Smith, under the
+Royal Exchange, 1711", I read that "towards the north-west part of
+<i>Murray</i> is the famous <i>Lough-Ness</i> which never freezeth, but retaineth
+its natural heat, even in the extremest cold of winter, and in many
+places this lake hath been sounded with a line of 500 fathom, but no
+bottom can be found" (just as in the last rehearsal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> of the artisans'
+play in the <i>Midsummer Night's Dream</i>), but I believe that recent
+experiments have been more successful, and that though no lead plummet
+would go so deep, a volume by a very particular friend of mine was
+fastened to the line, and descended to the bottom in no time. I will
+mention his name if he is not kind to my next work, but at present I
+have the highest esteem and respect for him. I only show him that I know
+this little anecdote.</p>
+
+<p>There were what are called Highland games to be solemnised in Inverness.
+I resolved to attend them, and, if I saw fit, to join in them. But I was
+informed by a Highland friend of mine, Laidle of Toddie, a laird much
+respected, that all competitors must appear in the kilt. As my own
+graceful proportions would look equally well in any costume, this
+presented no difficulty, and I marched off to Mr. Macdougall, the great
+Highland costumier, and after walking through a dazzling array of Gaelic
+glories, I said, mildly, "Can you make me a Highland dress?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, in a few hours", said Mr. Macdougall; but somehow I fancied
+that he did not seem to think that I was displaying any vast amount of
+sense.</p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+<p>"Then, please to make me one, very handsome", said I; "and send it home
+to-night." And I was going out of the warehouse.</p>
+
+<p>"But, sir", said Mr. Macdougall, "do you belong to any clan, or what
+tartan will you have?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Macdougall", said I, "it may be that I do belong to a clan, or am
+affiliated to one. It may be, that like Edward Waverley, I shall be
+known hereafter as the friend of the sons (and daughters) of the
+clan &mdash;&mdash;. It may be that if war broke out between that clan and another,
+I would shout our war-cry, and, drawing my claymore, would walk into the
+hostile clan like one o'clock. But at present that is a secret, and I
+wear not the garb of any clan in particular. Please to make me up a
+costume out of the garbs of several clans, but be sure you put the
+brightest colours, as they suit my complexion."</p>
+
+<p>I am bound to say that though Mr. Macdougall firmly declined being party
+to this arrangement, which he said would be inartistic, he did so with
+the utmost courtesy. My opinion is, that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> thought I was a little
+cracked. Many persons have thought that, but there is no foundation for
+the suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, Mr. Macdougall", says I, "I am a Plantagenet by descent, and
+one of my ancestors was hanged in the time of George the Second. Do
+those facts suggest anything to you in the way of costume?"</p>
+
+<p>"The first does not", he said, "but the second may. A good many persons
+had the misfortune to be hanged about the time you mention, and for the
+same reason. I suppose your ancestor died for the Stuarts."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, he died for a steward. The unfortunate nobleman was most
+iniquitously destroyed for shooting a plebeian of the name of Johnson,
+for which reason I hate everybody of that name, from Ben downwards, and
+will not have a Johnson's <i>Dictionary</i> in my house."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, sir", says Mr. Macdougall, "the case is clear. You can mark your
+sense of the conduct of the sovereign who executed your respected
+relative. You can assume the costume of his chief enemies. You can wear
+the Stuart tartan."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Hm", says I. "I should look well in it, no doubt; but then I have no
+hostility to the present House of Brunswick."</p>
+
+<p>"Why", says he, laughing; "Her Majesty dresses her own princes in the
+Stuart tartan. I ought to know that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then that's settled", I replied.</p>
+
+<p>Ha! You would indeed have been proud of your contributor, had you seen
+him splendidly arrayed in that gorgeous garb, and treading the heather
+of Inverness High Street like a young mountaineer. He did not look then
+like</p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Epicurus Rotundus.</span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Inverness Castle.</i></p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label"><sup>[1]</sup></span></a>
+We perfectly understand this advsnce towards civility as the writer
+approaches the end of his journey. He is a superior kind of young man,
+if not the genius he imagines himself.--<i>Ed.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Notice to the Highlanders.</span>&mdash;Whereas Mr. Punch, through his "Bilious
+Contributor", did on the 7th November, 1863, offer a prize of fifty
+guineas to the best Highland player at Spellikins, in the games for
+1873. And whereas Mr. Punch has had the money, with ten years' interest,
+quite ready, and waiting to be claimed. And whereas no Highland player
+at Spellikins appeared at the games of 1873. This to give notice that
+Mr. Punch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> has irrevocably confiscated the money to his own sole and
+peculiar use, and intends to use it in bribery at the next general
+election. He begs to remark to the Highlands, in the words of his
+ancestor, Robert Bruce, at Bannockburn&mdash;"There is a rose fallen from
+your wreath!"<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor"><sup>[2]</sup></a></p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Punch.</span></p>
+
+<p>7th November, 1873.</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label"><sup>[2]</sup></span></a>Of course the King said nothing so sweetly sentimental.
+What he did say to Earl Randolph was, "Mind your eye, you great stupid
+ass, or you'll have the English spears in your back directly." Nor did
+the Earl reply, "My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade. Follow, my
+household!" but, with an amazing great curse, "I'll cook 'em. Come on,
+you dawdling beggars, and fulfil the prophecies!" But so history is
+written.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">More Revenge for Flodden.</span>&mdash;<i>Scene: a Scotch Hotel. Tourist (indignant at
+his bill).</i> "Why, landlord, there must be some mistake there!"
+<i>Landlord.</i> "Mistake? Aye, aye. That stupid fellow, the waiter, has just
+charged you five shillings&mdash;too little."</p>
+
+<hr />
+<br />
+<p><span class="smcap">From the Moors.</span>&mdash;<i>Sportsman.</i> "Much rain Donald?" <i>Donald.</i> "A bit soft.
+Just wet a' day, wi' showers between."</p>
+<br />
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_030.png">
+<img src="images/i_030.png" width="100%" alt="A PLEASANT PROSPECT" /></a>
+<h3>A PLEASANT PROSPECT!</h3>
+<p><i>English Tourist.</i> "I say, look here. How far is it to this Glenstarvit?
+They told us it was only&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+<p><i>Native.</i> "Aboot four miles."</p>
+<p><i>Tourist</i> <i>(aghast)</i>. "All bog like this?"</p>
+<p><i>Native.</i> "Eh&mdash;h&mdash;this is just naethin' till't!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_030.png">
+<img src="images/i_032.png" width="100%" alt="ANOTHER MISUNDERSTANDING" /></a>
+<h3>ANOTHER MISUNDERSTANDING</h3>
+<p><i>'Arry</i> <i>(on a Northern tour, with Cockney pronunciation)</i>. "Then I'll
+'ave a bottle of aile."</p>
+<p><i>Hostess of the Village Inn.</i> "<i>Ile</i>, sir? We've nane in the hoose, but
+castor ile or paraffin. Wad ony o' them dae, sir?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_034.png">
+<img src="images/i_034.png" width="100%" alt="THE WEIRD SISTERS" /></a>
+<h3>THE WEIRD SISTERS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_036.png">
+<img src="images/i_036.png" width="100%" alt="DEER-STALKING MADE EASY" /></a>
+<h3>DEER-STALKING MADE EASY</h3>
+<center>The patent silent motor-crawler.</center>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 90%">
+<a href="images/i_037.png">
+<img src="images/i_037.png" width="100%" alt="ILLUSTRATED QUOTATIONS" /></a>
+<h3>ILLUSTRATED QUOTATIONS</h3>
+<p><i>(One so seldom finds an Artist who realises the poetic conception.)</i></p>
+<p>"Is this the noble Moor...?"&mdash;<i>Othello</i>, Act IV., Scene 1.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_038.png">
+<img src="images/i_038.png" width="100%" alt="DRACONIAN" /></a>
+<h3>DRACONIAN</h3>
+<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.&mdash;<i>Police Court, North Highlands.</i></p>
+<p><i>Accused.</i> "Put, Pailie, it's na provit!"</p>
+<p><i>Bailie.</i> "Hoot toots, Tonal, and hear me speak! Aw'll only fine ye
+ha'f-a-croon the day, because et's no varra well provit. But if ever ye
+come before me again, ye'll no get aff under five shillin's, whether
+et's provit or no!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_039.png">
+<img src="images/i_039.png" width="100%" alt="CUSTOMS OF YE ENGLYSHE IN 1849" /></a>
+<h3>MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF YE ENGLYSHE IN 1849</h3>
+<center>DEERE STALKYNGE IN YE HYGHLANDES</center>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_040.png">
+<img src="images/i_040.png" width="100%" alt="SHOOTING FROM A BUTT" /></a>
+<h3>ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES OF SHOOTING FROM A BUTT</h3>
+<p><i>Keeper (on moor rented by the latest South African millionaire, to
+guest).</i> "Never mind the birds, sir. For onny sake, lie down! The
+maister's gawn tae shoot!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_042.png">
+<img src="images/i_042.png" width="100%" alt="THE TWELFTH" /></a>
+<h3>THE TWELFTH</h3>
+<center><i>(Guilderstein in the Highlands)</i></center>
+<p><i>Guild. (his first experience).</i> "I've been swindled! That confounded
+agent said it was all drivin' on this moor, and look at it, all hills
+and slosh! Not a decent carriage road within ten miles!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_044.png">
+<img src="images/i_044.png" width="100%" alt="THE MATERNAL INSTINCT" /></a>
+<h3>THE MATERNAL INSTINCT</h3>
+<p><i>The Master.</i> "I'm sayin', wumman, ha'e ye gotten the tickets?"</p>
+<p><i>The Mistress.</i> "Tuts, haud your tongue aboot tickets. Let me count the
+weans!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
+
+<table summary="cartoons">
+<tr>
+<td>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70%">
+<a href="images/i_046a.png">
+<img src="images/i_046a.png" width="100%" alt="tip us the &#39;Ighland fling" /></a>
+<p><i>The Irrepressible.</i> "Hi, Scotty, tip us the 'Ighland fling."</p>
+</div>
+</td>
+<td>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_046b.png">
+<img src="images/i_046b.png" width="100%" alt="Tipped" /></a>
+<center><span class="smcap">Tipped</span>!</center>
+</div>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<h3>"NEMO ME IMPUNE", &amp;c.</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_048.png">
+<img src="images/i_048.png" width="100%" alt="Return of the wounded" /></a>
+<p>Return of the wounded and missing Popplewitz omitted to
+send in after his day on the moors.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_050.png">
+<img src="images/i_050.png" width="100%" alt="RECRIMINATION" /></a>
+<h3>RECRIMINATION</h3>
+<p><i>Inhabitant of Uist.</i> "I say, they'll pe speaking fa-ar petter English
+in Uist than in Styornaway."</p>
+<p><i>Lass of the Lewis.</i> "Put in Styornaway they'll not pe caa-in' fush
+'feesh,' whatefer!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_051.png">
+<img src="images/i_051.png" width="100%" alt="Missed again" /></a>
+<h3>GUILDERSTEIN IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p><i>Guilderstein.</i> "Missed again! And dat fellow, Hoggenheimer, comin'on
+Monday too! Why did I not wire to Leadenhall for an 'aunch, as Betty
+told me!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_052.png">
+<img src="images/i_052.png" width="100%" alt="Gie me a gude funeral" /></a>
+<p><i>Juvenis.</i> "Jolly day we had last week at McFoggarty's wedding! Capital
+champagne he gave us, and we did it justice, I can tell you--"</p>
+<p><i>Senex</i> (who prefers whiskey). "Eh-h, mun, it's a' verra weel weddings
+at ye-er time o' life. Gie me a gude funeral!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>THE HIGHLAND GAMES AT MACJIGGITY</h2>
+
+<p>Whilst staying at MacFoozle Castle, my excellent host insisted that I
+should accompany him to see the Highland games. The MacFoozle himself is
+a typical Hielander, and appeared in a kilt and jelly-bag&mdash;philabeg, I
+mean. Suggested to him that I should go, attired in pair of
+bathing-drawers, Norfolk jacket, and Glengarry cap, but he, for some
+inscrutable reason of his own, negatived the idea. Had half a mind to
+dress in kilt myself, but finally decided against the national costume
+as being too draughty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> Arrived on ground, and found that "tossing the
+caber" was in full progress. Braw laddies struggled, in turn, with
+enormous tree trunk. The idea of the contest is, that whoever succeeds
+in killing the greatest number of spectators by hurling the tree on to
+them, wins the prize. Fancy these laddies had been hung too long, or
+else they were particularly braw. Moved up to windward of them promptly.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is the truculent-looking villain with red whiskers?" I ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" says my host, in awed tones. "That is the MacGinger himself!"</p>
+
+<p>I grovel. Not that I have ever even heard his name before, but I don't
+want to show my ignorance before the MacFoozle. The competition of
+pipers was next in order, and I took to my heels and fled. Rejoined
+MacFoozle half an hour later to witness the dancing. On a large raised
+platform sat the judges, with the mighty MacGinger himself at their
+head. Can't quite make out whether the dance is a Reel, a Strathspey, a
+Haggis, or a Skirl&mdash;sure it is one or the other. Just as I ask for
+information, amid a confusing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> whirl of arms and legs and "Hoots!" a
+terrific crack is heard, and the platform, as though protesting at the
+indignities heaped upon it, suddenly gives way, and in a moment,
+dancers, pipers, and judges are hurled in a confused and struggling heap
+to the ground. The MacGinger falls upon some bag-pipes, which emit
+dismal groanings beneath his massive weight. This ends the dancing
+prematurely, and a notice is immediately put up all round the grounds
+that (to take its place) "There will be another competition of
+bag-pipes." I read it, evaded the MacFoozle, and fled.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>SONG FOR A SCOTCH DUKE.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem w24"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">My harts in the Highlands shall have their hills clear,</p>
+<p class="i2">My harts in the Highlands no serf shall come near&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">I'll chase out the Gael to make room for the roe,</p>
+<p class="i2">My harts in the Highlands were ever his foe.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+<br />
+<center><span class="smcap">Things no Highlander can Understand.</span><br /><br />
+
+Breaches of promise.</center>
+<br />
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_054.png">
+<img src="images/i_054.png" width="100%" alt="HEBRIDEAN SPORT" /></a>
+<h3>HEBRIDEAN SPORT</h3>
+<p><i>Shooting Tenant (accounting for very large species of grouse which his
+setter has just flushed).</i> "Capercailzie! By George!"</p>
+<p><i>Under-keeper Neil.</i> "I'm after thinking, sir, you'll have killed Widow
+McSwan's cochin cock. Ye see the crofters were forced to put him and the
+hens away out here till the oats is ripe!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_056.png">
+<img src="images/i_056.png" width="100%" alt="LATEST FROM THE MOORS" /></a>
+<h3>LATEST FROM THE MOORS</h3>
+<p><i>Intelligent Foreigner.</i> "Tell me&mdash;zee 'Ilanders, do zay always wear zee
+raw legs?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>A GROAN FROM A GILLIE</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 40%">
+<a href="images/i_057.png">
+<img src="images/i_057.png" width="100%" alt="A GROAN FROM A GILLIE" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem w26"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Lasses shouldna' gang to shoot,</p>
+<p class="i14">Na, na!</p>
+<p class="i0">Gillies canna' help but hoot,</p>
+<p class="i14">Ha, ha!</p>
+<p class="i0">Yon douce bodies arena' fittin'</p>
+<p class="i0">Wi' the gudeman's to be pittin',</p>
+<p class="i0">Bide at hame and mind yere knittin'!</p>
+<p class="i14">Hoot, awa'!</p>
+<p class="i0">"Wimmen's Rechts" is vara weel,</p>
+<p class="i14">Ooh, aye!</p>
+<p class="i0">For hizzies wha've nae hearts to feel;</p>
+<p class="i14">Forbye</p>
+<p class="i0">Wimmen's Rechts is aiblins Wrang</p>
+<p class="i2">When nat'ral weak maun ape the strang,</p>
+<p class="i0">An' chaney cups wi' cau'drons gang,</p>
+<p class="i14">Auch, fie!</p>
+<p class="i0">Hennies shouldna' try to craw</p>
+<p class="i14">Sae fast&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i0">Their westlin' thrapples canna' blair</p>
+<p class="i14">Sic a blast.</p>
+<p class="i0">Leave to men-folk bogs and ferns,</p>
+<p class="i0">An' pairtricks, muircocks, braes, and cairns;</p>
+<p class="i0">And lasses! ye may mind the bairns&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i14">That's best!</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Tonalt</span> (X) <i>his mark.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_058.png">
+<img src="images/i_058.png" width="100%" alt="A PRECISIAN" /></a>
+<h3>A PRECISIAN</h3>
+<p><i>Artist (affably).</i> "Fine morning." <i>Native.</i> "No' bad ava'."</p>
+<p><i>Artist.</i> "Pretty scenery." <i>Native.</i> "Gey an' good."</p>
+<p><i>Artist (pointing to St. Bannoch's, in the distance).</i> "What place is
+that down at the bottom of the loch?"</p>
+<p><i>Native.</i> "It's no at the bottom&mdash;it's at the fut!"</p>
+<p><i>Artist (to himself).</i> "You past-participled Highlander!"</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>Drops the subject!</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE THING TO DO IN SCOTLAND</h2>
+
+<center><i>(More Leaves from the Highland Journal of Toby, M.P.)</i></center>
+
+<p><i>Quiverfield, Haddingtonshire, Monday.</i>&mdash;You can't spend twenty-four
+hours at Quiverfield without having borne in upon you the truth that the
+only thing to do in Scotland is to play goff. (On other side of Tweed
+they call it golf. Here we are too much in a hurry to get at the game to
+spend time on unnecessary consonant.) The waters of what Victor Hugo
+called "The First of the Fourth" lave the links at Quiverfield. Blue as
+the Mediterranean they have been in a marvellous autumn, soon to lapse
+into November. We can see the Bass Rock from the eighth hole, and can
+almost hear the whirr of the balls skimming with swallow flight over the
+links at North Berwick.</p>
+
+<p>Prince Arthur here to-day, looking fully ten years younger than when I
+last saw him at Westminster. Plays through live-long day, and drives off
+fourteen miles for dinner at Whittinghame, thinking no more of it than
+if he were crossing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> Palace Yard. Our host, Waverley Pen, is happy in
+possession of links at his park gates. All his own, for self and
+friends. You step through the shrubbery, and there are the far-reaching
+links; beyond them the gleaming waters of the Forth. Stroll out
+immediately after breakfast to meet the attendant caddies; play goff
+till half-past one; reluctantly break off for luncheon; go back to
+complete the fearsome foursome; have tea brought out to save time; leave
+off in bare time to dress for dinner; talk goff at dinner; arrange
+matches after dinner; and the new morning finds the caddies waiting as
+before.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 30%">
+<a href="images/i_061.png">
+<img src="images/i_061.png" width="100%" alt="Fingen&#39;s finger" /></a>
+<h3>Fingen's finger.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Decidedly the only thing to do in Scotland is to play goff.</p>
+
+<p><i>Deeside, Aberdeenshire, Wednesday.</i>&mdash;Fingen, M.P., once told an abashed
+House of Commons that he "owned a mountain in Scotland." Find, on
+visiting him in his ancestral home, that he owns a whole range. Go up
+one or two of them; that comparatively easy; difficulty presents itself
+when we try to get down. Man and boy, Fingen has lived here fifty years;
+has not yet acquired knowledge necessary to guide a party home after
+ascending one of his mountains. Walking up in cool of afternoon, we
+usually get home sore-footed and hungry about midnight.</p>
+
+<p>"Must be going now", says Fingen, M.P., when we have seen view from top
+of mountain. "Just time to get down before dark. But I know short cut;
+be there in a jiffy. Come along."</p>
+
+<p>We come along. At end of twenty minutes find ourselves in front of
+impassable gorge.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., cheerily. "Must have taken wrong turn; better
+go back and start again."</p>
+
+<p>All very well to say go back; but where were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> we? Fingen, M.P., knows;
+wets his finger; holds it up.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha!" he says, with increased joyousness of manner; "the wind is blowing
+that way, is it? Then we turn to the left."</p>
+
+<p>Another twenty minutes stumbling through aged heather. Path trends
+downwards.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right", says Fingen, M.P.; "must lead on to the road."</p>
+
+<p>Instead of which we nearly fall into a bubbling burn. Go back again;
+make bee line up acclivity nearly as steep as side of house; find
+ourselves again on top of mountain.</p>
+
+<p>"How lucky!" shouts Fingen, M.P., beaming with delight.</p>
+
+<p>As if we had been trying all this time to get to top of mountain instead
+of to bottom!</p>
+
+<p>Wants to wet his finger again and try how the wind lies. We protest. Let
+us be saved that at least. Fingen leads off in quite another direction.
+By rocky pathway which threatens sprains; through bushes and brambles
+that tear the clothes; by dangerous leaps from rock to rock he brings us
+to apparently impenetrable hedge. We stare forlorn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., more aggressively cheerful than ever. "The road
+is on other side. Thought we would come upon it somewhere." Somehow or
+other we crawl through.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing like having an eye to the lay of country", says Fingen, M.P.,
+as we limp along the road. "It's a sort of instinct, you know. If I
+hadn't been with you, you might have had to camp out all night on the
+mountain."</p>
+
+<p>They don't play goff at Deeside. They bicycle. Down the long avenue with
+spreading elm trees deftly trained to make triumphal arches, the
+bicycles come and go. Whipsroom, M.P., thinks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> opportunity convenient
+for acquiring the art of cycling. W. is got up with consummate art. Has
+had his trousers cut short at knee in order to display ribbed stockings
+of rainbow hue. Loose tweed-jacket, blood-red necktie, white felt hat
+with rim turned down all round, combine to lend him air of a Drury Lane
+bandit out of work. Determined to learn to ride the bicycle, but spends
+most of the day on his hands and knees, or on his back. Looking down
+avenue at any moment pretty sure to find W. either running into the iron
+fence, coming off sideways, or bolting head first over the handles of
+his bike. Get quite new views of him fore-shortened in all possible
+ways, some that would be impossible to any but a man of his
+determination.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_067.png">
+<img src="images/i_067.png" width="100%" alt="crack of the whip(&#39;s pate!)" /></a>
+<h3>The crack of the whip('s pate!)</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Never had a man stay in the house", says Fingen, M.P., ruefully, "who
+so cut up the lawn with his head, or indented the gravel with his elbows
+and his knees."</p>
+
+<p>Evidently I was mistaken about goff. Cycling's the thing in Scotland.</p>
+
+<p><i>Goasyoucan, Inverness-shire, Saturday.</i>&mdash;Wrong again. Not goff nor
+cycling is the thing to do in Scotland. It's stalking. Soon learn that
+great truth at Goasyoucan. The hills that encircle the house densely
+populated with stags. To-day three guns grassed nine, one a royal. This
+the place to spend a happy day, crouching down among the heather
+awaiting the fortuitous moment. Weather no object. Rain or snow out you
+go, submissive to guidance and instruction of keeper; by comparison with
+whose tyranny life of the ancient galley-slave was perfect freedom.</p>
+
+<p>Consummation of human delight this, to lie prone on your face amid the
+wet heather, with the rain pattering down incessantly, or the snow
+pitilessly falling, covering you up flake by flake as if it were a robin
+and you a babe in the wood. Mustn't stir; mustn't speak; if you can
+conveniently dispense with the operation, better not breathe. Sometimes,
+after morning and greater part of afternoon thus cheerfully spent, you
+may get a shot; even a stag. Also you may not; or, having attained the
+first, may miss the latter. At any rate you have spent a day of
+exhilarating delight.</p>
+
+<p>Stalking is evidently the thing to do in Scotland. It's a far cry to the
+Highlands. Happily there is Arthur's Seat by Edinburgh town where
+beginners can practise, and old hands may feign delight of early
+triumphs.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_060.png">
+<img src="images/i_060.png" width="100%" alt="THE &quot;IRREPRESSIBLE&quot; AGAIN" /></a>
+<h3>THE "IRREPRESSIBLE" AGAIN</h3>
+<p><i>Gent in Knickerbockers.</i> "Rummy speakers them 'Ighlanders, 'Enery. When
+we wos talking to one of the 'ands, did you notice 'im saying
+'<i>nozzing</i>' for '<i>nothink</i>,' and '<i>she</i>' for '<i>e</i>'?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_062.png">
+<img src="images/i_062.png" width="100%" alt="I&#39;ve forgotten my flask" /></a>
+<h3>"THE LAST STRAW"</h3>
+<p>"Tired out, are you? Try a drop of brandy! Eh!&mdash;what!&mdash;confound&mdash;&mdash;By
+jingo, I've forgotten my flask!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_064.png">
+<img src="images/i_064.png" width="100%" alt="NOTHING LIKE MOUNTAIN AIR" /></a>
+<h3>NOTHING LIKE MOUNTAIN AIR</h3>
+<p><i>Tourist (who has been refreshing himself with the toddy of the
+country).</i> "I shay, ole fler! Highlands seem to 'gree with you
+wonerfly&mdash;annomishtake. Why, you look <span class="smcap">DOUBLE</span> the man already!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_066.png">
+<img src="images/i_066.png" width="100%" alt="HEIGHT OF BLISS" /></a>
+<h3>THE HEIGHT OF BLISS</h3>
+<p><i>Highland Shepherd.</i> "Fine toon, Glasco', I pelieve, and lots o' coot
+meat there."</p>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "Oh, yes, lots."</p>
+<p><i>Highland Shepherd.</i> "An' drink, too?"</p>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "Oh, yes."</p>
+<p><i>Highland Shepherd (doubtingly).</i> "Ye'll get porter tae yir parrich?"</p>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "Yes, if we like."</p>
+<p><i>Highland Shepherd.</i> "Cra-ci-ous!"</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>Speechless with admiration.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_068.png">
+<img src="images/i_068.png" width="100%" alt="TENACITY" /></a>
+<h3>TENACITY</h3>
+<p><i>First North Briton</i> <i>(on the Oban boat, in a rolling sea and dirty
+weather)</i>. "Thraw it up, man, and ye'll feel a' the better!"</p>
+<p><i>Second ditto</i> <i>(keeping it down)</i>. "Hech, mon, it's whuskey!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_070.png">
+<img src="images/i_070.png" width="100%" alt="EXCUSABLE WRATH" /></a>
+<h3>EXCUSABLE WRATH</h3>
+<p><i>Drover</i> <i>(exhausted with his struggles)</i>. "Whit are ye wouf, woufan'
+there, ye stupit ass! It wud be wis-eer like if ye gang awn hame, an'
+bring a barrow!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_071.png">
+<img src="images/i_071.png" width="100%" alt="A SOFT IMPEACHMENT" /></a>
+<h3>A SOFT IMPEACHMENT</h3>
+<p><i>Sporting Saxon (mournfully, after three weeks' incessant down-pour).</i>
+"Does it always rain like this up here, Mr. McFuskey?"</p>
+<p><i>His Guide, Philosopher, and Friendly Landlord (calmly).</i> "Oo aye, it's
+a-ye just a wee bit shooery."!!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_072.png">
+<img src="images/i_072.png" width="100%" alt="ANTIQUARIAN RESEARCH" /></a>
+<h3>ANTIQUARIAN RESEARCH</h3>
+<center>2 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span></center>
+<p><i>Brown (who has taken a shooting-box in the Highlands, and has been
+"celebrating" his first appearance in a kilt).</i> "Worsht of these
+ole-fashioned beshteads is, they take such a lot of climbin' into!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_073.png">
+<img src="images/i_073.png" width="100%" alt="there is disease on the moor" /></a>
+<h3>GUILDERSTEIN IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p><i>Mrs. G.</i> "We must leave this horrible place, dear. The keeper has just
+told me there is disease on the moor. Good gracious, the boys might take
+it!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_074.png">
+<img src="images/i_074.png" width="100%" alt="A GREAT DRAWBACK" /></a>
+<h3>A GREAT DRAWBACK</h3>
+<p><i>Dougal</i> <i>(with all his native contempt for the Londoner)</i>. "Aye, mon,
+an' he's no a bad shot?"</p>
+<p><i>Davie.</i> "'Deed an' he's a verra <i>guid</i> shot."</p>
+<p><i>Dougal.</i> "Hech! it's an awfu' peetie he's a Londoner!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>NOTES FROM THE HIGHLANDS</h2>
+
+<center>"<i>Jam satis terris,</i>" <i>&amp;c.</i></center>
+
+<p><i>Alt-na-blashy.</i>&mdash;The aqueous and igneous agencies seem to be combined
+in these quarters, for since the rain we hear of a great increase of
+burns. In default of the moors we fall back on the kitchen and the
+cellar. I need hardly add that dry wines are almost exclusively used by<a href="images/i_074.png"></a>
+our party, and moist sugar is generally avoided. Dripping, too, is
+discontinued, and everything that is likely to whet the appetite is at a
+discount.</p>
+
+<p><i>Drizzle-arich.</i>&mdash;A Frenchman, soaked out of our bothy by the moisture
+of the weather, was overheard to exclaim "<i>Après moi le déluge.</i>"</p>
+
+<p><i>Inverdreary.</i>&mdash;Greatly to the indignation of their chief, several of
+the "Children of the Mist", in this romantic but rainy region, have
+assumed the garb of the Mackintoshes.</p>
+
+<p><i>Loch Drunkie.</i>&mdash;We have several partners in misery within hail, or life
+would be fairly washed out of us. We make up parties alternately at our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+shooting quarters when the weather allows of wading between them.
+Inebriation, it is to be feared, must be on the increase, for few of us
+who go out to dinner return without making a wet night of it.</p>
+
+<p>Meantime, the watering-places in our vicinity&mdash;in particular the Linns
+o' Dun-Dreepie&mdash;are literally overflowing.</p>
+
+<p>It is asserted that even young horses are growing impatient of the
+reins.</p>
+
+<p>Our greatest comfort is the weekly budget of dry humour from <i>Mr.
+Punch</i>.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">A Disappointing Host.</span>&mdash;<i>Sandy.</i> "A 'm tellt ye hev a new nebbur,
+Donal'." <i>Donald.</i> "Aye." <i>Sandy.</i> "An' what like is he?" <i>Donald.</i>
+"Weel, he's a curious laddie. A went to hev a bit talk wi' him th' ither
+evenin', an' he offered me a glass o' whuskey, d'ye see? Weel, he was
+poorin' it oot, an' A said to him 'Stop!'&mdash;<i>an' he stoppit!</i> That's the
+soort o' mon he is."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_076.png">
+<img src="images/i_076.png" width="100%" alt="AMBIGUITY" /></a>
+<h3>AMBIGUITY</h3>
+<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>&mdash;<i>A Highland Ferry</i></p>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "But we paid you sixpence each as we came over, and you said
+the same fare would bring us back."</p>
+<p><i>Skipper.</i> "Well, well, and I telled ye nothing but the truth, an' it'll
+be no more than the same fare I'm wantin' the noo for bringin' ye
+back."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_078.png">
+<img src="images/i_078.png" width="100%" alt="AUGUST IN SCOTLAND" /></a>
+<h3>AUGUST IN SCOTLAND</h3>
+<p><i>Bag Carrier (to Keeper).</i> "What does the maister aye ask that body tae
+shoot wi' him for? He canna hit a thing!"</p>
+<p><i>Keeper.</i> "Dod, man, I daur say he wishes they was a' like him. The same
+birds does him a' through the season!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>KINREEN O' THE DEE;</h2>
+
+<center>A PIOBRACH HEARD WAILING DOWN GLENTANNER ON THE EXILE OF THREE
+GENERATIONS.</center>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 19%">
+<a href="images/i_079.png">
+<img src="images/i_079.png" width="100%" alt="piper playing pipes" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem w30"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i10">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i12">Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i12">Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i10">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i10">I'll blaw up my chanter,</p>
+<p class="i12">I've rounded fu' weel,</p>
+<p class="i10">To mony a ranter,</p>
+<p class="i12">In mony a reel,</p>
+<p class="i10">An' pour'd a' my heart i' the win'bag wi' glee:</p>
+<p class="i12">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i0">For licht wis the laughter in bonny Kinreen,</p>
+<p class="i0">An' licht wis the footfa' that glanced o'er the green,</p>
+<p class="i0">An' licht ware the hearts a' an' lichtsome the eyne,</p>
+<p class="i10">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i12">Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i12">Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i10">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i10">The auld hoose is bare noo,</p>
+<p class="i12">A cauld hoose to me,</p>
+<p class="i10">The hearth is nae mair noo,</p>
+<p class="i12">The centre o' glee,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="i0">Nae mair for the bairnies the bield it has been,</p>
+<p class="i10">Och hey, for bonny Kinreen!</p>
+<p class="i0">The auld folk, the young folk, the wee anes, an' a',</p>
+<p class="i0">A hunder years' hame birds are harried awa',</p>
+<p class="i0">Are harried an' hameless, whatever winds blaw,</p>
+<p class="i10">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &amp;c.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i10">Fareweel my auld pleugh lan',</p>
+<p class="i12">I'll never mair pleugh it:</p>
+<p class="i10">Fareweel my auld cairt an'</p>
+<p class="i12">The auld yaud<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor"><sup>[3]</sup></a> that drew it.</p>
+<p class="i0">Fareweel my auld kailyard, ilk bush an' ilk tree!</p>
+<p class="i10">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i0">Fareweel the auld braes, that my hand keepit green,</p>
+<p class="i0">Fareweel the auld ways where we waunder'd unseen</p>
+<p class="i0">Ere the star o' my hearth came to bonny Kinreen,</p>
+<p class="i10">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &amp;c.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i10">The auld kirk looks up o'er</p>
+<p class="i12">The dreesome auld dead,</p>
+<p class="i10">Like a saint speakin' hope o'er</p>
+<p class="i12">Some sorrowfu' bed.</p>
+<p class="i0">Fareweel the auld kirk, an' fareweel the kirk green,</p>
+<p class="i0">They tell o' a far better hame than Kinreen!</p>
+<p class="i0">The place we wad cling to&mdash;puir simple auld fules,</p>
+<p class="i0">O' our births an' our bridals, oor blesses an' dools,</p>
+<p class="i0">Whare oor wee bits o' bairnies lie cauld i' the mools.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor"><sup>[4]</sup></a></p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i10">I aft times hae wunder'd</p>
+<p class="i12">If deer be as dear,</p>
+<p class="i10">As sweet ties o' kindred,</p>
+<p class="i12">To peasant or peer;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="i0">As the tie to the hames o' the land born be,</p>
+<p class="i12">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i0">The heather that blossoms unkent o' the moor,</p>
+<p class="i0">Wad dee in his lordship's best greenhoose, I'm sure,</p>
+<p class="i0">To the wunder o' mony a fairy land flure.</p>
+<p class="i12">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &amp;c.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i12">Though little the thing be,</p>
+<p class="i12">Oor ain we can ca';</p>
+<p class="i12">That little we cling be,</p>
+<p class="i12">The mair that it's sma';</p>
+<p class="i0">Though puir wis oor hame, an' thogh wild wis the scene,</p>
+<p class="i0">'Twas the hame o' oor hearts: it was bonnie Kinreen.</p>
+<p class="i0">An yet we maun leave it, baith grey head an bairn;</p>
+<p class="i0">Leave it to fatten the deer o' Cock-Cairn,</p>
+<p class="i0">O' Pannanich wuds an' o' Morven o' Gairn.</p>
+<p class="i12">Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i12">Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i12">Kinreen o' the Dee!</p>
+<p class="i6">Sae Fareweel for ever, Kinreen of the Dee!</p>
+</div></div>
+<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label"><sup>[3]</sup></span></a>Mare.</p>
+<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label"><sup>[4]</sup></span></a>Earth.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_080.png">
+<img src="images/i_080.png" width="100%" alt="That&#39;s a tough old fellow" /></a>
+<h3>CANNY!</h3>
+<p><i>Sportsman.</i> "That's a tough old fellow, Jemmy!"</p>
+<p><i>Keeper.</i> "Aye, sir, a grand bird to send to your freens!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_082.png">
+<img src="images/i_082.png" width="100%" alt="EXPERTO CREDE" /></a>
+<h3>EXPERTO CREDE</h3>
+<p><i>Tourist</i> <i>(on approaching hostelry)</i>. "What will you have, coachman?"</p>
+<p><i>Driver.</i> "A wee drap whuskey, sir, thank you."</p>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "All right I'll get down and send it out to you."</p>
+<p><i>Driver.</i> "Na, na, gie me the saxpence. They'll gie you an unco sma'
+gless!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_084.png">
+<img src="images/i_084.png" width="80%" alt="A LAMENT FROM THE NORTH" /></a>
+<h3>A LAMENT FROM THE NORTH</h3>
+<p>"And then the weather's been so bad, Donald!"</p>
+<p>"Ou ay, sir. Only three fine days&mdash;and twa of them snappit up by the
+Sawbath!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>TWO ON A TOUR</h2>
+
+<p>"Can you tell me which is Croft Lochay?"</p>
+
+<p>The smith leant on his pitchfork&mdash;he had been up at the hay&mdash;and eyed
+Gwendolen and myself with friendly interest.</p>
+
+<p>"Ye'll be the gentry from London Mistress McDiarmat is expectin'?"</p>
+
+<p>"And which is the way to her house?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well", said the smith, shading his eyes as he peered up at the Ben, "ye
+can't see it rightly from here, as it lies behind yon knowe. It's a
+whole year whatever since I hev not been up myself; but if you follow
+the burn&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>I glanced at Gwen and saw that she shared my satisfaction. To cross the
+edge of civilisation had for months past been our hearts' desire; and to
+have achieved a jumping-off place only approachable by a burn exceeded
+our wildest ambitions.</p>
+
+<p>We thanked the smith, and set off on our expedition up the mountain
+side.</p>
+
+<p>"We twa hae paidlit in the burn", sang Gwendolen as she skipped like a
+goat from stone to stone. "O Jack, isn't it too primitive and
+delightful!"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather", said I, inhaling great draughts of the mountain air.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you hungry?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather", I repeated. "Wonder what there'll be to eat."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't care what it is. Anything will be delicious. Is that the
+house, do you think?"</p>
+
+<p>I looked up and saw above us a low white-washed shanty covered with
+thatch which was kept in its place by a network of laths. A few heavy
+stones were evidently designed to keep the roof from blowing off in
+winter storms.</p>
+
+<p>"No", said Gwen. "That must be the cowhouse byre, don't you call it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not so sure", said I.</p>
+
+<p>While we were still uncertain, a figure came to the door and bade us
+welcome.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
+<p>"Come in, come in. Ye'll be tired with the travelling, and ye'll like to
+see the rooms."</p>
+
+<p>We acquiesced, and Mistress McDiarmat led the way into the cowhouse.</p>
+
+<p>"Shoo!" she cried as she opened the door of the bedroom. "Get away,
+Speckle! The hens <i>will</i> lay their bit egg on the bed, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"What fresh eggs we shall get!" cried Gwen, delighted with this fresh
+proof of rusticity and with the Gaelic gutturals with which Mistress
+McDiarmat emphasized her remarks to Speckle.</p>
+
+<p>The "other end" was furnished with two hard chairs, a table and a bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Fancy a bed in the dining-room and hens in your bed!" said Gwen, in the
+highest of spirits. "And here comes tea! Eggs and bacon&mdash;Ah! how lovely
+they smell, and how much nicer than horrid, stodgy dinners! And
+oatcakes&mdash;and jelly&mdash;and the lightest feathery scones! O Jack, isn't it
+heavenly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather", I agreed, beginning the meal with tremendous gusto. The eggs
+and bacon disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, and then we fell to on
+the light feathery scones. "Wish we hadn't wasted a fortnight's time
+and money in ruinous Highland hotels. Wonder what Schiehallion thinks of
+hot baths and late dinners, not to speak of waiters and wine-lists."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose", remarked Gwendolen, "one <i>could</i> get a bath at the
+Temperance Inn we passed on the road?"</p>
+
+<p>"Baths!" cried I. "Why, my dear, one only has to go and sit under the
+neighbouring waterfall." Gwen did not laugh, and looking up I saw she
+had stopped in the middle of a scone on which she had embarked with
+great appetite.</p>
+
+<p>"Try an oat-cake", I suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"No, thanks", said Gwen.</p>
+
+<p>"A little more jelly?"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>I finished my meal in silence and pulled out my pipe.</p>
+
+<p>"Going to smoke in here?" asked Gwen.</p>
+
+<p>"It's raining outside, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very well. But remember this is my bedroom. I decline to sleep with
+hens."</p>
+
+<p>I put the pipe away and prepared for conversation. </p>
+
+<p>"Can't you sit still?" asked Gwen after a long pause.</p>
+
+<p>"This chair is very hard, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"So is mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think we might sit on the bed?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not. I shouldn't sleep a wink if we disarranged the clothes,
+and only an expert can re-make a chaff bed."</p>
+
+<p>"Wish we had something to read", I remarked, after another long pause.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Do you expect a circulating library on the top of Ben-y-Gloe?"</p>
+
+<p>I began to realise that Gwen was no longer in a conversational mood, and
+made no further efforts to break the silence. Half-an-hour later Gwen
+came across the room and laid her hand on my shoulder. "What are you
+reading, dear?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I find we can get a train from Struan to-morrow afternoon which catches
+the London connection at Perth when the train's not more than two hours
+late."</p>
+
+<p>"We can't risk that. Isn't there a train in the morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"It would mean leaving this at five."</p>
+
+<p>"So much the better. O Jack, if I eat another meal like that it will be
+fatal. To think we shall be back in dear old Chelsea to-morrow!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_086.png">
+<img src="images/i_086.png" width="100%" alt="tread the hay" /></a>
+<h3>ORIGIN OF THE HIGHLAND SCHOTTISCHE</h3>
+<p>"This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay, tread the hay;
+<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay in Scotland!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_087.png">
+<img src="images/i_087.png" width="100%" alt="GROUSE SHOOTING" /></a>
+<h3>GROUSE SHOOTING LATE IN THE SEASON. JOLLY, VERY!</h3>
+<p>"Come along, old fellow! heres a point!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_088.png">
+<img src="images/i_088.png" width="100%" alt="DEER -STALKING MADE EASY" /></a>
+<h3>DEER -STALKING MADE EASY. A HINT TO LUSTY SPORTSMAN.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_089.png">
+<img src="images/i_089.png" width="100%" alt="When is the steamer due here" /></a>
+<h3>SOONER OR LATER</h3>
+<p><i>Old Gent.</i> "When is the steamer due here?"</p>
+<p><i>Highland Pier-Master.</i> "Various. Sometimes sooner, sometimes earlier,
+an' even sometimes before that, too."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_090.png">
+<img src="images/i_090.png" width="100%" alt="HARMLESS" /></a>
+<h3>HARMLESS</h3>
+<p><i>Cockney Sporting Gent.</i> "But I think it's a 'en!"</p>
+<p><i>Sandy (his keeper).</i> "Shoot, man, shoot! She'll be no muckle the waur o' ye!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_092.png">
+<img src="images/i_092.png" width="100%" alt="PLEASANT" /></a>
+<h3>PLEASANT</h3>
+<p><i>Friend (to novice at salmon fishing).</i> "I say, old boy, mind how you wade;
+there are some tremendous holes, fourteen or fifteen feet deep."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_093.png">
+<img src="images/i_093.png" width="100%" alt="AN IMPORTANT DETAIL" /></a>
+<h3>AN IMPORTANT DETAIL</h3>
+<p><i>Our Latest Millionaire (to Gillie, who has brought him within close
+range of the finest stag in the forest).</i> "I say, Mac, confound it all,
+<i>which eye do you use?"</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_094.png">
+<img src="images/i_094.png" width="100%" alt="English tourist" /></a>
+<p><i>English Tourist (in the far North, miles from anywhere).</i>
+"Do you mean to say that you and your family live here all the winter?
+Why, what do you do when any of you are ill? You can never get a doctor!"</p>
+<p><i>Scotch Shepherd.</i> "Nae, sir. We've just to dee a natural death!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_095.png">
+<img src="images/i_095.png" width="100%" alt="A ROADSIDE INN" /></a>
+<h3>SCENE--A ROADSIDE INN IN A MOORLAND DISTRICT, SCOTLAND.</h3>
+<center><i>(The Captain and Gamekeeper call in to have some Refreshment)</i></center>
+<br /><p><i>Landlady (enters in fear).</i> "Eh, sir, yer gun's no loaded is't? for a never would bide in a
+hoose whaur the wur a loaded gun in a' m'life."</p>
+<p><i>Captain (composedly),</i> "Oh we'll soon put that right--have you got a cork?"</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>Exit Landlady and brings a cork, which the Captain carefully sticks in the muzzle of the
+gun, and assures her it is all right now--</i></p>
+<p><i>Landlady (relieved).</i> "Ou, aye! it's a' right noo, but it wasna safe afore,
+ye ken."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_096.png">
+<img src="images/i_096.png" width="100%" alt="MONARCH OF THE GLEN" /></a>
+<h3>"A MONARCH OF THE GLEN"</h3>
+<p><i>Transatlantic Millionaire (surveying one of his deer-forests).</i>
+"Ha! look there! I see <i>three excursionists!</i> Send 'em to the----!"</p>
+<p><i>Gigantic Gillie (and chucker-out).</i> "If you please, Mr. Dollers,
+they're <i>excisemen!"</i></p>
+<p><i>T.M.</i> "I don't care who they are! Send'em to the----!"</p>
+<p><i>G.G.</i> "Yes, Mr. Dollers."</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[Proceeds to carry out the order.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_097.png">
+<img src="images/i_097.png" width="100%" alt="brown specks" /></a>
+<p>Sportsman (who declines to be told where to go and what to do by his gillie), after
+an arduous stalk in the blazing sun, at last manages to crawl within close
+range of those "brown specks" he dicovered miles distant on the hillside!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_098.png">
+<img src="images/i_098.png" width="100%" alt="PROMISING" /></a>
+<h3>PROMISING!</h3>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "Have you any decent cigars?"</p>
+<p><i>Highland Grocer.</i> "Decent cigars? Ay, here are decent cigars enough."</p>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "Are they Havanahs, or Manillas?"</p>
+<p><i>Highland Grocer.</i> "They're just from Kircaldy!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_100.png">
+<img src="images/i_100.png" width="100%" alt="THE MISS" /></a>
+<h3>"THE MISS"</h3>
+<p><i>Gillie.</i> "Eh, mon! But it's fortunate there's beef in Aberdeen!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>MR. BRIGGS IN THE HIGHLANDS</h2>
+
+<center><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">John Leech</span></center>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_101.png">
+<img src="images/i_101.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. Briggs starts for the North" /></a>
+<p>Mr. Briggs, feeling that his heart is in the Highlands
+a-chasing the deer, starts for the North.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_102.png"></a>
+<img src="images/i_102.png" width="100%" alt="chat about deer-stalking" />
+<p>Before going out, Mr. Briggs and his friends have a quiet
+chat about deer-stalking generally. He listens with much interest to
+some pleasing anecdotes about the little incidents frequently met
+with&mdash;such as balls going through caps&mdash;toes being shot
+off!&mdash;occasionally being gored by the antlers of infuriate stags, &amp;c.,
+&amp;c., &amp;c.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_103.png">
+<img src="images/i_103.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. Briggs assists the forester" /></a>
+<p>Mr. Briggs, previous to going through his course of
+deer-stalking, assists the forester in getting a hart or two for the
+house. Donald is requesting our friend to hold the animal down by the
+horns.</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[N.B. The said animal is as strong as a bull, and uses his legs like a
+race-horse.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_104.png">
+<img src="images/i_104.png" width="100%" alt="deer are driven for Mr. Briggs" /></a>
+<p>The deer are driven for Mr. Briggs. He has an excellent
+place, but what with waiting by himself so long, the murmur of the
+stream, the beauty of the scene, and the novelty of the situation, he
+falls asleep, and while he takes his forty winks, the deer pass!</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_105a.png">
+<img src="images/i_105a.png" width="100%" alt="the deer are driven again" /></a>
+<p>As the wind is favourable, the deer are driven again.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_105b.png">
+<img src="images/i_105b.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. Briggs omits to fire his rifle" /></a>
+<p>Mr. Briggs is suddenly face to face with the monarch of
+the glen! He is so astonished that he omits to fire his rifle.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_106a.png">
+<img src="images/i_106a.png" width="100%" alt="To-day he goes out for a stalk" /></a>
+<p>To-day he goes out for a stalk, and Donald shows Mr.
+Briggs the way!</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_106b.png">
+<img src="images/i_106b.png" width="100%" alt="the finest hart that ever was seen" /></a>
+<p>After a good deal of climbing, our friend gets to the top
+of Ben-something-or-other, and the forester looks out to see if there
+are any deer on the hills. Yes! several hinds, and perhaps the finest
+hart that ever was seen.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_107a.png">
+<img src="images/i_107a.png" width="100%" alt="obliged to go a long way round" /></a>
+<p>To get at him, they are obliged to go a long way round.
+Before they get down, the shower, peculiar to the country, overtakes
+them, so they "shelter a-wee."</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_107b.png">
+<img src="images/i_107b.png" width="100%" alt="they come within shot" /></a>
+<p>With extraordinary perseverance they come within shot of
+"the finest hart." Mr. B. is out of breath, afraid of slipping, and
+wants to blow his nose (quite out of the question), otherwise he is
+tolerably comfortable.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_108.png">
+<img src="images/i_108.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. B. fires both barrels" /></a>
+<p>After aiming for a quarter of an hour, Mr. B. fires both
+his barrels&mdash;and&mdash;misses!!!!&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Tableau</i>&mdash;The forester's anguish</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70%">
+<a href="images/i_109.png">
+<img src="images/i_109.png" width="100%" alt="The royal hart" /></a>
+<center>The royal hart Mr. Briggs did <span class="smcap">NOT</span> hit.</center>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_110.png">
+<img src="images/i_110.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. Briggs kills a stag" /></a>
+<p>Mr. Briggs has another day's stalking, and his rifle
+having gone off sooner than he expected, he kills a stag. As it is his
+first, he is made free of the forest by the process customary on the
+hills!&mdash;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_111.png">
+<img src="images/i_111.png" width="100%" alt="returns home in triumph" /></a>
+<p>And returns home in triumph. He is a little knocked up,
+but after a nap, will, no doubt, go through the broad-sword dance in the
+evening as usual.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 75%">
+<a href="images/i_112.png">
+<img src="images/i_112.png" width="100%" alt="MR. BRIGGS GROUSE SHOOTING" /></a>
+<h3>MR. BRIGGS GROUSE SHOOTING</h3>
+<p>9 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> His arrival on the moor.&mdash;Mr. Briggs says that the fine bracing
+air makes him so vigorous that he shall never be beat. He also
+facetiously remarks that he is on "his native heath", and that his "name
+is Macgregor!"</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>The result of the day's sport will be communicated by electric
+telegraph.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>SKETCHES FROM SCOTLAND</h2>
+
+<center><span class="smcap">At the Drumquhidder Highland Gathering.</span></center>
+
+<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>&mdash;<i>A meadow near Drumquhidder, South Perthshire, where the
+annual Highland Games are being held. The programme being a long
+one, there are generally three events being contested in various
+parts of the ground at the same time. On the benches immediately
+below the Grand Stand are seated two Drumquhidder worthies</i>, <span class="smcap">Mr.
+Parritch</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Havers</span>, <i>with</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. McTavish</span> <i>and her niece, two
+acquaintances from Glasgow, to whom they are endeavouring&mdash;not
+altogether successfully&mdash;to make themselves agreeable</i>. </p></blockquote>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers</i> <i>(in allusion to the dozen or so of drags, landaus, and
+waggonettes on the ground)</i>. There's a number o' machines hier the day,
+Messis McTarvish, an' a wonderfu' crood; there'll be a bit scarceness
+ower on yon side, but a gey many a'thegither. I conseeder we're jest
+awfu' forrtunate in the day an' a'.</p>
+
+<p class="author">[<i>Mrs. McTavish assents, but without enthusiasm.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parritch.</i> I've jist ben keekin into the Refraishmen' Tent. It's an
+awfu' peety they're no pairmeetin' ony intoaxicans&mdash;naethin' but
+non-alcohoalic liquors an' sic like, an' the hawm-sawndwiches no verra
+tender. <i>(With gallantry.)</i> What do ye say, noo, Messis McTarvish&mdash;wull
+ye no come an' tak' a bite wi' me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. McTavish (distantly).</i> Ah'm no feelin' able for't jist the noo,
+Mester Pairritch.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr.</i> Ye'll hae a boatle o' leemonade at my expense? Ye'll no?
+Then ye wull, Mess Rawse. <i>(With relief, as Miss Rose declines also.)</i>
+Aweel, I jist thocht I'd pit the quaistion. <i>(To a friend of his, who
+joins them.)</i> An' hoo's a' wi' ye, Mester McKerrow? Ye're a member o'
+the Cawmittee, I obsairve, sae I'll hae to keck up a bet row wi' ye.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerrow (unconcernedly).</i> Then ye'll jist to hae to keck it doon
+again. What's wrang the noo?</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr.</i> I'd like to ask ye if ye conseeder it fair or jest to
+charrge us tippence every time we'd go aff the groon? Man, it's jist an
+extoartion.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr.</i> I'm no responsible for't; but, if I'd ben there, I'd ha'
+chairged ye twa shellins; sae ye'd better say nae mair aboot the
+maitter.</p>
+
+<p class="author">[<i>Mr. Parritch does not pursue the subject.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers (as a detachment of the Black Watch Highlanders conclude an
+exhibition of musical drill).</i> Ye'll be the baiter o' haeing the Block
+Wetch hier the day. Man, they gie us a colour! It's verra<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> pretty hoo
+nicely they can pairforrm the drill....An' noo them sojers is gaun to
+rin a bet race amang theirsels. This'll be an extry cawmpeteetion, I
+doot. <i>(As the race is being run.)</i> It's no a verra suitable dress for
+rinnin'&mdash;the spleughan&mdash;or "sporran", is it?&mdash;hairrts them tairible.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr (contradictiously).</i> The sporran does na hairrt them at a'.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> Man, it's knockin' against them at every stride they tak'.
+<i>(His attention wanders to a Highland Fling, which three small boys are
+dancing on a platform opposite.)</i> He's an awfu' bonnie dauncer that wee
+laddie i' the meddle!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr.</i> Na sae awfu' bonnie, he luiks tae much at his taes. Yon on
+the richt is the laddie o' the lote! He disna move his boady at a'....
+This'll be the Half Mile Handicap they're stairting for down yonder.
+It'll gae to Jock Alister&mdash;him in the blue breeks.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr.</i> Yon grup-luikin' tyke? I canna thenk it.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> Na, it'll be yon bald-heided man in broon. He's verra
+enthusiastic. He's ben rinnin' in a' the races, I obsairve. "Smeth" did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
+ye say his neem was? <i>(To Miss Rose, "pawkily.")</i> Ye'll hae an
+affaictionate regaird for that neem, I'm thenking, Mess Rawse?</p>
+
+<p><i>Miss Rose (with maidenly displeasure).</i> 'Deed, an I'm no unnerstanding
+why ye should thenk ony sic a thing!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers (abashed).</i> I beg your pairrdon. I don't know hoo it was I
+gethered Smeth was your ain neem. <i>(Miss Rose shakes her head.)</i> No?
+Then maybe ye'll be acquaint with a Mester Alexawnder Smeth fro'
+Paisley? <i>(Miss Rose is not, nor apparently desires to be, and Mr.
+Havers returns to the foot-race.)</i> The baldheid's leadin' them a', I
+tellt ye he'd&mdash;&mdash;Na, he's gien up! it'll be the little block fellow,
+he's peckin' up tairible!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr.</i> 'Twull no be him. Yon lang chap has an easy jobe o't. Ye'll
+see he'll jist putt a spairrt on at yon faur poast&mdash;he's comin' on
+noo&mdash;he's.... Losh! he's only thirrd after a'; he didna putt the spairrt
+on sune eneugh; that was the gran' fau't he made!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> They'll be begenning the wrustling oot yon in the
+centre....<i>(As the competitors grip.)</i> Losh! that's no the way to
+wrustle; they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> shouldna left the ither up; they're no allowed to threp!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_121.png">
+<img src="images/i_121.png" width="100%" alt="That&#39;s jist the game" /></a>
+<p>That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething at
+a' aboot it!</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr.</i> "That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething
+at a' aboot it!"</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> I'd sthruggle baiter'n that mysel', it's no great
+wrustling at a', merely bairrns' play!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr. (As a corpulent elderly gentleman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> appears, in very pink
+tights).</i> Ye'll see some science noo, for hier's McBannock o'
+Balwhuskie, the chawmpion.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers (disenchanted).</i> Wull yon be him in the penk breeks. Man,
+but he's awfu' stoot for sic wark!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr.</i> The wecht of him's no easy put doon. The rest are boys to
+him.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr.</i> I doot the little dairk fellow'll hae him ... it's a gey
+sthruggle.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr.</i> He's not doon yet. Wull ye bait sexpence against
+McBannock, Mester Pairritch?</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr. (promptly).</i> Aye, wull I&mdash;na, he's got the dairk mon doon. I
+was jist mindin' the sword-daunce, sae the bait's aff. <i>(Three men in
+full Highland costume step upon the platform and stand, proud and
+impassive, fronting the grand stand, while the judges walk round them,
+making careful notes of their respective points.)</i> What wull <i>they</i> be
+aboot?</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr.</i> It'll be the prize for the mon who's the best dressed
+Hielander at his ain expense. I'm thenkin' they'll find it no verra easy
+to come to a deceesion.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr.</i> Deed, it's no sae deeficult; 'twill be the mon in the
+centre, sure as deith!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> Ye say that because he has a' them gowd maidles hing on
+his jocket!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr</i>. <i>(loftily)</i>. I pay no attention to the maidles at a'. I'm
+sayin' that Dougal Macrae is the best dressed Hielander o' the three.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> It'll no be Macrae at a'. Jock McEwan, that's furthest
+west, 'll be the mon.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr.</i> <i>(dogmatically)</i>. It'll be Macrae, I'm tellin' ye. He has
+the nicest kelt on him that iver I sa'!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> It's no the <i>kelt</i> that diz it, 'tis jist the way they pit
+it on. An' Macrae'll hae his tae faur doon, a guid twa enches too low,
+it is.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr.</i> Ye're a' wrang, the kelt is on richt eneugh!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> I know fine hoo a kelt should be pit an, though I'm no
+Hielander mysel', and I'll ask ye, Mess Rawse, if Dougal Macrae's kelt
+isn't too lang; it's jist losin his knees a' thegither, like a lassie he
+looks in it!</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>Miss Rose declines, with some stiffness, to express an opinion on so
+delicate a point.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr. (recklessly).</i> I'll pit a sexpence on Macrae wi' ye, come
+noo!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> Na, na, pit cawmpetent jedges on to deceede, and they'll
+be o' my opeenion; but I'll no bait wi' ye.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr. (his blood up).</i> Then I'll hae a sexpence on 't wi you,
+Mester McKerrow!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. McKerr.</i> Nay, I'm for Macrae mysel'.... An' we're baith in the
+richt o't too, for they've jist gien him the bit red flag&mdash;that means
+he's got firsst prize.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr. (to Mr. Havers, with reproach).</i> Man, if ye'd hed the speerit
+o' your opeenions, I'd ha' won sexpence aff ye by noo!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers (obstinately).</i> I canna thenk but that Macrae's kelt was too
+lang&mdash;prize or no prize.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> I'll be telling him when I see him that he
+looked like a lassie in it.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Parr. (with concern).</i> I wouldna jist advise ye to say ony sic a
+thing to him. These Hielanders are awfu' prood; and he micht tak' it gey
+ill fro' ye!</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Havers.</i> I see nae hairrm mysel' in jist tellin' him, in a
+pleesant, daffin-like way, that he looked like a lassie in his kelt. But
+there's nae tellin' hoo ye may offend some fowk; an' I'm thenking it's
+no sae verra prawbable that I'll hae the oaportunity o' saying onything
+aboot the maitter to him.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Awkward for Him.</span>&mdash;<i>Tam.</i> "I'm sayin', man, my cairt o' hay's fa'en ower.
+Will ye gie 's a haund up wi' 't?" <i>Jock.</i> "'Deed will I. But ye'll be
+in nae hurry till I get tae the end o' the raw?" <i>Tam.</i> "Ou no. I'm in
+nae hurry, but I doot my faither 'll be wearyin'." <i>Jock.</i> "An' whaur's
+yer faither?" <i>Tam.</i> "He's in below the hay!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_114.png">
+<img src="images/i_114.png" width="100%" alt="MISTAKEN IDENTITY" /></a>
+<h3>"MISTAKEN IDENTITY"</h3>
+<center><span class="smcap">Scene</span>&mdash;<i>Northern Meeting at Inverness.</i></center><br />
+<p><span class="smcap">Persons Represented</span>&mdash;Ian Gorm
+<i>and</i> Dougald Mohr, <i>gillies</i>. Mr. Smith, <i>of London</i>.</p><br />
+<p><i>First Gillie.</i> "Wull yon be the MacWhannel, Ian Gorm?"</p>
+<p><i>Second ditto.</i> "No!! Hes nae-um is Muster Smuth! And he ahl-ways wears
+the kult&mdash;and it is foohl that you aar, Tougalt Mohr!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_116.png">
+<img src="images/i_116.png" width="100%" alt="FYNE GRAMMAR" /></a>
+<h3>(LOCH) FYNE GRAMMAR</h3>
+<center><i>(A Sad Fact for the School Board)</i></center>
+<p><i>Tugal.</i> "Dud ye'll ever see the <i>I-oo-na</i> any more before?"</p>
+<p><i>Tonal.</i> "Surely I was."</p>
+<p><i>Tugal.</i> "Ay, ay! Maybe you was never on poard too, after thus&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+<p><i>Tonal.</i> "I dud."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_118.png">
+<img src="images/i_118.png" width="100%" alt="Haud yer tongue" /></a>
+<h3>NON BEN (LOMOND) TROVATO.</h3>
+<p><i>Rory (fresh from the hills).</i> "Hech, mon! Ye're loassin' a' yer
+watter!!"</p>
+<p><i>Aungus.</i> "Haud yer tongue, ye feul! Ett's latt oot to stoap the laddies
+frae ridin' ahint!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<img src="images/i_120.png" width="100%" alt="NOTHING LIKE LEATHER" />
+<h3>"NOTHING LIKE LEATHER"</h3>
+<p><i>Bookseller</i> <i>(to Lanarkshire country gentleman who had brought his back
+numbers to be bound)</i>. "Would you like them done in 'Russia' or
+'Morocco,' sir?"</p>
+<p><i>Old Gentleman.</i> "Na, never maind aboot Rooshy or Moroccy. I'll just hae
+'em boond in Glasgy here!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_122.png">
+<img src="images/i_122.png" width="100%" alt="TROUBLES OF STALKING" /></a>
+<h3>THE TROUBLES OF STALKING</h3>
+<p><i>Irate Gillie</i> <i>(on discovering in the distance, for the third time that
+morning, a "brute of a man" moving about in his favourite bit of
+"forest")</i>. "Oh! deil take the people! Come awa', Muster Brown, sir;
+<i>it's just Peekadilly!!!</i>"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_124.png">
+<img src="images/i_124.png" width="100%" alt="A FALLEN ASS" title="" /></a>
+<h3>A FALLEN ASS</h3>
+<p><i>Indignant Gillie</i> <i>(to Jones, of London, who has by mistake killed a
+hind)</i>. "I thoucht ony fule ken't it was the stags that had the horns!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_125.png">
+<img src="images/i_125.png" width="100%" alt="BONCHIENIE" /></a>
+<h3>BONCHIENIE</h3>
+<p><i>Young Lady Tourist</i> <i>(caressing the hotel terrier, Bareglourie, N.B.)</i>.
+"Oh, Binkie is his name! He seems inclined to be quite friendly with
+me."</p>
+<p><i>Waiter.</i> "Oo, aye, miss, he's no vera parteec'lar wha he taks oop wi!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_126.png">
+<img src="images/i_126.png" width="100%" alt="CANNY" /></a>
+<h3>"CANNY"</h3>
+<p><i>First North Briton.</i> "'T's a fine day, this?"</p>
+<p><i>Second ditto.</i> "No ill, ava."</p>
+<p><i>First ditto.</i> "Ye'll be travellin'?"</p>
+<p><i>Second ditto.</i> "Weel, maybe I'm no."</p>
+<p><i>First ditto.</i> "Gaun t'Aberdeen, maybe?"</p>
+<p><i>Second ditto.</i> "Ye're no faur aff't!!"</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>Mutually satisfied, each goes his respective way</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_128.png">
+<img src="images/i_128.png" width="100%" alt=" PURCHASING LIMIT" /></a>
+<h3>THE PURCHASING LIMIT</h3>
+<p><i>Mr. Steinsen</i> <i>(our latest millionaire&mdash;after his third fruitless
+stalk)</i>. "Now, look here, you rascal! if you can't have the brutes
+tamer, I'm hanged if I don't sack you!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_130.png">
+<img src="images/i_130.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. Brown, I &#39;ardly knoo yer" /></a>
+<h3>GROWING POPULARITY OF THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p><i>Mrs. Smith</i> <i>(of Brixton)</i>. "Lor', Mr. Brown, I 'ardly knoo yer! Only
+think of our meetin' <i>'ere</i>, this year, instead of dear old Margit! An'
+I suppose that's the costume you go <i>salmon-stalking</i> in?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>MORE SKETCHES FROM SCOTLAND</h2>
+
+<center><span class="smcap">On a Callander Char-a-banc.</span></center>
+
+<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>&mdash;<i>In front of the Trossachs Hotel. The few passengers bound
+for Callander have been sitting for several minutes on the coach
+"Fitz-James" in pelting rain, resignedly wondering when the driver
+will consider them sufficiently wet to start.</i> </p></blockquote>
+
+<p><i>The Head Boots (to the driver).</i> There's another to come yet; he'll no
+be lang now. <i>(The cause of the delay comes down the hotel steps, and
+surveys the vehicle and its occupants with a surly scowl.)</i> Up with ye,
+sir, plenty of room on the second seats.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Surly Passenger.</i> And have all the umbrellas behind dripping on my
+hat! No, thank you, I'm going in front. <i>(He mounts, and takes up the
+apron.)</i> Here, driver, just look at this apron&mdash;it's sopping wet!</p>
+
+<p><i>The Driver (tranquilly).</i> Aye, I'm thinking it wull ha' got a bet
+domp.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>The Surly P.</i> Well, I'm not going to have this over me. Haven't you got
+a <i>dry</i> one somewhere?</p>
+
+<p><i>The Driver.</i> There'll be dry ones at Collander.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Surly P. (with a snort).</i> At Callander! Much good that is! <i>(With
+crushing sarcasm.</i>) If I'm to keep dry on this concern, it strikes me
+I'd better get inside the boot at once!</p>
+
+<p><i>The Driver (with the air of a man who is making a concession).</i> Ou aye,
+ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_132.png">
+<img src="images/i_132.png" width="100%" alt="ye can get inside the boot" /></a>
+<p>"Ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to it."</p>
+</div>
+
+<blockquote>[<i>The coach starts, and is presently stopped at a corner to take up a
+male and a female passenger, who occupy the seats immediately behind the
+Surly Passenger.</i></blockquote>
+
+<p><i>The Female P. (enthusiastically, to her companion).</i> There's dear old
+Mrs. Macfarlane, come out to see the last of us! Look at her standing
+out there in the garden, all in the rain. That's what I always say about
+the Scotch&mdash;they <i>are</i> warm-hearted!</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>She waves her hand in farewell to some distant object.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Her Companion. That</i> ain't her; that's an old apple-tree in the garden
+<i>you</i>'re waving to. <i>She's</i> keeping indoors&mdash;and shows her sense too.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Female P. (disgusted).</i> Well, I <i>do</i> think after our being at the
+farm a fortnight and all, she <i>might</i>&mdash;&mdash;But that's Scotch all <i>over</i>,
+that is; get all they can out of you, and then, for anything <i>they</i>
+care&mdash;&mdash;!</p>
+
+<p><i>The Surly P.</i> I don't know whether you are aware of it, ma'am, but that
+umbrella of yours is sending a constant trickle down the back of my
+neck, which is <i>most</i> unpleasant!</p>
+
+<p><i>The Female P.</i> I'm sorry to hear it, sir, but it's no worse for you
+than it is for me. I've got somebody else's umbrella dripping down <i>my</i>
+back, and <i>I</i> don't complain.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>The Surly P.</i> I <i>do</i>, ma'am, for, being in front, I haven't even the
+poor consolation of feeling that my umbrella is a nuisance to anybody.</p>
+
+<p><i>A Sardonic P. (in the rear, politely).</i> On the contrary, sir, I find it
+a most pleasing object to contemplate. Far more picturesque, I don't
+doubt, than any scenery it may happen to conceal.</p>
+
+<p><i>A Chatty P. (to the driver; not because he cares, but simply for the
+sake of conversation).</i> What fish do you catch in that river there?</p>
+
+<p><i>The Driver (with an effort).</i> There'll be troots, an', maybe, a pairrch
+or two.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Chatty P.</i> Perch? Ah, that's rather like a goldfish in shape, eh?</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver (cautiously).</i> Aye, it would be that.</p>
+
+<p><i>Chatty P.</i> Only considerably bigger, of course.</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver (evasively).</i> Pairrch is no a verra beg fesh.</p>
+
+<p><i>Chatty P.</i> But bigger than goldfish.</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver (more confidently).</i> Ou aye, they'll be begger than goldfesh.</p>
+
+<p><i>Chatty P. (persistently).</i> You've seen goldfish&mdash;know what they're
+like, eh?</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver (placidly).</i> I canna say I do.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>They pass a shooting party with beaters.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Chatty P. (as before).</i> What are they going to shoot?</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver.</i> They'll jist be going up to the hells for a bet grouse
+drivin'.</p>
+
+<p><i>A Lady P.</i> I wonder why they carry those poles with the red and yellow
+flags. I suppose they're to warn tourists to keep out of range when they
+begin firing at the butts. I know they <i>have</i> butts up on the moor,
+because I've seen them. Just look at those birds running after that man
+throwing grain for them. Would those be <i>grouse</i>?</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver.</i> Ye'll no find grouse so tame as that, mem; they'll jist be
+phaysants.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady P.</i> Poor dear things! why, they're as tame as chickens. It
+<i>does</i> seem so cruel to kill them!</p>
+
+<p><i>Her Comp.</i> Well, but they kill chickens, occasionally.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady P.</i> Not with a horrid gun; and, besides, that's such a totally
+different thing.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Chatty P.</i> What do you call that mountain, driver, eh?</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver.</i> Yon hell? I'm no minding its name.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Surly P.</i> You don't seem very ready in pointing out the objects of
+interests on the route, I must say.</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver (modestly).</i> There'll be them on the corch that know as much
+aboot it as myself. <i>(After a pause&mdash;to vindicate his character as a
+cicerone.)</i> Did ye nottice a bit building at the end of the loch over
+yonder?</p>
+
+<p><i>The Surly P.</i> No, I didn't.</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver.</i> Ye might ha' seen it, had ye looked.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>He relapses into a contented silence.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Chatty P.</i> Anything remarkable about the building?</p>
+
+<p><i>Driver.</i> It was no the building that's remairkable. <i>(After a severe
+struggle with his own reticence.)</i> It was jist the spoat. 'Twas there
+<i>Roderick Dhu</i> fought <i>Fitz-James</i> after convoying him that far on his
+way.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>The Surly Passenger snorts as though he didn't consider this
+information.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady P. (who doesn't seem to be up in her "Lady of the Lake").
+Fitz-James who?</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Her Comp.</i> I fancy he's the man who owns this line of coaches. There's
+his name on the side of this one.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady P.</i> And I saw <i>Roderick Dhu's</i> on another coach. I <i>thought</i>
+it sounded familiar, somehow. He must be the <i>rival</i> proprietor, I
+suppose. I wonder if they've made it up yet.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Driver (to the Surly Passenger, with another outburst of
+communicativeness).</i> Yon stoan is called "Sawmson's Putting Stoan." He
+hurrled it up to the tope of the hell, whaur it's bided ever sence.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>The Surly Passenger receives this information with an incredulous
+grunt.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady P.</i> What a magnificent old ruin that is across the valley,
+some ancient castle, evidently; they can't build like that nowadays!</p>
+
+<p><i>The Driver.</i> That's the Collander Hydropawthec, mem; burrnt doon two or
+three years back.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Lady P. (with a sense of the irony of events).</i> <i>Burnt</i> down! A
+Hydropathic! Fancy!</p>
+
+<p><i>Male P. (as they enter Callander and pass a trim villa).</i> There,
+<i>that's</i> Mr. Figgis's place.</p>
+
+<p><i>His Comp.</i> What&mdash;<i>that</i>? Why, it's quite a <i>bee-yutiful</i> place, with
+green venetians, and a conservatory, and a croaky lawn, and everything!
+Fancy all that belonging to <i>him</i>! It's well to be a grocer&mdash;in <i>these</i>
+parts, seemingly!</p>
+
+<p><i>Male P.</i> Ah, <i>we</i> ought to come up and start business here; it 'ud be
+better than being in the Caledonian Road!</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>They meditate for the remainder of the journey upon the caprices of
+Fortune with regard to grocery profits in Caledonia and the Caledonian
+Road respectively.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_134.png">
+<img src="images/i_134.png" width="100%" alt="MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER" /></a>
+<h3>"MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER"</h3>
+<p><i>Mr. Punch</i> is at present in the Highlands "a-chasing the deer."</p>
+<p><i>Mrs. Punch</i> is at home, and has promised all her friends haunches of
+venison as soon as they arrive!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_135.png">
+<img src="images/i_135.png" width="100%" alt="DESIRABLE" /></a>
+<h3>"DESIRABLE"</h3>
+<p><i>Saxon Passenger (on Highland coach).</i> "Of course you're well acquainted
+with the country round about here. Do you know 'Glen Accron'?"</p>
+<p><i>Driver.</i> "Aye, weel."</p>
+<p><i>Saxon Passenger (who had just bought the estate).</i> "What sort of a
+place is it?"</p>
+<p><i>Driver.</i> "Weel, if ye saw the deil tethered on't, ye'd just say 'Puir
+brute'!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_136.png">
+<img src="images/i_136.png" width="100%" alt="OFF THE ORKNEYS" /></a>
+<h3>ISOLATION!&mdash;OFF THE ORKNEYS</h3>
+<p><i>Southern Tourist.</i> "'Get any newspapers here?"</p>
+<p><i>Orcadian Boatman.</i> "Ou aye, when the steamer comes. If it's fine,
+she'll come ance a week; but when it's stormy, i' winter, we dinna catch
+a glint o' her for three months at a time."</p>
+<p><i>S. T.</i> "Then you'll not know what's goin' on in London!"</p>
+<p><i>O. B.</i> "Na&mdash;but ye see ye're just as ill aff i' London as we are, for
+ye dinna ken what's gaun on here!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_138.png">
+<img src="images/i_138.png" width="100%" alt="ON THE MOORS" /></a>
+<h3>ON THE MOORS</h3>
+<p><i>The Laird's Brother-in-law (from London).</i> "It's very strange, Lachlan!
+I'm having no luck!&mdash;and yet I seem to see two birds in place of one?
+That was surely very strong whiskey your master gave me at lunch?"</p>
+<p><i>Keeper.</i> "Maybe aye and maybe no&mdash;the whuskey was goot; but any way ye
+dinna manage to hit the richt bird o' the twa!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_140.png">
+<img src="images/i_140.png" width="100%" alt="A POOR ADVERTISEMENT" /></a>
+<h3>A POOR ADVERTISEMENT</h3>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "I suppose you feel proud to have such a distinguished man
+staying in your house?"</p>
+<p><i>Host of the "Drumdonnachie Arms."</i> "'Deed no! A body like that does us
+mair hairm than guid; his appearance is nae credit tae oor commissariat!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_141.png">
+<img src="images/i_141.png" width="100%" alt="GENEROSITY" /></a>
+<h3>GENEROSITY</h3>
+<p><i>Noble Lord (whose rifle has brought to a scarcely untimely end a very
+consumptive-looking fallow deer).</i> "Tut&mdash;t, t, t, t, tut! O, I say,
+Stubbs!"&mdash;<i>(to his keeper)</i>&mdash;"you shouldn't have let me kill such a
+poor, little, sickly, scraggy thing as this, you know! It positively
+isn't fit for human food! Ah! look here, now! I'll tell you what. You
+and McFarlin may have this buck between you!!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_142.png">
+<img src="images/i_142.png" width="100%" alt="TRAVELLER TOO BONÂ FIDE" /></a>
+<h3>TRAVELLER TOO BONÂ FIDE</h3>
+<p><i>Dusty Pedestrian.</i> "I should like a glass of beer, missis, please&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+<p><i>Landlady.</i> "Hae ye been trevellin' by rell?"</p>
+<p><i>Pedestrian.</i> "No, I've been walking&mdash;fourteen miles."</p>
+<p><i>Landlady.</i> "Na, na, nae drink will ony yin get here, wha's been
+pleesure-seekin' o' the Sawbath day!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_144.png">
+<img src="images/i_144.png" width="100%" alt="IN THE HIGHLANDS" /></a>
+<h3>MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p>He goes on board the <i>Iona</i>. The only drawback to his perfect enjoyment
+is the jealousy caused among all the gentlemen by the ladies clustering
+round him on all occasions.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_146.png">
+<img src="images/i_146.png" width="100%" alt="PREHISTORIC PEEPS" /></a>
+<h3>PREHISTORIC PEEPS</h3>
+<p>There were often unforeseen circumstances which gave to the Highland
+stalking of those days an added zest!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE PLEASURES OF TRAVEL</h2>
+
+<center><i>(By Ane that has kent them)</i></center>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 15%">
+<a href="images/i_147.png">
+<img src="images/i_147.png" width="100%" alt="cartoon" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem w30"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">'Tis a great thing, the Traivel;<br /> I'll thank ye tae find</p>
+<p class="i0">Its equal for openin' the poors o' the mind.</p>
+<p class="i0">It mak's a man polished, an' gies him, ye ken,</p>
+<p class="i0">Sic a graun' cosmypollitan knowledge o' men!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">I ne'er was a stay-at-hame callant ava,</p>
+<p class="i0">I aye must be rantin' an' roamin' awa',</p>
+<p class="i0">An' far hae I wandered, an' muckle hae seen</p>
+<p class="i0">O' the ways o' the warl' wi' ma vara ain een.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">I've been tae Kingskettle wi' Wullie an' Jeames,</p>
+<p class="i0">I've veesited Anster an' Elie an' Wemyss,</p>
+<p class="i0">I've walked tae Kirkca'dy an' Cupar an' Crail,</p>
+<p class="i0">An' I aince was awa' tae Dundee wi' the rail.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Losh me, sir! The wonnerfu' things that I saw!</p>
+<p class="i0">The kirks wi' their steeples, sae bonny an' braw</p>
+<p class="i0">An' publics whauriver ye turned wi' yer ee&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i0">'Tis jist a complete eddication, Dundee!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Theer's streets&mdash;be the hunner! An' shops be the score!</p>
+<p class="i0">Theer's bakers an' grocers an' fleshers galore!</p>
+<p class="i0">An' milliners' winders a' flauntin' awa'</p>
+<p class="i0">Wi' the last o' the fashions frae Lunnon an' a'.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">An' eh, sic a thrang, sir! I saw in a minnit</p>
+<p class="i0">Mair folk than the toun o' Kinghorn will hae in it.</p>
+<p class="i0">I wadna hae thocht that the hail o' creation</p>
+<p class="i0">Could boast at ae time sic a vast population!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Ma word, sir! It gars ye clap haun' tae yer broo</p>
+<p class="i0">An' wunner what's Providence after the noo</p>
+<p class="i0">That he lets sic a swarm o' they cratur's be born</p>
+<p class="i0">Wham naebody kens aboot here in Kinghorn.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">What?&mdash;Leeberal minded?&mdash;Ye canna but be</p>
+<p class="i0">When ye've had sic a graun' eddication as me.</p>
+<p class="i0">For oh, theer is naethin' like traivel, ye ken,</p>
+<p class="i0">For growin' acquent wi' the natur' o' men.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Falls of Foyers.</span>"&mdash;A correspondent writes:&mdash;"I have seen a good many
+letters in the <i>Times</i>, headed 'The Falls of the Foyers.' Here and
+abroad I have seen many Foyers, and only fell down once. This was at the
+Théâtre Francais, where the Foyer is kept highly polished, or used to be
+so. If the Foyers are carpeted or matted, there need be no 'Falls.'"</p>
+
+<p class="regards">Yours,</p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Common Sense.</span>"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_148.png">
+<img src="images/i_148.png" width="100%" alt="WINGED" /></a>
+<h3>"WINGED"</h3>
+<p><i>First Gael.</i> "What's the matter, Tonal?"</p>
+<p><i>Second ditto (who had been out with Old Briggs).</i> "Matter! Hur legs is
+full o' shoots".</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_150.png">
+<img src="images/i_150.png" width="100%" alt="THE HIGHLAND GAMES" /></a>
+<h3>MR. PUNCH AT THE HIGHLAND GAMES</h3>
+<center>Shows the natives how to "put the stone."</center>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70%">
+<a href="images/i_151.png">
+<img src="images/i_151.png" width="100%" alt="I&#39;ll paint that bedstead" /></a>
+<h3>AN ARTIST SCAMP IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p><i>Artist (entering).</i> "My good woman, if you'll allow me, I'll just paint
+that bedstead of yours."</p>
+<p><i>Cottager (with bob-curtsey).</i> "Thank ye, sir, I' sure it's very kind of
+ye&mdash;but dinna ye think that little one over yonder wants it more?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>EN ÉCOSSE</h2>
+
+<center><i>À Monsieur Punch</i></center>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mister</span>,&mdash;I come of to make a little voyage in Scotland. Ah, the
+beautiful country of Sir Scott, Sir Wallace, and Sir Burns! I am gone to
+render visit to one of my english friends, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> charming boy&mdash;<i>un charmant
+garçon</i>&mdash;and his wife, a lady very instructed and very spiritual, and
+their childs. I adore them, the dear little english childs, who have the
+cheeks like some roses, and the hairs like some flax, as one says in
+your country, all buckled&mdash;<i>bouclés</i>, how say you?</p>
+
+<p>I go by the train of night&mdash;in french one says "<i>le sleeping</i>"&mdash;to
+Edimbourg, and then to Calendar, where I attend to find a coach&mdash;in
+french one says "<i>un mail</i>" or "<i>un fourinhand</i>." <i>Nom d'une pipe</i>, it
+is one of those ridicule carriages, called in french "<i>un breack</i>" and
+in english a char-à-banc&mdash;that which the english pronounce
+"<i>tcherribaingue</i>"&mdash;which attends us at the going out of the station! Eh
+well, in voyage one must habituate himself to all! But a such carriage
+discovered&mdash;<i>découverte</i>&mdash;seems to me well unuseful in a country where
+he falls of rain without cease.</p>
+
+<p>Before to start I demand of all the world some <i>renseignements</i> on the
+scottish climate, and all the world responds me, "All-days of the rain."
+By consequence I procure myself some impermeable vestments, one
+mackintosch coat, one mackintosch cape of Inverness, one mackintosch
+covering of voyage, one south-western hat, some umbrellas, some gaiters,
+and many pairs of boots very thick&mdash;not boots of town, but veritable
+"shootings."</p>
+
+<p>I arrive at Edimbourg by a morning of the most sads; the sky grey, the
+earth wet, the air humid. Therefore I propose to myself to search at
+Calender a place at the interior, <i>et voilà</i>&mdash;and see there&mdash;the
+<i>breack</i> has no interior! There is but that which one calls a "boot",
+and me, Auguste, can I to lie myself there at the middle of the
+baggages? Ah no! Thus I am forced to endorse&mdash;<i>endosser</i>&mdash;my impermeable
+vestments and to protect myself the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> head by my south-western hat. Then,
+holding firmly the most strong of my umbrellas, I say to the coacher,
+"He goes to fall of the rain, is it not?" He makes a sign of head of not
+to comprehend. Ah, for sure, he is scottish! I indicate the sky and my
+umbrella, and I say "Rain?" and then he comprehends. "<i>Eh huile</i>", he
+responds to me, "<i>ah canna sé, mébi huile no hé meukl the dé</i>." I write
+this phonetically, for I comprehend not the scottish language. What
+droll of conversation! Him comprehends not the english; me I comprehend
+not the scottish.</p>
+
+<p>But I essay of new, "How many has he of it from here to the lake?"
+<i>C'est inutile</i>&mdash;it is unuseful. I say, "Distance?" He comprehends.
+"<i>Mébi oui taque toua hours</i>", says he; "<i>beutt yile no fache yoursel,
+its no sé lang that yile bi ouishinn yoursel aoua</i>." <i>Quelle
+langue</i>&mdash;what language, even to write phonetically! I comprehend one
+sole word, "hours." Some hours! <i>Sapristi!</i> I say, "Hours?" He says
+"<i>Toua</i>" all together, a monosyllable. <i>Sans aucune doute ça veut dire</i>
+"twelve"&mdash;<i>douze</i>. Twelve hours on a <i>breack</i> in a such climate! Ah, no!
+<i>C'est trop fort</i>&mdash;it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> too strong! "Hold", I cry myself, "attend, I
+descend, I go not!" It is true that I see not how I can to descend, for
+I am <i>entouré</i>&mdash;how say you? of voyagers. We are five on a bench, of the
+most narrows, and me I am at the middle. And the bench before us is also
+complete, and we touch him of the knees. And my neighbours carry on the
+knees all sorts of packets, umbrellas, canes, sacks of voyage, &amp;c. <i>Il
+n'y a pas moyen</i>&mdash;he has not there mean. And the coacher says me "<i>Na,
+na, monne, yile no ghitt doun, yile djest baïd ouar yer sittinn.</i>" Then
+he mounts to his place, and we part immediately. <i>Il va tomber de la
+pluie! Douze heures! Mon Dieu, quel voyage!</i></p>
+
+<p class="regards">Agree, &amp;c.,</p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Auguste.</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_152.png">
+<img src="images/i_152.png" width="100%" alt="ZEAL" /></a>
+<h3>ZEAL</h3>
+<p><i>Saxon Tourist.</i> "Been at the kirk?"</p>
+<p><i>Celt.</i> "Aye."</p>
+<p><i> Saxon T.</i> "How far is it?"</p>
+<p><i>Celt.</i> "Daur say it'll be fourteen mile."</p>
+<p><i>Saxon T.</i> "Fourteen miles!!"</p>
+<p><i>Celt.</i> "Aye, aw'm awfu' fond o' the preachin'"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_154.png">
+<img src="images/i_154.png" width="100%" alt="THRIFT" /></a>
+<h3>THRIFT</h3>
+<p><i>Peebles Body (to townsman who was supposed to be in London on a
+visit).</i> "E&mdash;eh Mac! ye're sune hame again!"</p>
+<p><i>Mac.</i> "E&mdash;eh, it's just a ruinous place, that! Mun, a had na' been
+the-erre abune twa hoours when&mdash;<i>bang</i>&mdash;went <i>saxpence</i>!!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_155.png">
+<img src="images/i_155.png" width="100%" alt="A SATISFACTORY SOLUTION" /></a>
+<h3>A SATISFACTORY SOLUTION</h3>
+<p>"I fear, Duncan, that friend of mine does not seem overly safe with his
+gun."</p>
+<p>"No, sir. But I'm thinkin' it'll be all right if you wass to go wan side
+o' him and Mr. John the ither. He canna shoot baith o' ye!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_156.png">
+<img src="images/i_156.png" width="100%" alt="VITA FUMUS" title="" /></a>
+<h3>"VITA FUMUS"</h3>
+<p><i>Tonal.</i> "Whar'll ye hae been till, Tugal?"</p>
+<p><i>Tugal.</i> "At ta McTavishes' funeral&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+<p><i>Tonal.</i> "An' is ta Tavish deed?"</p>
+<p><i>Tugal.</i> "Deed is he!!"</p>
+<p><i>Tonal.</i> "Losh, mon! Fowk are aye deein' noo that never used to dee
+afore!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_157.png">
+<img src="images/i_157.png" width="100%" alt="PRECAUTIONS" /></a>
+<h3>PRECAUTIONS</h3>
+<p><i>Saxon Angler (to his keeper).</i> "You seem in a great hurry with your
+clip! I haven't seen a sign of a fish yet&mdash;not a rise!"</p>
+<p><i>Duncan.</i> "'Deed, sir, I wisna a botherin' mysel' aboot the fush; but
+seein' you wis new to the business, I had a thocht it widna be lang
+afore you were needin' a left oot o' the watter yoursel'!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_158.png">
+<img src="images/i_158.png" width="100%" alt="HIS POUND OF FLESH" /></a>
+<h3>HIS POUND OF FLESH</h3>
+<p><i>Financier (tenant of our forest, after a week's unsuccessful
+stalking).</i> "Now, look here, my man. I bought and paid for ten stags. If
+the brutes can't be shot, you'll have to trap them! I've promised the
+venison, and I mean to have it!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_160.png">
+<img src="images/i_160.png" width="100%" alt="SCRUPULOUS" /></a>
+<h3>SCRUPULOUS</h3>
+<p><i>Shepherd.</i> "O, Jims, mun! Can ye no gie a whustle on tha ram'lin' brute
+o' mine? I daurna mysel'; it's just fast-day in oor parish!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_162.png">
+<img src="images/i_162.png" width="100%" alt="THE LAND OF LORN" /></a>
+<h3>"THE LAND OF LORN"</h3>
+<p><i>It has drizzled incessantly, for a fortnight, since the Smiths came
+down to their charming villa at Braebogie, in Argyleshire.</i></p>
+<p><i>Keeper (who has come up to say the boat is ready on the loch, if
+"they're for fushin' the day").</i> "Eh! I should na wonder if this weather
+tur-rns ta rain!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_163.png">
+<img src="images/i_163.png" width="100%" alt="LOCAL" /></a>
+<h3>LOCAL</h3>
+<center><span class="smcap">Sunday Morning</span></center><br />
+<p><i>Tourist (staying at the Glenmulctem Hotel&mdash;dubiously).</i> "Can
+I&mdash;ah&mdash;have a boat?"</p>
+<p><i>Boatman.</i> "Oo&mdash;aye!"</p>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "But I thought you&mdash;ah&mdash;never broke the&mdash;aw&mdash;Sabbath in
+Scotland?"</p>
+<p><i>Boatman.</i> "Aweel, ye ken the Sawbath disna' come doon to the loch&mdash;it
+just staps at the hottle!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>EN ÉCOSSE (ENCORE)</h2>
+
+<center><i>À Monsieur Punch</i></center>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mister</span>,&mdash;I have spoken you of my departure from Calendar on the
+<i>breack</i>. Eh, well, he rained not of the whole of the whole&mdash;<i>du tout<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+du tout! Il faisait un temps superbe</i>&mdash;he was making a superb time, the
+route was well agreeable, and the voyage lasted but two hours, and not
+twelve. What droll of idea! In Scottish <i>twa</i> is two, not twelve. I was
+so content to arrive so quick, and without to be wetted that I gave the
+coacher a good to-drink&mdash;<i>un bon pourboire</i>&mdash;though before to start all
+the voyagers had paid him a "tipp", that which he called a "driver's
+fee." Again what droll of idea! To give the to-drink before to start,
+and each one the same&mdash;six pennys.</p>
+
+<p>My friend encountered me and conducted me to his house, where I have
+passed fifteen days, a sojourn of the most agreeables. And all the time
+almost not one sole drop of rain! <i>J'avais beau</i>&mdash;I had fine&mdash;to buy all
+my impermeable vestments, I carry them never. One sole umbrella suffices
+me, and I open him but two times. And yet one says that the Scotland is
+a rainy country. It is perhaps a season <i>tout à fait</i>&mdash;all to
+fact&mdash;exceptional. But fifteen days almost without rain! One would
+believe himself at the border of the Mediterranean, absolutely at the
+South. And I have eaten of the "porridg", me Auguste! <i>Partout</i> I essay
+the dish of the country. I take at first a spoonful pure and simple. <i>Oh
+la, la!</i> My friend offers me of the cream. It is well. Also of the salt.
+<i>Quelle idée!</i> But no, before me I perceive a dish of <i>confiture</i>, that
+which the Scottish call "marmaladde." <i>A la bonne heure!</i> With some
+marmaladde, some cream, and much of sugar, I find that the "porridg" is
+enough well, for I taste him no more.</p>
+
+<p>One day we make an ascension, and we see many grouses. Only we can not
+to shoot, for it is not yet the season of the huntings. It is but a hill
+that we mount. The name appears me to be french, but bad written. "Ben
+Venue", that is to say, "<i>Bienvenu</i>"&mdash;<i>soyez le bienvenu</i>. She is one of
+the first of the Scottish hills, and she says "welcome" in french. It is
+a pretty idea, and a politeness very amiable towards my country. I
+salute the hospitable Scotland and I thank her. It is a great country,
+of brave men, of charming women&mdash;ah, I recall to myself some eyes so
+beautiful, some forms so attracting!&mdash;of ravishing landscapes, and, at
+that epoch there, of a climate so delicious. She has one sole and one
+great defect. The best Scottish hotels cost very dear, and, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> faith,
+the two or three that I visited are not great thing like
+comfortable&mdash;<i>ne sont pas grand'chose comme comfortable</i>!</p>
+
+<p>One day we make a little excursion on the Lake of Lomond. The lake is
+well beautiful, and the steamboat is excellent. But in one certain
+hotel, in descending from a <i>breack</i>, and before to embark, we take the
+"lunch." We bargain not, we ask not even the price, we eat at the <i>table
+d'hôte</i> like all the world in Swiss, in France, even in Germany, when
+there is but one half hour before the departure of the train or of the
+boat. <i>Oh la, la!</i> I have eaten in the spanish hotels, on the steamboats
+of the italian lakes, even in the <i>restaurants&mdash;mon Dieu!</i>&mdash;of the
+english railways, but never, never&mdash;<i>au grand jamais</i>&mdash;have I eaten a
+<i>déjeuner</i> like that! One dish I shall forget never; some exterior green
+leaves of lettuce, without oil or vinegar, which they called a "salad."
+<i>Parbleu</i>&mdash;by blue! In all the history of the world there has been but
+one man who would have could to eat her with pleasure&mdash;Nabuchodonosor!</p>
+
+<p class="regards">Agree, &amp;c.,</p>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Auguste.</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_164.png">
+<img src="images/i_164.png" width="100%" alt="CANNY" /></a>
+<h3>"CANNY"</h3>
+<p><i>Sister.</i> "Why, Charles, you've got raw whiskey here!"</p>
+<p><i>Charles.</i> "Well, it's hardly worth while to bring water. We can always
+find that as we go along&mdash;when we want it."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_166.png">
+<img src="images/i_166.png" width="100%" alt="CAUTIOUS" /></a>
+<h3>CAUTIOUS</h3>
+<p><i>Visitor (at out-of-the-way inn in the North).</i> "Do you know anything
+about salmon-poaching in this neighbourhood?"</p>
+<p><i>Landlady (whose son is not above suspicion).</i>&mdash;"Eh&mdash;no, sir. Maybe it's
+a new style of cooking as we haven't heard of in these parts, as you
+see, sir, we only do our eggs that way; and"&mdash;<i>(brightening up)</i>&mdash;"if
+you like 'em, I can get you a dish at once!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_167.png">
+<img src="images/i_167.png" width="100%" alt="A DECIDED OPINION" /></a>
+<h3>A DECIDED OPINION</h3>
+<p><i>Proprietor of shootings ("in the course of conversation").</i> "Yes, but
+you know, Sandy, it's difficult to choose between the Scylla of a shy
+tenant, and the Charybdis of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+<p><i>Sandy (promptly).</i> "Aweel! Gie me the siller, an' anybuddy that likes
+may hae the tither!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_168.png">
+<img src="images/i_168.png" width="100%" alt="missing his fourth stag" /></a>
+<p><i>Chappie (after missing his fourth stag, explains).</i>
+"Aw&mdash;fact is, the&mdash;aw&mdash;waving grass was in my way."</p>
+<p><i>Old Stalker.</i> "Hoot, mon, wad he hae me bring out a scythe?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_169.png">
+<img src="images/i_169.png" width="100%" alt="Cartoon" /></a>
+<p>Our artist catches it again this winter in the Highlands.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_170.png">
+<img src="images/i_170.png" width="80%" alt="A FINE HEAD" /></a>
+<h3>A FINE HEAD (BUT NOT OF THE RIGHT SORT OF CATTLE)</h3>
+<p>Perkins has paid a mint of money for his shooting, and has had bad luck all the
+season. To-day, however, he gets a shot, only&mdash;it turns out to be at a cow!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_171.png">
+<img src="images/i_171.png" width="100%" alt="A &quot;SCENE&quot; IN THE HIGHLANDS" /></a>
+<h3>A "SCENE" IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p><i>Ill-used husband</i> <i>(under the bed)</i>. "Aye! Ye may crack me, and ye may
+thrash me, but ye canna break my manly sperrit. I'll na come oot!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_172.png">
+<img src="images/i_172.png" width="100%" alt="IN THE HIGHLANDS" /></a>
+<h3>MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p>He is at present on a boating excursion, and describes the motion as
+extremely pleasant, and has no dread of sea-sickness.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_174.png">
+<img src="images/i_174.png" width="100%" alt="&quot;GAME&quot; IN THE HIGHLANDS" /></a>
+<h3>"GAME" IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p><i>Captain Jinks.</i> "Birds plentiful, I hope, Donald?"</p>
+<p><i>Donald.</i> "Tousans, sir&mdash;in tousans."</p>
+<p><i>Captain J.</i> "Any zebras?"</p>
+<p><i>Donald</i> <i>(anxious to please)</i>. "Is't zebras? They're in tousans, too."</p>
+<p><i>Captain J.</i> "And gorillas, no doubt?"</p>
+<p><i>Donald.</i> "Well, noo an' then we see ane or twa&mdash;just like yerself."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES'S ADVENTURES IN THE HIGHLANDS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_175a.png">
+<img src="images/i_175a.png" width="100%" alt="takes a siesta" /></a>
+<center>Lavinia takes a siesta,</center>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_175b.png">
+<img src="images/i_175b.png" width="100%" alt="the frightful situation" /></a>
+<p>And the frightful situation she finds herself in at the
+end of it.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_176a.png">
+<img src="images/i_176a.png" width="100%" alt="arrives at a waterfall" /></a>
+<p>Lavinia arrives at a waterfall, and asks its name. The
+shepherd (not understanding English) informs her in Gaelic that it is
+called (as Lavinia supposes) "Vicharoobashallochoggilnabo." Lavinia
+thinks it a very pretty name.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<img src="images/i_176b.png" width="100%" alt="A bright idea" />
+<p>A bright idea strikes the shepherd, and before Lavinia
+can remonstrate, he transports her, in the usual manner, to the other
+side.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_177.png">
+<img src="images/i_177.png" width="100%" alt="MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES" /></a>
+<h3>MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES</h3>
+<p>She comes suddenly on a strange structure&mdash;apparently a native fort, and
+is just going to sketch it, when a savage of gigantic stature, and armed
+to the teeth, starts from an ambush, and menaces her in Gaelic!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>TWENTY HOURS AFTER</h2>
+
+<center><span class="smcap">Euston, 8 P.M.</span></center>
+
+<div class="poem w26"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">I'm sick of this sweltering weather.</p>
+<p class="i2">Phew! ninety degrees in the shade!</p>
+<p class="i0">I long for the hills and the heather,</p>
+<p class="i2">I long for the kilt and the plaid;</p>
+<p class="i0">I long to escape from this hot land</p>
+<p class="i2">Where there isn't a mouthful of air,</p>
+<p class="i0">And fly to the breezes of Scotland&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">It's never too stuffy up there.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">For weeks I have sat in pyjamas,</p>
+<p class="i2">And found even these were <i>de trop</i>,</p>
+<p class="i0">And envied the folk of Bahamas</p>
+<p class="i2">Who dress in a feather or so;</p>
+<p class="i0">But now there's an end to my grilling,</p>
+<p class="i2">My Inferno's a thing of the past;</p>
+<p class="i0">Hurrah! there's the whistle a-shrilling&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">We are off to the Highlands at last!</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p>
+
+<center><span class="smcap">Callander, 4 p.m.</span></center>
+
+<div class="poem w26"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">The dull leaden skies are all clouded</p>
+<p class="i2">In the gloom of a sad weeping day,</p>
+<p class="i0">The desolate mountains are shrouded</p>
+<p class="i2">In palls of funereal grey;</p>
+<p class="i0">'Mid the skirl of the wild wintry weather</p>
+<p class="i2">The torrents descend in a sheet</p>
+<p class="i0">As we shiver all huddled together</p>
+<p class="i2">In the reek of the smouldering peat.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">A plague on the Highlands! to think of</p>
+<p class="i2">The heat that but lately we banned;</p>
+<p class="i0">Oh! what would we give for a blink of</p>
+<p class="i2">The bright sunny side of the Strand!</p>
+<p class="i0">To think there are folk that still revel</p>
+<p class="i2">In Summer, and fling themselves down,</p>
+<p class="i0">In the Park, or St. James? What the d&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">Possessed us to hurry from town?</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Out of Tune and Harsh.</span>"&mdash;<i>First Elder</i> <i>(at the Kirk "Skellin'")</i>. "Did
+ye hear Dougal? More snorin' in the sermon?"</p>
+
+<p><i>Second Elder</i>, "Parefec'ly disgracefu'! He's waukened 's a'!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_178.png">
+<img src="images/i_178.png" width="100%" alt="OVERHEARD IN THE HIGHLANDS" /></a>
+<h3>OVERHEARD IN THE HIGHLANDS</h3>
+<p><i>First Chieftain.</i> "I say, old chap, what a doose of a bore these games
+are!"</p>
+<p><i>Second Chieftain.</i> "Ah, but, my dear boy, it is this sort of thing that
+has made us Scotchmen <i>what we are</i>!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_179.png">
+<img src="images/i_179.png" width="100%" alt="SERMONS IN STONES" /></a>
+<h3>"SERMONS IN STONES"</h3>
+<p><i>Tourist</i> <i>(of an inquiring and antiquarian turn)</i>. "Now I suppose,
+farmer, that large cairn of stones has some history?"</p>
+<p><i>Highland Farmer.</i> "Ooh, aye, that buig o' stanes has a gran' history
+whatever!"</p>
+<p><i>Tourist</i> <i>(eagerly)</i>. "Indeed! I should like to&mdash;&mdash; What is the
+legend&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>
+<p><i>Farmer.</i> "Just a gran' history!" <i>(Solemnly.)</i> "It took a' ma cairts
+full and horses sax months to gather them aff he land and pit them
+ther-r-re!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_180.png">
+<img src="images/i_180.png" width="100%" alt="JETSAM AND FLOTSAM" /></a>
+<h3>JETSAM AND FLOTSAM</h3>
+<p>Smith being shut out from the Continent this year, takes a cottage ornée
+on Dee-Side. Scotland. The children are sent up first. The house is
+described as "conveniently furnished"&mdash;they find it so!</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_182.png">
+<img src="images/i_182.png" width="100%" alt="WILDS OF THE NORTH" /></a>
+<h3>IN THE WILDS OF THE NORTH.</h3>
+<p><i>Hungry Saxon</i> <i>(just arrived, with equally hungry family)</i>. "Well,
+now&mdash;er&mdash;what can you give us for dinner, as soon as we've had a wash?"</p>
+<p><i>Scotch Lassie.</i> "Oh, jist onything!"</p>
+<p><i>H. S.</i> <i>(rubbing his hands in anticipation)</i>. "Ah! Now we'll have a
+nice juicy steak."</p>
+<p><i>Lassie.</i> "A&mdash;weel. We'll be haein' some steak here maybe by the boat i'
+the morn's morn!"</p>
+<p><i>H. S.</i> <i>(a little crestfallen)</i>. "Oh&mdash;well&mdash;chops then. We'll say
+mutton chops."</p>
+<p><i>Lassie.</i> "Oh, ay, but we've no been killin' a sheep the day!"</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[<i>Ends up with boiled eggs, and vows to remain at home for the future.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE DUKE OF ATHOLL'S SHILLING (1851)</h2>
+
+<p>The <i>North British Mail</i> assures us that the Duke of Atholl exacts one
+shilling a head from every person taking a walk in his ground at
+Dunkeld. This is rather dear; but the impost would be insupportable if
+his Grace insisted upon also showing himself for the money.</p>
+
+<h3>A HIGHLAND CORONACH</h3>
+
+<center><i>Or Lament over the Acts and State of the Duke of Atholl.</i><br /><br />
+
+After Scott.</center>
+
+<div class="poem w26"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">He has shut up the mountain,</p>
+<p class="i0">He has locked up the forest,</p>
+<p class="i0">He has bunged up the fountain,</p>
+<p class="i0">When our need was the sorest;</p>
+<p class="i0">The traveller stirring</p>
+<p class="i0">To the North, may dogs borrow;</p>
+<p class="i0">But the Duke gives no hearing,</p>
+<p class="i0">No pass&mdash;but to sorrow.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">The hand of the tourist</p>
+<p class="i0">Grasps the carpet-bag grimly,</p>
+<p class="i0">But a face of the dourest</p>
+<p class="i0">Frowns through the Glen dimly.</p>
+<p class="i0">The autumn winds, rushing,</p>
+<p class="i0">Stir a kilt of the queerest,</p>
+<p class="i0">Duke and gillies come crushing</p>
+<p class="i0">Where pleasure is nearest!</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Queer foot on the corrie,</p>
+<p class="i0">Oddly loving to cumber&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i0">Give up this odd foray,</p>
+<p class="i0">Awake from your slumber!</p>
+<p class="i0">Take your ban from the mountain,</p>
+<p class="i0">Take your lock from the river,</p>
+<p class="i0">Take your bolt from the fountain,</p>
+<p class="i0">Now at once, and for ever!</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_184.png">
+<img src="images/i_184.png" width="100%" alt="The pursuit" title="" /></a>
+<center>The sad fate of our only ham.&mdash;The pursuit.</center>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_185.png">
+<img src="images/i_185.png" width="100%" alt="A RARA MONGRELLIS" /></a>
+<h3>A RARA MONGRELLIS</h3>
+<p><i>Tourist.</i> "Your dog appears to be deaf, as he pays no attention to me."</p>
+<p><i>Shepherd.</i> "Na, na, sir. She's a varra wise dog, for all tat. But she
+only speaks Gaelic."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 50%">
+<a href="images/i_186.png">
+<img src="images/i_186.png" width="100%" alt="IN FOR IT" /></a>
+<h3>"IN FOR IT"</h3>
+<p><i>Innocent Tourist.</i> "No fish to be caught in Loch Fine now? And how do
+you support yourself?"</p>
+<p><i>Native.</i> "Whiles she carries parcels, and whiles she raws people in ta
+poat, and whiles a shentleman 'ull give her a saxpence or a shillin'!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_187.png">
+<img src="images/i_187.png" width="100%" alt="A BLANK DAY" /></a>
+<h3>A BLANK DAY</h3>
+<p><i>The Keeper</i> <i>(to Brown, who rents the forest)</i>. "Doon wi' ye! Doon wi'
+ye! Get ahint a stang!"</p>
+<p><i>Brown</i> <i>(out of temper&mdash;he had been "stalking" about all the morning,
+and missed several times)</i>. "Yes, it's all very well to say 'Get behind
+a stone.' But show me one!&mdash;show me one!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p>
+
+<table summary="cartoons">
+<tr>
+<td>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 85%">
+<a href="images/i_188a.png">
+<img src="images/i_188a.png" width="100%" alt="Mr. Punch passes a night" /></a>
+</div>
+</td>
+<td>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70%">
+<a href="images/i_188b.png">
+<img src="images/i_188b.png" width="100%" alt="The Laird serenades him" /></a>
+</div>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>
+<p>Mr. Punch passes a night at<br /> McGillie Cullum Castle.</p>
+</td>
+<td>
+<p>The Laird, as a delicate compliment, serenades him.</p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_189.png">
+<img src="images/i_189.png" width="100%" alt="A BAD SEASON" /></a>
+<h3>A BAD SEASON</h3>
+<p><i>Sportsman.</i> "I can assure you, what with the rent of the moor, and my
+expenses, and 'what not,' the birds have cost me&mdash;ah&mdash;a sovereign
+apiece!!"</p>
+<p><i>Keeper.</i> "A' weel, sir! 'Deed it's a maircy ye didna kill na mair o'
+'em!!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_190.png">
+<img src="images/i_190.png" width="100%" alt="CANDID" /></a>
+<h3>CANDID</h3>
+<p><i>Sportsman.</i> "Boy, you've been at this whiskey!"</p>
+<p><i>Boy</i> <i>(who has brought the luncheon-basket)</i>. "Na! The cooark wadna
+come oot!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_191.png">
+<img src="images/i_191.png" width="100%" alt="UNCO CANNY" /></a>
+<h3>"UNCO CANNY"</h3>
+<p><i>Noble Sportsman.</i> "Missed, eh?"</p>
+<p><i>Cautious Keeper.</i> "Weel, a' wadna gang quite sae faur as to say that;
+but a' doot ye hay'na <i>exactly</i> hit."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>THE SONG OF THE SCOTCH TOURIST</h2>
+
+<div class="poem w26"><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Those Scotch hotels! Those Scotch hotels</p>
+<p class="i0">Are fit for princes and for swells;</p>
+<p class="i0">But their high charges don't agree</p>
+<p class="i0">With humbler travellers like me.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Twelve shillings daily for my board</p>
+<p class="i0">Is more than I can well afford,</p>
+<p class="i0">For this includes nor ale nor wine,</p>
+<p class="i0">Whereof I drink some when I dine.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">Bad sherry's charged at eight-and-six,</p>
+<p class="i0">A price that in my gizzard sticks:</p>
+<p class="i0">And if I want a pint of port,</p>
+<p class="i0">A crown is what I'm pilfer'd for 't.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">For service, too, I have to pay,</p>
+<p class="i0">Two shillings, as a rule, per day:</p>
+<p class="i0">Yet always, when I leave the door,</p>
+<p class="i0">The boots and waiter beg for more.</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<p class="i0">So, till a fortune I can spend,</p>
+<p class="i0">Abroad my autumn steps I'll bend;</p>
+<p class="i0">Far cheaper there, experience tells,</p>
+<p class="i0">Is living than at Scotch hotels!</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%">
+<a href="images/i_192.png">
+<img src="images/i_192.png" width="80%" alt="DIFFERENT MATTER" /></a>
+<h3>A VERY DIFFERENT MATTER</h3>
+<p><i>Southern Lord</i> <i>(staying at Highland castle)</i>. "Thank you so much.
+I&mdash;ah&mdash;weally enjoy your music. I think of having a piper at my own
+place."</p>
+<p><i>Sandy the piper.</i> "An' fat kin' o' a piper would your lordship be
+needin'?"</p>
+<p><i>Southern Lord.</i> "Oh, certainly a good piper like yourself, Sandy."</p>
+<p><i>Sandy</i> <i>(sniffing)</i>. "Och! Inteet!&mdash;Ye might easily fin' a lord like
+your lordship, but it's nae sae easy to fin' a piper like me whatever!"</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%">
+<a href="images/i_193.png">
+<img src="images/i_193.png" width="100%" alt="Mr P in Highland Dress" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE END</h3>
+
+<center>BRADBURY, AGNEW, &amp; CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.</center>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Punch in the Highlands, by Various
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@@ -0,0 +1,3386 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Punch in the Highlands, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Mr. Punch in the Highlands
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: J. A. Hammerton
+
+Illustrator: Charles Keene
+             and others
+
+Release Date: October 30, 2011 [EBook #37882]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Neville Allen, Chris Curnow and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+    PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR
+
+    Edited by J. A. Hammerton
+
+Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the
+cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic
+draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch", from its
+beginning in 1841 to the present day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: THRIFT
+
+_Highlander (he had struck his foot against a "stane")._ "Phew-ts!--e-eh
+what a ding ma puir buit wad a gotten if a'd had it on!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+AS PICTURED BY
+
+CHARLES KEENE, JOHN LEECH, GEORGE DU MAURIER, W. RALSTON, L. RAVEN-HILL,
+J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE, E. T. REED, G. D. ARMOUR, CECIL ALDIN, A. S. BOYD,
+ETC.
+
+_WITH 140 ILLUSTRATIONS_
+
+PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"
+
+THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Punch Library of Humour
+
+_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages
+fully illustrated_
+
+    LIFE IN LONDON
+    COUNTRY LIFE
+    IN THE HIGHLANDS
+    SCOTTISH HUMOUR
+    IRISH HUMOUR
+    COCKNEY HUMOUR
+    IN SOCIETY
+    AFTER DINNER STORIES
+    IN BOHEMIA
+    AT THE PLAY
+    MR. PUNCH AT HOME
+    ON THE CONTINONG
+    RAILWAY BOOK
+    AT THE SEASIDE
+    MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
+    IN THE HUNTING FIELD
+    MR. PUNCH ON TOUR
+    WITH ROD AND GUN
+    MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
+    BOOK OF SPORTS
+    GOLF STORIES
+    IN WIG AND GOWN
+    ON THE WARPATH
+    BOOK OF LOVE
+    WITH THE CHILDREN
+
+[Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NORTHWARD HO!
+
+SCOTSMEN--Highlanders and Lowlanders--have furnished Mr. Punch with many
+of his happiest jokes. Despite the curious tradition which the Cockney
+imbibes with his mother's milk as to the sterility of Scotland in
+humour, the Scots are not only the cause of humour in others but there
+are occasions when they prove themselves not entirely bereft of the
+faculty which, with his charming egoism, the Cockney supposes to be his
+own exclusive birthright. Indeed, we have it on the authority of Mr.
+Spielmann, the author of "The History of _Punch_", that "of the accepted
+jokes from unattached contributors (to Punch), it is a notable fact that
+at least 75 per cent. comes from north of the Tweed." As a very
+considerable proportion of these Scottish jokes make fun of the national
+characteristics of the Scot, it is clear that Donald has the supreme
+gift of being able to laugh at himself. It should be noted, however,
+that Mr. Punch's most celebrated Scottish joke ("Bang went saxpence"),
+which we give on page 153, was no invention, but merely the record of an
+actual conversation overheard by an Englishman!
+
+In the present volume the purpose has been not so much to bring together
+a representative collection of the Scottish humour that has appeared in
+_Punch_, but to illustrate the intercourse of the "Sassenach" with the
+Highlander, chiefly as a visitor bent on sport, and incidentally to
+illustrate some of the humours of Highland life. Perhaps the distinction
+between Highlander and Lowlander has not been very rigidly kept, but
+that need trouble none but the pedants, who are notoriously lacking in
+the sense of humour, and by that token ought not to be peeping into
+these pages.
+
+Of all Mr. Punch's contributors, we may say, without risk of being
+invidious, that Charles Keene was by far the happiest in the portrayal
+of Scottish character. His Highland types are perhaps somewhat closer to
+the life than his Lowlanders, but all are invariably touched off with
+the kindliest humour, and never in any way burlesqued. If his work
+overshadows that of the other humorous artists past and present
+represented in this volume, it is for the reason stated; yet it will be
+found that from the days of John Leech to those of Mr. Raven-Hill. MR.
+PUNCH'S artists have seldom been more happily inspired than when they
+have sought to depict Highland life and the lighter side of sport and
+travel north of the Tweed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+SPORTING NOTES
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The following are the notes we have received from our Sporting
+Contributor. I wish we could say they were a fair equivalent for the
+notes he has received from _us_, to say nothing of that new Henry's
+patent double central-fire breech-loader, with all the latest
+improvements, and one of Mr. Benjamin's heather-mixture suits. Such as
+they are we print them, with the unsatisfactory consolation that if the
+notes are bad they are like the sport and the birds. Of all these it may
+be said that "bad is the best."
+
+_North and South Uist._--The awfully hard weather--the natives call it
+"soft" here--having rendered the chances of winged game out of the
+question, the sportsmen who have rented the shootings are glad to try
+the chances of the game, sitting, and have confined themselves to the
+whist from which the islands take their name. Being only two, they are
+reduced to double dummy. As the rental of the Uist Moors is L400, they
+find the points come rather high--so far.
+
+_Harris._--In spite of repeated inquiries, the proprietress of the
+island was not visible. Her friend, Mrs. Gamp, now here on a visit,
+declares she saw Mrs. H. very recently, but was quite unable to give me
+any information as to shootings, except the shootings of her own corns.
+
+_Fifeshire._--The renters of the Fife shootings generally have been
+seriously considering the feasibility of combining with those of the
+once well-stocked Drum Moor in Aberdeenshire, to get up something like
+a band--of hope, that a bag may be made some day. Thus far, the only
+bags made have been those of the proprietors of the shootings, who have
+bagged heavy rentals.
+
+_Rum._--I call the island a gross-misnomer, as there is nothing to drink
+in it but whiskey, which, with the adjacent "Egg", may be supposed to
+have given rise to the neighbouring "Mull"--hot drinks being the natural
+resource of both natives and visitors in such weather as we've had ever
+since I crossed the Tweed. I have seen one bird--at least so the gilly
+says--after six tumblers, but to me it had all the appearance of a
+brace.
+
+_Skye._--Birds wild. Sportsmen, ditto. Sky a gloomy grey--your
+correspondent and the milk at the hotel at Corrieverrieslushin alike
+sky-blue.
+
+_Cantire._--Can't you? Try tramping the moors for eight hours after a
+pack of preternaturally old birds that know better than let you get
+within half a mile of their tails. Then see if you can't tire. I beg
+your pardon, but if you knew what it was to make jokes under my present
+circumstances, you'd give it up, or do worse. If I should not turn up
+shortly, and you hear of an inquest on a young man, in one of
+Benjamin's heather-mixture suits, with a Henry's central-fire
+breech-loader, and a roll of new notes in his possession, found hanging
+wet through, in his braces in some remote Highland shieling--break it
+gently to the family of
+
+    Your Sporting Contributor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A PIBROCH FOR BREAKFAST.
+
+  Hech, ho, the Highland laddie!
+  Hech, ho, the Finnon haddie!
+        Breeks awa',
+        Heck, the braw,
+  Ho, the bonnie tartan plaidie!
+        Hech, the laddie,
+        Ho, the haddie,
+  Hech, ho, the cummer's caddie,
+        Dinna forget
+        The bannocks het,
+  Gin ye luve your Highland laddie.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Member for Sark writes from the remote Highlands of Scotland, where
+he has been driving past an interminable series of lochs, to inquire
+where the keys are kept? He had better apply to the local authorities in
+the Isle of Man. They have a whole House of Keys. Possibly those the
+hon. Member is concerned about may be found among them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ON THE HILLS
+
+_Deer Stalker (old hand, and fond of it)._ "Isn't it exciting? Keep
+cool!"
+
+  [_Jones isn't used to it, and, not having moved for the last half-hour,
+  his excitement has worn off. He's wet through, and sinking fast in the
+  boggy ground, and speechless with cold. So he doesn't answer._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: 1) MR. BUGGLE'S FIRST STAG.
+
+AT THE FIRST SHOT MR BUGGLE'S FIRST STAG LAY PRONE.]
+
+[Illustration: 2) ELATED WITH SUCCESS MR B. RUSHED UP AND SEATED HIMSELF
+ASTRIDE HIS VICTIM]
+
+[Illustration: 3) BUT ALAS IT WAS ONLY SLIGHTLY STUNNED, AND PROMPTLY
+ROSE TO THE OCCASION.]
+
+[Illustration: 4) SO DID MR B.]
+
+[Illustration: 5) THE LAW OF GRAVITY PROVED TOO STRONG WHEN A LUCKY SHOT
+FROM THE KEEPER]
+
+[Illustration: 6) PLACED MATTERS UPON A SATISFACTORY FOOTING ONCE MORE.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MY ONLY SHOT AT A CORMORANT.
+
+Here she comes!]
+
+[Illustration: There she goes!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FULL STOP IN THE DAWDLE FROM THE NORTH.
+
+(_Leaves from the Highland Journal of Toby, M.P._)
+
+"Here's a go", I said, turning to Sark, after carefully looking round
+the station to see if we really were back at Oban, having a quarter of
+an hour ago started (as we supposed) on our journey, already fifteen
+minutes late.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Well, if you put it in that way", he said, "I should call it an entire
+absence of go. I thought it was a peculiarly jolting train. Never passed
+over so many points in the same time in my life."
+
+"Looks as if we should miss train at Stirling", I remark, anxiously. "If
+so, we can't get on from Carlisle to Woodside to-night."
+
+"Oh, that'll be all right", said Sark, airy to the last; "we'll make it
+up as we go along."
+
+Again sort of faint bluish light, which I had come to recognise as a
+smile, feebly flashed over cadaverous countenance of the stranger in
+corner seat.
+
+Certainly no hurry in getting off. More whistling, more waving of green
+flag. Observed that natives who had come to see friends off had quietly
+waited on platform. Train evidently expected back. Now it had returned
+they said good-bye over again to friends. Train deliberately steams out
+of station thirty-five minutes late. Every eight or ten miles stopped at
+roadside station. No one got in or got out. After waiting five or six
+minutes, to see if any one would change his mind, train crawled out
+again. Performance repeated few miles further on with same result.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Don't put your head out of the window and ask questions", Sark
+remonstrated, as I banged down the window. "I never did it since I heard
+a story against himself John Bright used to tell with great glee.
+Travelling homeward one day in a particularly slow train, it stopped an
+unconscionably long time at Oldham. Finally, losing all patience, he
+leaned out of the window, and in his most magisterial manner said, 'Is
+it intended that this train shall move on to-night?' The porter
+addressed, not knowing the great man, tartly replied, 'Put in thy big
+white yedd, and mebbe the train'll start.'"
+
+Due at Loch Awe 1.32; half-past one when we strolled into Connel Ferry
+station, sixteen miles short of that point. Two more stations before we
+reach Loch Awe.
+
+"Always heard it was a far cry to Loch Awe", said Sark, undauntedly
+determined to regard matters cheerfully.
+
+"You haven't come to the hill yet", said a sepulchral voice in the
+corner.
+
+"What hill?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, you'll see soon enough. It's where we usually get out and walk. If
+there are on board the train any chums of the guard or driver, they are
+expected to lend a shoulder to help the train up."
+
+Ice once broken, stranger became communicative. Told us his melancholy
+story. Had been a W.S. in Edinburgh. Five years ago, still in prime of
+life, bought a house at Oban; obliged to go to Edinburgh once, sometimes
+twice, a week. Only thrice in all that time had train made junction
+with Edinburgh train at Stirling. Appetite failed; flesh fell away;
+spirits went down to water level. Through looking out of window on
+approaching Stirling, in hope of seeing South train waiting, eyes put on
+that gaze of strained anxiety that had puzzled me. Similarly habit
+contracted of involuntarily jerking up right hand with gesture designed
+to arrest departing train.
+
+"Last week, coming north from Edinburgh", said the hapless passenger,
+"we were two hours late at Loch Awe. 'A little late to-day, aren't we?'
+I timidly observed to the guard. 'Ou aye! we're a bit late,' he said.
+'Ye see, we had a lot of rams, and we couldna' get baith them and you up
+the hill; so we left ye at Tyndrum, and ran the rams through first, and
+then came back for ye.'"
+
+Fifty minutes late at Killin Junction. So far from making up time lost
+at Oban, more lost at every wayside station.
+
+"I hope we shan't miss the train at Stirling?" I anxiously inquired of
+guard.
+
+"Weel, no", said he, looking at his watch. "I dinna think ye'll hae
+managed that yet."
+
+This spoken in soothing tones, warm from the kindly Scottish heart.
+Hadn't yet finally lost chance of missing train at Stirling that should
+enable us to keep our tryst at Woodside. But no need for despair. A
+little more dawdling and it would be done.
+
+Done it was. When we reached Stirling, porters complacently announced
+English mail had left quarter of an hour ago. As for stationmaster, he
+was righteously indignant with inconsiderate travellers who showed
+disposition to lament their loss.
+
+"Good night", said cadaverous fellow-passenger, feebly walking out of
+darkling station. "Hope you'll get a bed somewhere. Having been going up
+and down line for five years, I keep a bedroom close by. Cheaper in the
+end. I shall get on in the morning."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MERE INVENTION.--Up the Highlands way there is, in wet weather, a
+handsome cataract, the name whereof is spelt anyhow you like, but is
+pronounced "Fyres." There is not much water in hot weather, and then art
+assists nature, and a bucket or so of the fluid is thrown over for the
+delectation of tourists. One of them, observing this arrangement, said
+that the proprietor
+
+     "Began to pail his ineffectual Fyres."
+
+[This story is quite false, which would be of no consequence, but that
+every Scottish tourist knows it to be false. Our contributor should
+really be more careful.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "Where can that confounded fellow have got to with the
+lunch-basket?"]
+
+[Illustration: Here he is, remarking, confidentially, that "that
+ginger-peer is apout the pest he ever tasted."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _Cockney Sportsman._ "Haw--young woman, whose whiskies do
+you keep here?"
+
+_Highland Lassie._ "We only keep McPherson's, sir."
+
+_C. S._ "McPherson? Haw--who the deuce is McPherson?"
+
+_H. L._ "My brother, sir."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: During Mr. Spoffin's visit to the Highlands, he found a
+difficulty in approaching his game--so invented a method of simplifying
+matters. His "make-up", however, was so realistic, that the jealous old
+stag nearly finished him!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: HIS IDEA OF IT
+
+_Native._ "Is 't no a daft-like place this tae be takin' a view? There's
+no naething tae be seen for the trees. Noo, if ye was tae gang tae the
+tap o' Knockcreggan, that wad set ye fine! Ye can see _five coonties_
+frae there!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TOURING IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+"Hullo, Sandy! Why haven't you cleaned my carriage, as I told you last
+night?"
+
+"Hech, sir, what for would it need washing? It will be just the same
+when you'll be using it again!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM OUR BILIOUS CONTRIBUTOR.
+
+_To_ MR. PUNCH.
+
+MY DEAR SIR,[A]
+
+Embarking at Bannavie very early in the morning--_diluculo surgere
+saluberrimum est_, but it is also particularly disagreeable--I was upon
+the canal of the Caledonians, on my way to the capital of the Highlands.
+This is the last voyage which, upon this occasion, I shall have the
+pleasure of describing. The vessel was commanded by Captain Turner, who
+is a remarkable meteorologist, and has emitted some wonderful weather
+prophecies. Having had, moreover, much opportunity of observing
+character, in his capacity of captain of boats chiefly used by tourists,
+he is well acquainted with the inmost nature of the aristocracy and
+their imitators. Being myself of an aristocratic turn of mind (as well
+as shape of body) it was refreshing to me to sit with him on the bridge
+and speak of our titled friends.
+
+[Footnote A: We perfectly understand this advance towards civility as
+the writer approaches the end of his journey. He is a superior kind of
+young man, if not the genius he imagines himself.--_Ed._]
+
+Fort Augustus, which we passed, is not called so from having been built
+by the Roman Emperor of that name, quite the reverse. The next object of
+interest is a thing called the Fall of Foyers, which latter word is
+sounded like fires, and the announcement to Cockneys that they are going
+to see the affair, leads them to expect something of a pyrotechnic
+character. It is nothing of that sort. The steamboat is moored, you rush
+on shore, and are instantly arrested by several pikemen--I do not mean
+soldiers of a mediaeval date, but fellows at a gate, who demand fourpence
+apiece from everybody landing in those parts. Being in Scotland, this
+naturally made me think I had come to Johnny Groat's house, but no such
+thing, and I have no idea of the reason of this highway robbery, or why
+a very dirty card should have been forced upon me in proof that I had
+submitted. We were told to go up an ascending road, and then to climb a
+dreadfully steep hill, and that then we should see something. For my own
+part, I felt inclined to see everybody blowed first, but being
+over-persuaded, I saw everybody blowed afterwards, for that hill is a
+breather, I can tell you. However, I rushed up like a mounting deer, and
+when at the top was told to run a little way down again. I did, and saw
+the sight. You have seen the cataracts of the Nile? It's not like them.
+You have seen a cataract in a party's eye. It's not like that. Foyers is
+a very fine waterfall, and worthy of much better verses than some which
+Mr. Burns addressed to it in his English style, which is vile. Still,
+the waterfall at the Colosseum, Regent's Park, is a good one, and has
+this advantage, that you can sit in a chair and look at it as long as
+you like, whereas you walk a mile to Foyers, goaded by the sailors from
+the vessel, who are perpetually telling you to make haste, and you are
+allowed about three minutes and fourteen seconds to gaze upon the scene,
+when the sailors begin to goad you back again, frightening you with
+hints that the captain will depart without you. Precious hot you come on
+board, with a recollection of a mass of foam falling into an abyss. That
+is not the way to see Foyers, and I hereby advise all tourists who are
+going to stop at Inverness, to drive over from thence, take their time
+at the noble sight, and do the pier-beggars out of their fourpences.
+
+The stately towers of the capital of the Highlands are seen on our
+right. A few minutes more, and we are moored. Friendly voices hail us,
+and also hail a vehicle. We are borne away. There is news for us. We are
+forthwith--even in that carriage, were it possible--to induct ourselves
+into the black tr x ws x rs of refined life and the white cravat of
+graceful sociality, and to accompany our host to the dinner of the
+Highland railwaymen. _We_ rail. We have not come six hundred miles to
+dress for dinner. Our host is of a different opinion, and being a host
+in himself, conquers our single-handed resistance. We attend the dinner,
+and find ourselves among Highland chieftains plaided and plumed in their
+"tartan array." (Why doesn't Horatio MacCulloch, noble artist and
+Highland-man, come to London and be _our_ tartan R.A.?) We hear wonders
+of the new line, which is to save folks the trouble of visiting the lost
+tribe at Aberdeen, and is to take them direct from Inverness to Perth,
+through wonderful scenery. We see a programme of toasts, to the number
+of thirty-four, which of course involves sixty-eight speeches. There is
+also much music by the volunteers--not, happily, by bag-pipers. We
+calculate, on the whole, that the proceedings will be over about four in
+the morning. Ha! ha! _Dremacky_. There is a _deus ex machina_ literally,
+a driver on an engine, and he starts at ten. Numbers of the guests must
+go with him. _Claymore!_ We slash out the toasts without mercy--without
+mercy on men set down to speak and who have spoiled their dinner by
+thinking over their _impromptus_. But there is one toast which shall be
+honoured, yea, with the Highland honours. _Mr. Punch's_ health is
+proposed. It is well that this handsome hall is built strongly, or the
+Highland maidens should dance here no more. The shout goes up for _Mr.
+Punch_.
+
+I believe that I have mentioned to you, once or twice, that I am an
+admirable speaker, but upon this occasion I surpassed myself--I was in
+fact, as the Covent Garden play-bills say, "unsurpassingly successful."
+Your interests were safe in my hands. I believe that no person present
+heard a syllable of what I said. It was this:
+
+     [It may have been, but as what our correspondent has been pleased
+     to send as his speech would occupy four columns, we prefer to leave
+     it to immortality in the excellent newspaper of which he sends us a
+     "cutting." We incline to think that he _was_ weak enough to say
+     what he says he said, because he could not have invented and
+     written it out after a Highland dinner, and it was published next
+     morning. It is extremely egotistical, and not in the least
+     entertaining--_Ed._]
+
+Among the guests was a gentleman who owns the mare who will certainly
+win the Cesarewitch. _I know this for a fact_, and I advise you to put
+your money on _Lioness_. His health was proposed, and he returned thanks
+with the soul of wit. I hope he recollects the hope expressed by the
+proposer touching a certain saddling-bell. I thought it rather strong in
+"Bible-loving Scotland", but to be sure, we were in the Highlands, which
+are England, or at all events where the best English spoken in Scotland
+is heard.
+
+We reached our house at an early hour, and I was lulled to a gentle
+slumber by the sound of the river Ness. This comes out of Loch Ness, and
+in the latest geographical work with which I am acquainted, namely,
+"Geography Anatomiz'd, by Pat. Gordon, M.A.F.R.S. Printed for Andr.
+Bell, at the Cross Keys and Bible in Cornhill, and R. Smith, under the
+Royal Exchange, 1711", I read that "towards the north-west part of
+_Murray_ is the famous _Lough-Ness_ which never freezeth, but retaineth
+its natural heat, even in the extremest cold of winter, and in many
+places this lake hath been sounded with a line of 500 fathom, but no
+bottom can be found" (just as in the last rehearsal of the artisans'
+play in the _Midsummer Night's Dream_), but I believe that recent
+experiments have been more successful, and that though no lead plummet
+would go so deep, a volume by a very particular friend of mine was
+fastened to the line, and descended to the bottom in no time. I will
+mention his name if he is not kind to my next work, but at present I
+have the highest esteem and respect for him. I only show him that I know
+this little anecdote.
+
+There were what are called Highland games to be solemnised in Inverness.
+I resolved to attend them, and, if I saw fit, to join in them. But I was
+informed by a Highland friend of mine, Laidle of Toddie, a laird much
+respected, that all competitors must appear in the kilt. As my own
+graceful proportions would look equally well in any costume, this
+presented no difficulty, and I marched off to Mr. Macdougall, the great
+Highland costumier, and after walking through a dazzling array of Gaelic
+glories, I said, mildly, "Can you make me a Highland dress?"
+
+"Certainly, in a few hours", said Mr. Macdougall; but somehow I fancied
+that he did not seem to think that I was displaying any vast amount of
+sense.
+
+"Then, please to make me one, very handsome", said I; "and send it home
+to-night." And I was going out of the warehouse.
+
+"But, sir", said Mr. Macdougall, "do you belong to any clan, or what
+tartan will you have?"
+
+"Mr. Macdougall", said I, "it may be that I do belong to a clan, or am
+affiliated to one. It may be, that like Edward Waverley, I shall be
+known hereafter as the friend of the sons (and daughters) of the
+clan ----. It may be that if war broke out between that clan and another,
+I would shout our war-cry, and, drawing my claymore, would walk into the
+hostile clan like one o'clock. But at present that is a secret, and I
+wear not the garb of any clan in particular. Please to make me up a
+costume out of the garbs of several clans, but be sure you put the
+brightest colours, as they suit my complexion."
+
+I am bound to say that though Mr. Macdougall firmly declined being party
+to this arrangement, which he said would be inartistic, he did so with
+the utmost courtesy. My opinion is, that he thought I was a little
+cracked. Many persons have thought that, but there is no foundation for
+the suspicion.
+
+"You see, Mr. Macdougall", says I, "I am a Plantagenet by descent, and
+one of my ancestors was hanged in the time of George the Second. Do
+those facts suggest anything to you in the way of costume?"
+
+"The first does not", he said, "but the second may. A good many persons
+had the misfortune to be hanged about the time you mention, and for the
+same reason. I suppose your ancestor died for the Stuarts."
+
+"No, sir, he died for a steward. The unfortunate nobleman was most
+iniquitously destroyed for shooting a plebeian of the name of Johnson,
+for which reason I hate everybody of that name, from Ben downwards, and
+will not have a Johnson's _Dictionary_ in my house."
+
+"Then, sir", says Mr. Macdougall, "the case is clear. You can mark your
+sense of the conduct of the sovereign who executed your respected
+relative. You can assume the costume of his chief enemies. You can wear
+the Stuart tartan."
+
+"Hm", says I. "I should look well in it, no doubt; but then I have no
+hostility to the present House of Brunswick."
+
+"Why", says he, laughing; "Her Majesty dresses her own princes in the
+Stuart tartan. I ought to know that."
+
+"Then that's settled", I replied.
+
+Ha! You would indeed have been proud of your contributor, had you seen
+him splendidly arrayed in that gorgeous garb, and treading the heather
+of Inverness High Street like a young mountaineer. He did not look then
+like
+
+  EPICURUS ROTUNDUS.
+
+    _Inverness Castle._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOTICE TO THE HIGHLANDERS.--Whereas Mr. Punch, through his "Bilious
+Contributor", did on the 7th November, 1863, offer a prize of fifty
+guineas to the best Highland player at Spellikins, in the games for
+1873. And whereas Mr. Punch has had the money, with ten years' interest,
+quite ready, and waiting to be claimed. And whereas no Highland player
+at Spellikins appeared at the games of 1873. This to give notice that
+Mr. Punch has irrevocably confiscated the money to his own sole and
+peculiar use, and intends to use it in bribery at the next general
+election. He begs to remark to the Highlands, in the words of his
+ancestor, Robert Bruce, at Bannockburn--"There is a rose fallen from
+your wreath!"[B]
+
+    PUNCH.
+
+  7th November, 1873.
+
+[Footnote B: Of course the King said nothing so sweetly sentimental.
+What he did say to Earl Randolph was, "Mind your eye, you great stupid
+ass, or you'll have the English spears in your back directly." Nor did
+the Earl reply, "My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade. Follow, my
+household!" but, with an amazing great curse, "I'll cook 'em. Come on,
+you dawdling beggars, and fulfil the prophecies!" But so history is
+written.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MORE REVENGE FOR FLODDEN.--_Scene: a Scotch Hotel. Tourist (indignant at
+his bill)._ "Why, landlord, there must be some mistake there!"
+_Landlord._ "Mistake? Aye, aye. That stupid fellow, the waiter, has just
+charged you five shillings--too little."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM THE MOORS.--_Sportsman._ "Much rain Donald?" _Donald._ "A bit soft.
+Just wet a' day, wi' showers between."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A PLEASANT PROSPECT!
+
+_English Tourist._ "I say, look here. How far is it to this Glenstarvit?
+They told us it was only----"
+
+_Native._ "Aboot four miles."
+
+_Tourist_ (_aghast_). "All bog like this?"
+
+_Native._ "Eh--h--this is just naethin' till't!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ANOTHER MISUNDERSTANDING
+
+_'Arry_ (_on a Northern tour, with Cockney pronunciation_). "Then I'll
+'ave a bottle of aile."
+
+_Hostess of the Village Inn._ "_Ile_, sir? We've nane in the hoose, but
+castor ile or paraffin. Wad ony o' them dae, sir?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE WEIRD SISTERS]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: DEER-STALKING MADE EASY
+
+The patent silent motor-crawler.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ILLUSTRATED QUOTATIONS
+
+(_One so seldom finds an Artist who realises the poetic conception._)
+
+"Is this the noble Moor ...?"--_Othello_, Act IV., Scene 1.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: DRACONIAN
+
+SCENE.--_Police Court, North Highlands._
+
+_Accused._ "Put, Pailie, it's na provit!"
+
+_Bailie._ "Hoot toots, Tonal, and hear me speak! Aw'll only fine ye
+ha'f-a-croon the day, because et's no varra well provit. But if ever ye
+come before me again, ye'll no get aff under five shillin's, whether
+et's provit or no!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF YE ENGLYSHE IN 1849
+
+DEERE STALKYNGE IN YE HYGHLANDES]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES OF SHOOTING FROM A BUTT
+
+_Keeper (on moor rented by the latest South African millionaire, to
+guest)._ "Never mind the birds, sir. For onny sake, lie down! The
+maister's gawn tae shoot!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE TWELFTH
+
+(_Guilderstein in the Highlands_)
+
+_Guild. (His first experience)._ "I've been swindled! That confounded
+agent said it was all drivin' on this moor, and look at it, all hills
+and slosh! Not a decent carriage road within ten miles!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE MATERNAL INSTINCT
+
+_The Master._ "I'm sayin', wumman, ha'e ye gotten the tickets?"
+
+_The Mistress._ "Tuts, haud your tongue aboot tickets. Let me count the
+weans!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "NEMO ME IMPUNE", &c.
+
+_The Irrepressible._ "Hi, Scotty, tip us the 'Ighland fling."
+
+TIPPED!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Return of the wounded and missing Popplewitz omitted to
+send in after his day on the moors.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: RECRIMINATION
+
+_Inhabitant of Uist._ "I say, they'll pe speaking fa-ar petter English
+in Uist than in Styornaway."
+
+_Lass of the Lewis._ "Put in Styornaway they'll not pe caa-in' fush
+'feesh,' whatefer!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE HIGHLAND GAMES AT MACJIGGITY
+
+Whilst staying at MacFoozle Castle, my excellent host insisted that I
+should accompany him to see the Highland games. The MacFoozle himself is
+a typical Hielander, and appeared in a kilt and jelly-bag--philabeg, I
+mean. Suggested to him that I should go, attired in pair of
+bathing-drawers, Norfolk jacket, and Glengarry cap, but he, for some
+inscrutable reason of his own, negatived the idea. Had half a mind to
+dress in kilt myself, but finally decided against the national costume
+as being too draughty. Arrived on ground, and found that "tossing the
+caber" was in full progress. Braw laddies struggled, in turn, with
+enormous tree trunk. The idea of the contest is, that whoever succeeds
+in killing the greatest number of spectators by hurling the tree on to
+them, wins the prize. Fancy these laddies had been hung too long, or
+else they were particularly braw. Moved up to windward of them promptly.
+
+"Who is the truculent-looking villain with red whiskers?" I ask.
+
+"Hush!" says my host, in awed tones. "That is the MacGinger himself!"
+
+I grovel. Not that I have ever even heard his name before, but I don't
+want to show my ignorance before the MacFoozle. The competition of
+pipers was next in order, and I took to my heels and fled. Rejoined
+MacFoozle half an hour later to witness the dancing. On a large raised
+platform sat the judges, with the mighty MacGinger himself at their
+head. Can't quite make out whether the dance is a Reel, a Strathspey, a
+Haggis, or a Skirl--sure it is one or the other. Just as I ask for
+information, amid a confusing whirl of arms and legs and "Hoots!" a
+terrific crack is heard, and the platform, as though protesting at the
+indignities heaped upon it, suddenly gives way, and in a moment,
+dancers, pipers, and judges are hurled in a confused and struggling heap
+to the ground. The MacGinger falls upon some bag-pipes, which emit
+dismal groanings beneath his massive weight. This ends the dancing
+prematurely, and a notice is immediately put up all round the grounds
+that (to take its place) "There will be another competition of
+bag-pipes." I read it, evaded the MacFoozle, and fled.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SONG FOR A SCOTCH DUKE.
+
+  My harts in the Highlands shall have their hills clear,
+  My harts in the Highlands no serf shall come near--
+  I'll chase out the Gael to make room for the roe,
+  My harts in the Highlands were ever his foe.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THINGS NO HIGHLANDER CAN UNDERSTAND.
+
+Breaches of promise.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GUILDERSTEIN IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+Guilderstein. "Missed again! And dat fellow, Hoggenheimer, comin'on
+Monday too! Why did I not wire to Leadenhall for an 'aunch, as Betty
+told me!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Juvenis. "Jolly day we had last week at McFoggarty's
+wedding! Capital champagne he gave us, and we did it justice, I can tell
+you--"
+
+Senex (who prefers whiskey). "Eh-h, mun, it's a' verra weel weddings at
+ye-er time o' life. Gie me a gude funeral!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: HEBRIDEAN SPORT
+
+_Shooting Tenant (accounting for very large species of grouse which his
+setter has just flushed)._ "Capercailzie! By George!"
+
+_Under-keeper Neil._ "I'm after thinking, sir, you'll have killed Widow
+McSwan's cochin cock. Ye see the crofters were forced to put him and the
+hens away out here till the oats is ripe!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: LATEST FROM THE MOORS
+
+_Intelligent Foreigner._ "Tell me--zee 'Ilanders, do zay always wear zee
+raw legs?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A GROAN FROM A GILLIE
+
+    Lasses shouldna' gang to shoot,
+                                  Na, na!
+    Gillies canna' help but hoot,
+                                  Ha, ha!
+    Yon douce bodies arena' fittin'
+    Wi' the gudeman's to be pittin',
+    Bide at hame and mind yere knittin'!
+                                  Hoot, awa'!
+    "Wimmen's Rechts" is vara weel,
+                                  Ooh, aye!
+    For hizzies wha've nae hearts to feel;
+                                  Forbye
+    Wimmen's Rechts is aiblins Wrang
+     When nat'ral weak maun ape the strang,
+    An' chaney cups wi' cau'drons gang,
+                                  Auch, fie!
+    Hennies shouldna' try to craw
+                                  Sae fast--
+    Their westlin' thrapples canna' blair
+                                  Sic a blast.
+    Leave to men-folk bogs and ferns,
+    An' pairtricks, muircocks, braes, and cairns;
+    And lasses! ye may mind the bairns--
+                                  That's best!
+
+      TONALT (X) _his mark._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A PRECISIAN
+
+_Artist (affably)._ "Fine morning." _Native._ "No' bad ava'."
+
+_Artist._ "Pretty scenery." _Native._ "Gey an' good."
+
+_Artist (pointing to St. Bannoch's, in the distance)._ "What place is
+that down at the bottom of the loch?"
+
+_Native._ "It's no at the bottom--it's at the fut!"
+
+_Artist (to himself)._ "You past-participled Highlander!"
+
+    [_Drops the subject!_
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE THING TO DO IN SCOTLAND
+
+(_More Leaves from the Highland Journal of Toby, M.P._)
+
+_Quiverfield, Haddingtonshire, Monday._--You can't spend twenty-four
+hours at Quiverfield without having borne in upon you the truth that the
+only thing to do in Scotland is to play goff. (On other side of Tweed
+they call it golf. Here we are too much in a hurry to get at the game to
+spend time on unnecessary consonant.) The waters of what Victor Hugo
+called "The First of the Fourth" lave the links at Quiverfield. Blue as
+the Mediterranean they have been in a marvellous autumn, soon to lapse
+into November. We can see the Bass Rock from the eighth hole, and can
+almost hear the whirr of the balls skimming with swallow flight over the
+links at North Berwick.
+
+Prince Arthur here to-day, looking fully ten years younger than when I
+last saw him at Westminster. Plays through live-long day, and drives off
+fourteen miles for dinner at Whittinghame, thinking no more of it than
+if he were crossing Palace Yard. Our host, Waverley Pen, is happy in
+possession of links at his park gates. All his own, for self and
+friends. You step through the shrubbery, and there are the far-reaching
+links; beyond them the gleaming waters of the Forth. Stroll out
+immediately after breakfast to meet the attendant caddies; play goff
+till half-past one; reluctantly break off for luncheon; go back to
+complete the fearsome foursome; have tea brought out to save time; leave
+off in bare time to dress for dinner; talk goff at dinner; arrange
+matches after dinner; and the new morning finds the caddies waiting as
+before.
+
+[Illustration: Fingen's finger.]
+
+Decidedly the only thing to do in Scotland is to play goff.
+
+_Deeside, Aberdeenshire, Wednesday._--Fingen, M.P., once told an abashed
+House of Commons that he "owned a mountain in Scotland." Find, on
+visiting him in his ancestral home, that he owns a whole range. Go up
+one or two of them; that comparatively easy; difficulty presents itself
+when we try to get down. Man and boy, Fingen has lived here fifty years;
+has not yet acquired knowledge necessary to guide a party home after
+ascending one of his mountains. Walking up in cool of afternoon, we
+usually get home sore-footed and hungry about midnight.
+
+"Must be going now", says Fingen, M.P., when we have seen view from top
+of mountain. "Just time to get down before dark. But I know short cut;
+be there in a jiffy. Come along."
+
+We come along. At end of twenty minutes find ourselves in front of
+impassable gorge.
+
+"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., cheerily. "Must have taken wrong turn; better
+go back and start again."
+
+All very well to say go back; but where were we? Fingen, M.P., knows;
+wets his finger; holds it up.
+
+"Ha!" he says, with increased joyousness of manner; "the wind is blowing
+that way, is it? Then we turn to the left."
+
+Another twenty minutes stumbling through aged heather. Path trends
+downwards.
+
+"That's all right", says Fingen, M.P.; "must lead on to the road."
+
+Instead of which we nearly fall into a bubbling burn. Go back again;
+make bee line up acclivity nearly as steep as side of house; find
+ourselves again on top of mountain.
+
+"How lucky!" shouts Fingen, M.P., beaming with delight.
+
+As if we had been trying all this time to get to top of mountain instead
+of to bottom!
+
+Wants to wet his finger again and try how the wind lies. We protest. Let
+us be saved that at least. Fingen leads off in quite another direction.
+By rocky pathway which threatens sprains; through bushes and brambles
+that tear the clothes; by dangerous leaps from rock to rock he brings us
+to apparently impenetrable hedge. We stare forlorn.
+
+[Illustration: The crack of the whip('s pate!)]
+
+"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., more aggressively cheerful than ever. "The road
+is on other side. Thought we would come upon it somewhere." Somehow or
+other we crawl through.
+
+"Nothing like having an eye to the lay of country", says Fingen, M.P.,
+as we limp along the road. "It's a sort of instinct, you know. If I
+hadn't been with you, you might have had to camp out all night on the
+mountain."
+
+They don't play goff at Deeside. They bicycle. Down the long avenue with
+spreading elm trees deftly trained to make triumphal arches, the
+bicycles come and go. Whipsroom, M.P., thinks opportunity convenient
+for acquiring the art of cycling. W. is got up with consummate art. Has
+had his trousers cut short at knee in order to display ribbed stockings
+of rainbow hue. Loose tweed-jacket, blood-red necktie, white felt hat
+with rim turned down all round, combine to lend him air of a Drury Lane
+bandit out of work. Determined to learn to ride the bicycle, but spends
+most of the day on his hands and knees, or on his back. Looking down
+avenue at any moment pretty sure to find W. either running into the iron
+fence, coming off sideways, or bolting head first over the handles of
+his bike. Get quite new views of him fore-shortened in all possible
+ways, some that would be impossible to any but a man of his
+determination.
+
+"Never had a man stay in the house", says Fingen, M.P., ruefully, "who
+so cut up the lawn with his head, or indented the gravel with his elbows
+and his knees."
+
+Evidently I was mistaken about goff. Cycling's the thing in Scotland.
+
+_Goasyoucan, Inverness-shire, Saturday._--Wrong again. Not goff nor
+cycling is the thing to do in Scotland. It's stalking. Soon learn that
+great truth at Goasyoucan. The hills that encircle the house densely
+populated with stags. To-day three guns grassed nine, one a royal. This
+the place to spend a happy day, crouching down among the heather
+awaiting the fortuitous moment. Weather no object. Rain or snow out you
+go, submissive to guidance and instruction of keeper; by comparison with
+whose tyranny life of the ancient galley-slave was perfect freedom.
+
+Consummation of human delight this, to lie prone on your face amid the
+wet heather, with the rain pattering down incessantly, or the snow
+pitilessly falling, covering you up flake by flake as if it were a robin
+and you a babe in the wood. Mustn't stir; mustn't speak; if you can
+conveniently dispense with the operation, better not breathe. Sometimes,
+after morning and greater part of afternoon thus cheerfully spent, you
+may get a shot; even a stag. Also you may not; or, having attained the
+first, may miss the latter. At any rate you have spent a day of
+exhilarating delight.
+
+Stalking is evidently the thing to do in Scotland. It's a far cry to the
+Highlands. Happily there is Arthur's Seat by Edinburgh town where
+beginners can practise, and old hands may feign delight of early
+triumphs.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE "IRREPRESSIBLE" AGAIN
+
+_Gent in Knickerbockers._ "Rummy speakers them 'Ighlanders, 'Enery. When
+we wos talking to one of the 'ands, did you notice 'im saying
+'_nozzing_' for '_nothink_,' and '_she_' for '_e_'?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "THE LAST STRAW"
+
+"Tired out, are you? Try a drop of brandy! Eh!--what!--confound----By
+jingo, I've forgotten my flask!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: NOTHING LIKE MOUNTAIN AIR
+
+_Tourist (who has been refreshing himself with the toddy of the
+country)._ "I shay, ole fler! Highlands seem to 'gree with you
+wonerfly--annomishtake. Why, you look DOUBLE the man already!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE HEIGHT OF BLISS
+
+_Highland Shepherd._ "Fine toon, Glasco', I pelieve, and lots o' coot
+meat there."
+
+_Tourist._ "Oh, yes, lots."
+
+_Highland Shepherd._ "An' drink, too?"
+
+_Tourist._ "Oh, yes."
+
+_Highland Shepherd (doubtingly)._ "Ye'll get porter tae yir parrich?"
+
+_Tourist._ "Yes, if we like."
+
+_Highland Shepherd._ "Cra-ci-ous!"
+
+    [_Speechless with admiration._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TENACITY
+
+_First North Briton_ (_on the Oban boat, in a rolling sea and dirty
+weather_). "Thraw it up, man, and ye'll feel a' the better!"
+
+_Second ditto_ (_keeping it down_). "Hech, mon, it's whuskey!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: EXCUSABLE WRATH
+
+_Drover_ (_exhausted with his struggles_). "Whit are ye wouf, woufan'
+there, ye stupit ass! It wud be wis-eer like if ye gang awn hame, an'
+bring a barrow!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A SOFT IMPEACHMENT
+
+_Sporting Saxon (mournfully, after three weeks' incessant down-pour)._
+"Does it always rain like this up here, Mr. McFuskey?"
+
+_His Guide, Philosopher, and Friendly Landlord (calmly)._ "Oo aye, it's
+a-ye just a wee bit shooery."!!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ANTIQUARIAN RESEARCH
+
+2 A.M.
+
+_Brown (who has taken a shooting-box in the Highlands, and has been
+"celebrating" his first appearance in a kilt)._ "Worsht of these
+ole-fashioned beshteads is, they take such a lot of climbin' into!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GUILDERSTEIN IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Mrs. G._ "We must leave this horrible place, dear. The keeper has just
+told me there is disease on the moor. Good gracious, the boys might take
+it!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A GREAT DRAWBACK
+
+_Dougal_ (_with all his native contempt for the Londoner_). "Aye, mon,
+an' he's no a bad shot?"
+
+_Davie._ "'Deed an' he's a verra _guid_ shot."
+
+_Dougal._ "Hech! it's an awfu' peetie he's a Londoner!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOTES FROM THE HIGHLANDS
+
+"_Jam satis terris,_" _&c._
+
+_Alt-na-blashy._--The aqueous and igneous agencies seem to be combined
+in these quarters, for since the rain we hear of a great increase of
+burns. In default of the moors we fall back on the kitchen and the
+cellar. I need hardly add that dry wines are almost exclusively used by
+our party, and moist sugar is generally avoided. Dripping, too, is
+discontinued, and everything that is likely to whet the appetite is at a
+discount.
+
+_Drizzle-arich._--A Frenchman, soaked out of our bothy by the moisture
+of the weather, was overheard to exclaim "_Apres moi le deluge._"
+
+_Inverdreary._--Greatly to the indignation of their chief, several of
+the "Children of the Mist", in this romantic but rainy region, have
+assumed the garb of the Mackintoshes.
+
+_Loch Drunkie._--We have several partners in misery within hail, or life
+would be fairly washed out of us. We make up parties alternately at our
+shooting quarters when the weather allows of wading between them.
+Inebriation, it is to be feared, must be on the increase, for few of us
+who go out to dinner return without making a wet night of it.
+
+Meantime, the watering-places in our vicinity--in particular the Linns
+o' Dun-Dreepie--are literally overflowing.
+
+It is asserted that even young horses are growing impatient of the
+reins.
+
+Our greatest comfort is the weekly budget of dry humour from _Mr.
+Punch_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A DISAPPOINTING HOST.--_Sandy._ "A 'm tellt ye hev a new nebbur,
+Donal'." _Donald._ "Aye." _Sandy._ "An' what like is he?" _Donald._
+"Weel, he's a curious laddie. A went to hev a bit talk wi' him th' ither
+evenin', an' he offered me a glass o' whuskey, d'ye see? Weel, he was
+poorin' it oot, an' A said to him 'Stop!'--_an' he stoppit!_ That's the
+soort o' mon he is."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AMBIGUITY
+
+SCENE--_A Highland Ferry_
+
+_Tourist._ "But we paid you sixpence each as we came over, and you said
+the same fare would bring us back."
+
+_Skipper._ "Well, well, and I telled ye nothing but the truth, an' it'll
+be no more than the same fare I'm wantin' the noo for bringin' ye
+back."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AUGUST IN SCOTLAND
+
+_Bag Carrier (to Keeper)._ "What does the maister aye ask that body tae
+shoot wi' him for? He canna hit a thing!"
+
+_Keeper._ "Dod, man, I daur say he wishes they was a' like him. The same
+birds does him a' through the season!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+KINREEN O' THE DEE;
+
+A PIOBRACH HEARD WAILING DOWN GLENTANNER ON THE EXILE OF THREE
+GENERATIONS.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                Kinreen o' the Dee!
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+
+              I'll blaw up my chanter,
+                I've rounded fu' weel,
+              To mony a ranter,
+                In mony a reel,
+              An' pour'd a' my heart i' the win'bag wi' glee:
+                Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+    For licht wis the laughter in bonny Kinreen,
+    An' licht wis the footfa' that glanced o'er the green,
+    An' licht ware the hearts a' an' lichtsome the eyne,
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                Kinreen o' the Dee!
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+
+              The auld hoose is bare noo,
+                A cauld hoose to me,
+              The hearth is nae mair noo,
+                The centre o' glee,
+    Nae mair for the bairnies the bield it has been,
+              Och hey, for bonny Kinreen!
+    The auld folk, the young folk, the wee anes, an' a',
+    A hunder years' hame birds are harried awa',
+    Are harried an' hameless, whatever winds blaw,
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.
+
+              Fareweel my auld pleugh lan',
+                I'll never mair pleugh it:
+              Fareweel my auld cairt an'
+                The auld yaud[C] that drew it.
+    Fareweel my auld kailyard, ilk bush an' ilk tree!
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+    Fareweel the auld braes, that my hand keepit green,
+    Fareweel the auld ways where we waunder'd unseen
+    Ere the star o' my hearth came to bonny Kinreen,
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.
+
+              The auld kirk looks up o'er
+                The dreesome auld dead,
+              Like a saint speakin' hope o'er
+                Some sorrowfu' bed.
+    Fareweel the auld kirk, an' fareweel the kirk green,
+    They tell o' a far better hame than Kinreen!
+    The place we wad cling to--puir simple auld fules,
+    O' our births an' our bridals, oor blesses an' dools,
+    Whare oor wee bits o' bairnies lie cauld i' the mools.[D]
+              Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.
+
+              I aft times hae wunder'd
+                If deer be as dear,
+              As sweet ties o' kindred,
+                To peasant or peer;
+    As the tie to the hames o' the land born be,
+                Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+    The heather that blossoms unkent o' the moor,
+    Wad dee in his lordship's best greenhoose, I'm sure,
+    To the wunder o' mony a fairy land flure.
+                Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.
+
+                Though little the thing be,
+                  Oor ain we can ca';
+                That little we cling be,
+                  The mair that it's sma';
+    Though puir wis oor hame, an' thogh wild wis the scene,
+    'Twas the hame o' oor hearts: it was bonnie Kinreen.
+    An yet we maun leave it, baith grey head an bairn;
+    Leave it to fatten the deer o' Cock-Cairn,
+    O' Pannanich wuds an' o' Morven o' Gairn.
+                Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                  Kinreen o' the Dee!
+                  Kinreen o' the Dee!
+        Sae Fareweel for ever, Kinreen of the Dee!
+
+[Footnote C: Mare.]
+
+[Footnote D: Earth.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: CANNY!
+
+_Sportsman._ "That's a tough old fellow, Jemmy!"
+
+_Keeper._ "Aye, sir, a grand bird to send to your freens!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: EXPERTO CREDE
+
+_Tourist_ (_on approaching hostelry_). "What will you have, coachman?"
+
+_Driver._ "A wee drap whuskey, sir, thank you."
+
+_Tourist._ "All right I'll get down and send it out to you."
+
+_Driver._ "Na, na, gie me the saxpence. They'll gie you an unco sma'
+gless!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A LAMENT FROM THE NORTH
+
+"And then the weather's been so bad, Donald!"
+
+"Ou ay, sir. Only three fine days--and twa of them snappit up by the
+Sawbath!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TWO ON A TOUR
+
+"Can you tell me which is Croft Lochay?"
+
+The smith leant on his pitchfork--he had been up at the hay--and eyed
+Gwendolen and myself with friendly interest.
+
+"Ye'll be the gentry from London Mistress McDiarmat is expectin'?"
+
+"And which is the way to her house?"
+
+"Well", said the smith, shading his eyes as he peered up at the Ben, "ye
+can't see it rightly from here, as it lies behind yon knowe. It's a
+whole year whatever since I hev not been up myself; but if you follow
+the burn----"
+
+I glanced at Gwen and saw that she shared my satisfaction. To cross the
+edge of civilisation had for months past been our hearts' desire; and to
+have achieved a jumping-off place only approachable by a burn exceeded
+our wildest ambitions.
+
+We thanked the smith, and set off on our expedition up the mountain
+side.
+
+"We twa hae paidlit in the burn", sang Gwendolen as she skipped like a
+goat from stone to stone. "O Jack, isn't it too primitive and
+delightful!"
+
+"Rather", said I, inhaling great draughts of the mountain air.
+
+"Aren't you hungry?"
+
+"Rather", I repeated. "Wonder what there'll be to eat."
+
+"Oh, I don't care what it is. Anything will be delicious. Is that the
+house, do you think?"
+
+I looked up and saw above us a low white-washed shanty covered with
+thatch which was kept in its place by a network of laths. A few heavy
+stones were evidently designed to keep the roof from blowing off in
+winter storms.
+
+"No", said Gwen. "That must be the cowhouse byre, don't you call it?"
+
+"I'm not so sure", said I.
+
+While we were still uncertain, a figure came to the door and bade us
+welcome.
+
+"Come in, come in. Ye'll be tired with the travelling, and ye'll like to
+see the rooms."
+
+We acquiesced, and Mistress McDiarmat led the way into the cowhouse.
+
+"Shoo!" she cried as she opened the door of the bedroom. "Get away,
+Speckle! The hens _will_ lay their bit egg on the bed, sir."
+
+"What fresh eggs we shall get!" cried Gwen, delighted with this fresh
+proof of rusticity and with the Gaelic gutturals with which Mistress
+McDiarmat emphasized her remarks to Speckle.
+
+The "other end" was furnished with two hard chairs, a table and a bed.
+
+"Fancy a bed in the dining-room and hens in your bed!" said Gwen, in the
+highest of spirits. "And here comes tea! Eggs and bacon--Ah! how lovely
+they smell, and how much nicer than horrid, stodgy dinners! And
+oatcakes--and jelly--and the lightest feathery scones! O Jack, isn't it
+heavenly?"
+
+"Rather", I agreed, beginning the meal with tremendous gusto. The eggs
+and bacon disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, and then we fell to on
+the light feathery scones. "Wish we hadn't wasted a fortnight's time
+and money in ruinous Highland hotels. Wonder what Schiehallion thinks of
+hot baths and late dinners, not to speak of waiters and wine-lists."
+
+"I suppose", remarked Gwendolen, "one _could_ get a bath at the
+Temperance Inn we passed on the road?"
+
+"Baths!" cried I. "Why, my dear, one only has to go and sit under the
+neighbouring waterfall." Gwen did not laugh, and looking up I saw she
+had stopped in the middle of a scone on which she had embarked with
+great appetite.
+
+"Try an oat-cake", I suggested.
+
+"No, thanks", said Gwen.
+
+"A little more jelly?"
+
+Gwen shook her head.
+
+I finished my meal in silence and pulled out my pipe.
+
+"Going to smoke in here?" asked Gwen.
+
+"It's raining outside, my dear."
+
+"Oh, very well. But remember this is my bedroom. I decline to sleep with
+hens."
+
+I put the pipe away and prepared for conversation.
+
+"Can't you sit still?" asked Gwen after a long pause.
+
+"This chair is very hard, dear."
+
+"So is mine."
+
+"Don't you think we might sit on the bed?"
+
+"Certainly not. I shouldn't sleep a wink if we disarranged the clothes,
+and only an expert can re-make a chaff bed."
+
+"Wish we had something to read", I remarked, after another long pause.
+
+"Do you expect a circulating library on the top of Ben-y-Gloe?"
+
+I began to realise that Gwen was no longer in a conversational mood, and
+made no further efforts to break the silence. Half-an-hour later Gwen
+came across the room and laid her hand on my shoulder. "What are you
+reading, dear?" she asked.
+
+"I find we can get a train from Struan to-morrow afternoon which catches
+the London connection at Perth when the train's not more than two hours
+late."
+
+"We can't risk that. Isn't there a train in the morning?"
+
+"It would mean leaving this at five."
+
+"So much the better. O Jack, if I eat another meal like that it will be
+fatal. To think we shall be back in dear old Chelsea to-morrow!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ORIGIN OF THE HIGHLAND SCHOTTISCHE
+
+  "This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay, tread the hay;
+      This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay in Scotland!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GROUSE SHOOTING LATE IN THE SEASON.
+JOLLY, VERY!
+
+"Come along, old fellow! Here's a point!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: DEER-STALKING MADE EASY. A HINT TO
+LUSTY SPORTSMEN]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SOONER OR LATER
+
+_Old Gent._ "When is the steamer due here?"
+
+_Highland Pier-Master._ "Various. Sometimes sooner,
+sometimes earlier, an' even sometimes before that, too."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "HARMLESS"
+
+_Cockney Sporting Gent._ "But I think it's a 'en!"
+
+_Sandy (his keeper)._ "Shoot, man, shoot! She'll be no
+muckle the waur o' ye!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: PLEASANT
+
+_Friend (to novice at salmon fishing)._ "I say, old boy, mind how you
+wade; there are some tremendous holes, fourteen or fifteen feet deep."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration:AN IMPORTANT DETAIL
+
+_Our latest Millionaire_ (_to Gillie, who has brought him within
+close range of the finest stag in the forest_). "I say, Mac, confound
+it all, _which eye do you use_?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _English Tourist (in the far North, miles from anywhere)._
+"Do you mean to say that you and your family live here
+all the winter? Why, what do you do when any of you
+are ill? You can never get a doctor!"
+
+_Scotch Shepherd._ "Nae, sir. We've just to dee a natural
+death!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SCENE--A ROADSIDE INN IN A MOORLAND
+DISTRICT, SCOTLAND
+
+(_The Captain and Gamekeeper call in to have some Refreshment_)
+
+_Landlady_ (_enters in fear_). "Eh, sir, yer gun's no loaded
+is't? for a never would bide in a hoose whaur the wur a
+loaded gun in a' m'life."
+
+_Captain_ (_composedly_). "Oh, we'll soon put that all right--have
+you got a cork?"
+
+  [_Exit Landlady and brings a cork, which the Captain
+  carefully sticks in the muzzle of the gun, and assures
+  her it is all right now_--
+
+
+_Landlady_ (_relieved_). "Ou, aye! it's a' right noo, but it
+wasna safe afore, ye ken."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "A MONARCH OF THE GLEN"
+
+_Transatlantic Millionaire (surveying one of his deer-forests)._
+"Ha! look there! I see _three excursionists_! Send 'em to
+the----!"
+
+_Gigantic Gillie (and chucker-out)._ "If you please, Mr.
+Dollers, they're _excisemen_!"
+
+_T. M._ "I don't care _who_ they are! Send 'em to
+the----!"
+
+_G. G._ "Yes, Mr. Dollers."
+
+    [_Proceeds to carry out order._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Sportsman (who declines to be told where to go and
+what to do by his gillie), after an arduous stalk in the
+blazing sun, at last manages to crawl within close range of
+those "brown specks" he discovered miles distant on the
+hill-side!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: PROMISING!
+
+_Tourist._ "Have you any decent cigars?"
+
+_Highland Grocer._ "Decent cigars? Ay, here are decent
+cigars enough."
+
+_Tourist._ "Are they Havanahs, or Manillas?"
+
+_Highland Grocer._ "They're just from Kircaldy!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "THE MISS"
+
+_Gillie._ "Eh, mon! But it's fortunate there's beef in Aberdeen!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MR. BRIGGS IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_By_ JOHN LEECH
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Briggs, feeling that his heart is in the Highlands
+a-chasing the deer, starts for the North.]
+
+[Illustration: Before going out, Mr. Briggs and his friends have a
+quiet chat about deer-stalking generally. He listens with much
+interest to some pleasing anecdotes about the little incidents
+frequently met with--such as balls going through caps--toes being shot
+off!--occasionally being gored by the antlers of infuriate stags, &c.,
+&c., &c.]
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Briggs, previous to going through his course of
+deer-stalking, assists the forester in getting a hart or two for the
+house. Donald is requesting our friend to hold the animal down by the
+horns.
+
+    [N.B. The said animal is as strong as a bull, and uses his legs like
+a race-horse.
+
+]
+
+[Illustration: The deer are driven for Mr. Briggs. He has an excellent
+place, but what with waiting by himself so long, the murmur of the
+stream, the beauty of the scene, and the novelty of the situation, he
+falls asleep, and while he takes his forty winks, the deer pass!]
+
+[Illustration: As the wind is favourable, the deer are driven again.]
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Briggs is suddenly face to face with the monarch of
+the glen! He is so astonished that he omits to fire his rifle.]
+
+[Illustration: To-day he goes out for a stalk, and Donald shows Mr.
+Briggs the way!]
+
+[Illustration: After a good deal of climbing, our friend gets to the top
+of Ben-something-or-other, and the forester looks out to see if there
+are any deer on the hills. Yes! several hinds, and perhaps the finest
+hart that ever was seen.]
+
+[Illustration: To get at him, they are obliged to go a long way round.
+Before they get down, the shower, peculiar to the country, overtakes
+them, so they "shelter a-wee."]
+
+[Illustration: With extraordinary perseverance they come within shot of
+"the finest hart." Mr. B. is out of breath, afraid of slipping, and
+wants to blow his nose (quite out of the question), otherwise he is
+tolerably comfortable.]
+
+[Illustration: After aiming for a quarter of an hour, Mr. B. fires both
+his barrels--and--misses!!!! _Tableau_--The forester's anguish]
+
+[Illustration: The royal hart Mr. Briggs did NOT hit.]
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Briggs has another day's stalking, and his rifle
+having gone off sooner than he expected, he kills a stag. As it is his
+first, he is made free of the forest by the process customary on the
+hills!--]
+
+[Illustration: And returns home in triumph. He is a little knocked up,
+but after a nap, will, no doubt, go through the broad-sword dance in the
+evening as usual.]
+
+[Illustration: MR. BRIGGS GROUSE SHOOTING
+
+9 A.M. His arrival on the moor.--Mr. Briggs says that the fine bracing
+air makes him so vigorous that he shall never be beat. He also
+facetiously remarks that he is on "his native heath", and that his "name
+is Macgregor!"
+
+    [_The result of the day's sport will be communicated by electric
+    telegraph._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SKETCHES FROM SCOTLAND
+
+AT THE DRUMQUHIDDER HIGHLAND GATHERING.
+
+    SCENE--_A meadow near Drumquhidder, South Perthshire, where the
+    annual Highland Games are being held. The programme being a long
+    one, there are generally three events being contested in various
+    parts of the ground at the same time. On the benches immediately
+    below the Grand Stand are seated two Drumquhidder worthies_, MR.
+    PARRITCH _and_ MR. HAVERS, _with_ MRS. McTAVISH _and her niece, two
+    acquaintances from Glasgow, to whom they are endeavouring--not
+    altogether successfully--to make themselves agreeable_.
+
+_Mr. Havers_ (_in allusion to the dozen or so of drags, landaus, and
+waggonettes on the ground_). There's a number o' machines hier the day,
+Messis McTarvish, an' a wonderfu' crood; there'll be a bit scarceness
+ower on yon side, but a gey many a'thegither. I conseeder we're jest
+awfu' forrtunate in the day an' a'.
+
+    [_Mrs. McTavish assents, but without enthusiasm._
+
+_Mr. Parritch._ I've jist ben keekin into the Refraishmen' Tent. It's an
+awfu' peety they're no pairmeetin' ony intoaxicans--naethin' but
+non-alcohoalic liquors an' sic like, an' the hawm-sawndwiches no verra
+tender. (_With gallantry._) What do ye say, noo, Messis McTarvish--wull
+ye no come an' tak' a bite wi' me?
+
+_Mrs. McTavish (distantly)._ Ah'm no feelin' able for't jist the noo,
+Mester Pairritch.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ Ye'll hae a boatle o' leemonade at my expense? Ye'll no?
+Then ye wull, Mess Rawse. (_With relief, as Miss Rose declines also._)
+Aweel, I jist thocht I'd pit the quaistion. (_To a friend of his, who
+joins them._) An' hoo's a' wi' ye, Mester McKerrow? Ye're a member o'
+the Cawmittee, I obsairve, sae I'll hae to keck up a bet row wi' ye.
+
+_Mr. McKerrow (unconcernedly)._ Then ye'll jist to hae to keck it doon
+again. What's wrang the noo?
+
+_Mr. Parr._ I'd like to ask ye if ye conseeder it fair or jest to
+charrge us tippence every time we'd go aff the groon? Man, it's jist an
+extoartion.
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ I'm no responsible for't; but, if I'd ben there, I'd ha'
+chairged ye twa shellins; sae ye'd better say nae mair aboot the
+maitter.
+
+    [_Mr. Parritch does not pursue the subject._
+
+_Mr. Havers (as a detachment of the Black Watch Highlanders conclude an
+exhibition of musical drill)._ Ye'll be the baiter o' haeing the Block
+Wetch hier the day. Man, they gie us a colour! It's verra pretty hoo
+nicely they can pairforrm the drill.... An' noo them sojers is gaun to
+rin a bet race amang theirsels. This'll be an extry cawmpeteetion, I
+doot. (_As the race is being run._) It's no a verra suitable dress for
+rinnin'--the spleughan--or "sporran", is it?--hairrts them tairible.
+
+_Mr. McKerr. (contradictiously)._ The sporran does na hairrt them at a'.
+
+_Mr. Havers._ Man, it's knockin' against them at every stride they tak'.
+(_His attention wanders to a Highland Fling, which three small boys are
+dancing on a platform opposite._) He's an awfu' bonnie dauncer that wee
+laddie i' the meddle!
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ Na sae awfu' bonnie, he luiks tae much at his taes. Yon on
+the richt is the laddie o' the lote! He disna move his boady at a'....
+This'll be the Half Mile Handicap they're stairting for down yonder.
+It'll gae to Jock Alister--him in the blue breeks.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ Yon grup-luikin' tyke? I canna thenk it.
+
+_Mr. Havers._ Na, it'll be yon bald-heided man in broon. He's verra
+enthusiastic. He's ben rinnin' in a' the races, I obsairve. "Smeth" did
+ye say his neem was? (_To Miss Rose, "pawkily"._) Ye'll hae an
+affaictionate regaird for that neem, I'm thenking, Mess Rawse?
+
+_Miss Rose (with maidenly displeasure)._ 'Deed, an I'm no unnerstanding
+why ye should thenk ony sic a thing!
+
+_Mr. Havers (abashed)._ I beg your pairrdon. I don't know hoo it was I
+gethered Smeth was your ain neem. (_Miss Rose shakes her head._) No?
+Then maybe ye'll be acquaint with a Mester Alexawnder Smeth fro'
+Paisley? (_Miss Rose is not, nor apparently desires to be, and Mr.
+Havers returns to the foot-race._) The baldheid's leadin' them a', I
+tellt ye he'd----Na, he's gien up! it'll be the little block fellow,
+he's peckin' up tairible!
+
+_Mr. Parr._ 'Twull no be him. Yon lang chap has an easy jobe o't. Ye'll
+see he'll jist putt a spairrt on at yon faur poast--he's comin' on
+noo--he's.... Losh! he's only thirrd after a'; he didna putt the spairrt
+on sune eneugh; that was the gran' fau't he made!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ They'll be begenning the wrustling oot yon in the
+centre....(_As the competitors grip._) Losh! that's no the way to
+wrustle; they shouldna left the ither up; they're no allowed to threp!
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething at
+a' aboot it!
+
+[Illustration: "That's jist the game, I'm telling ye; ye know naething
+at a' aboot it!"]
+
+_Mr. Havers._ I'd sthruggle baiter'n that mysel', it's no great
+wrustling at a', merely bairrns' play!
+
+_Mr. McKerr (as a corpulent elderly gentleman appears, in very pink
+tights)._ Ye'll see some science noo, for hier's McBannock o'
+Balwhuskie, the chawmpion.
+
+_Mr. Havers (disenchanted)._ Wull yon be him in the penk breeks. Man,
+but he's awfu' stoot for sic wark!
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ The wecht of him's no easy put doon. The rest are boys to
+him.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ I doot the little dairk fellow'll hae him ... it's a gey
+sthruggle.
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ He's not doon yet. Wull ye bait sexpence against
+McBannock, Mester Pairritch?
+
+_Mr. Parr. (promptly)._ Aye, wull I--na, he's got the dairk mon doon. I
+was jist mindin' the sword-daunce, sae the bait's aff. (_Three men in
+full Highland costume step upon the platform and stand, proud and
+impassive, fronting the grand stand, while the judges walk round them,
+making careful notes of their respective points._) What wull _they_ be
+aboot?
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ It'll be the prize for the mon who's the best dressed
+Hielander at his ain expense. I'm thenkin' they'll find it no verra easy
+to come to a deceesion.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ Deed, it's no sae deeficult; 'twill be the mon in the
+centre, sure as deith!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ Ye say that because he has a' them gowd maidles hing on
+his jocket!
+
+_Mr. Parr_. (_loftily_). I pay no attention to the maidles at a'. I'm
+sayin' that Dougal Macrae is the best dressed Hielander o' the three.
+
+_Mr. Havers._ It'll no be Macrae at a'. Jock McEwan, that's furthest
+west, 'll be the mon.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ (_dogmatically_). It'll be Macrae, I'm tellin' ye. He has
+the nicest kelt on him that iver I sa'!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ It's no the _kelt_ that diz it, 'tis jist the way they pit
+it on. An' Macrae'll hae his tae faur doon, a guid twa enches too low,
+it is.
+
+_Mr. Parr._ Ye're a' wrang, the kelt is on richt eneugh!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ I know fine hoo a kelt should be pit an, though I'm no
+Hielander mysel', and I'll ask ye, Mess Rawse, if Dougal Macrae's kelt
+isn't too lang; it's jist losin his knees a' thegither, like a lassie he
+looks in it!
+
+    [_Miss Rose declines, with some stiffness, to express an opinion on
+    so delicate a point._
+
+_Mr. Parr. (recklessly)._ I'll pit a sexpence on Macrae wi' ye, come
+noo!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ Na, na, pit cawmpetent jedges on to deceede, and they'll
+be o' my opeenion; but I'll no bait wi' ye.
+
+_Mr. Parr. (his blood up)._ Then I'll hae a sexpence on 't wi you,
+Mester McKerrow!
+
+_Mr. McKerr._ Nay, I'm for Macrae mysel'.... An' we're baith in the
+richt o't too, for they've jist gien him the bit red flag--that means
+he's got firsst prize.
+
+_Mr. Parr. (to Mr. Havers, with reproach)._ Man, if ye'd hed the speerit
+o' your opeenions, I'd ha' won sexpence aff ye by noo!
+
+_Mr. Havers (obstinately)._ I canna thenk but that Macrae's kelt was too
+lang--prize or no prize. I'll be telling him when I see him that he
+looked like a lassie in it.
+
+_Mr. Parr. (with concern)._ I wouldna jist advise ye to say ony sic a
+thing to him. These Hielanders are awfu' prood; and he micht tak' it gey
+ill fro' ye!
+
+_Mr. Havers._ I see nae hairrm mysel' in jist tellin' him, in a
+pleesant, daffin-like way, that he looked like a lassie in his kelt. But
+there's nae tellin' hoo ye may offend some fowk; an' I'm thenking it's
+no sae verra prawbable that I'll hae the oaportunity o' saying onything
+aboot the maitter to him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AWKWARD FOR HIM.--_Tam._ "I'm sayin', man, my cairt o' hay's fa'en ower.
+Will ye gie 's a haund up wi' 't?" _Jock._ "'Deed will I. But ye'll be
+in nae hurry till I get tae the end o' the raw?" _Tam._ "Ou no. I'm in
+nae hurry, but I doot my faither 'll be wearyin'." _Jock._ "An' whaur's
+yer faither?" _Tam._ "He's in below the hay!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "MISTAKEN IDENTITY"
+
+SCENE--_Northern Meeting at Inverness._ PERSONS REPRESENTED--Ian Gorm
+_and_ Dougald Mohr, _gillies_. Mr. Smith, _of London_.
+
+_First Gillie._ "Wull yon be the MacWhannel, Ian Gorm?"
+
+_Second ditto._ "No!! Hes nae-um is Muster Smuth! And he ahl-ways wears
+the kult--and it is foohl that you aar, Tougalt Mohr!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: (LOCH) FYNE GRAMMAR
+
+(_A Sad Fact for the School Board_)
+
+_Tugal._ "Dud ye'll ever see the _I-oo-na_ any more before?"
+
+_Tonal._ "Surely I was."
+
+_Tugal._ "Ay, ay! Maybe you was never on poard too, after thus----"
+
+_Tonal._ "I dud."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: NON BEN (LOMOND) TROVATO.
+
+_Rory (fresh from the hills)._ "Hech, mon! Ye're loassin' a' yer
+watter!!"
+
+_Aungus._ "Haud yer tongue, ye feul! Ett's latt oot to stoap the laddies
+frae ridin' ahint!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "NOTHING LIKE LEATHER"
+
+_Bookseller_ (_to Lanarkshire country gentleman who had brought his back
+numbers to be bound_). "Would you like them done in 'Russia' or
+'Morocco,' sir?"
+
+_Old Gentleman._ "Na, never maind aboot Rooshy or Moroccy. I'll just hae
+'em boond in Glasgy here!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE TROUBLES OF STALKING
+
+_Irate Gillie_ (_on discovering in the distance, for the third time that
+morning, a "brute of a man" moving about in his favourite bit of
+"forest"_). "Oh! deil take the people! Come awa', Muster Brown, sir;
+_it's just Peekadilly!!!_"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A FALLEN ASS
+
+_Indignant Gillie_ (_to Jones, of London, who has by mistake killed a
+hind_). "I thoucht ony fule ken't it was the stags that had the horns!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: BONCHIENIE
+
+_Young Lady Tourist_ (_caressing the hotel terrier, Bareglourie, N.B._).
+"Oh, Binkie is his name! He seems inclined to be quite friendly with
+me."
+
+_Waiter._ "Oo, aye, miss, he's no vera parteec'lar wha he taks oop wi!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "CANNY"
+
+_First North Briton._ "'T's a fine day, this?"
+
+_Second ditto._ "No ill, ava."
+
+_First ditto._ "Ye'll be travellin'?"
+
+_Second ditto._ "Weel, maybe I'm no."
+
+_First ditto._ "Gaun t'Aberdeen, maybe?"
+
+_Second ditto._ "Ye're no faur aff't!!"
+
+    [_Mutually satisfied, each goes his respective way_
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THE PURCHASING LIMIT
+
+_Mr. Steinsen_ (_our latest millionaire--after his third fruitless
+stalk_). "Now, look here, you rascal! if you can't have the brutes
+tamer, I'm hanged if I don't sack you!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GROWING POPULARITY OF THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Mrs. Smith_ (_of Brixton_). "Lor', Mr. Brown, I 'ardly knoo yer! Only
+think of our meetin' _'ere_, this year, instead of dear old Margit! An'
+I suppose that's the costume you go _salmon-stalking_ in?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MORE SKETCHES FROM SCOTLAND
+
+ON A CALLANDER CHAR-A-BANC.
+
+     SCENE--_In front of the Trossachs Hotel. The few passengers bound
+     for Callander have been sitting for several minutes on the coach
+     "Fitz-James" in pelting rain, resignedly wondering when the driver
+     will consider them sufficiently wet to start._
+
+_The Head Boots (to the driver)._ There's another to come yet; he'll no
+be lang now. (_The cause of the delay comes down the hotel steps, and
+surveys the vehicle and its occupants with a surly scowl._) Up with ye,
+sir, plenty of room on the second seats.
+
+_The Surly Passenger._ And have all the umbrellas behind dripping on my
+hat! No, thank you, I'm going in front. (_He mounts, and takes up the
+apron._) Here, driver, just look at this apron--it's sopping wet!
+
+_The Driver (tranquilly)._ Aye, I'm thinking it wull ha' got a bet
+domp.
+
+[Illustration: "Ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to
+it."]
+
+_The Surly P._ Well, I'm not going to have this over me. Haven't you got
+a _dry_ one somewhere?
+
+_The Driver._ There'll be dry ones at Collander.
+
+_The Surly P. (with a snort)._ At Callander! Much good that is! (_With
+crushing sarcasm._) If I'm to keep dry on this concern, it strikes me
+I'd better get inside the boot at once!
+
+_The Driver (with the air of a man who is making a concession)._ Ou aye,
+ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to it.
+
+    [_The coach starts, and is presently stopped at a corner to take up
+    a male and a female passenger, who occupy the seats immediately
+    behind the Surly Passenger._
+
+_The Female P. (enthusiastically, to her companion)._ There's dear old
+Mrs. Macfarlane, come out to see the last of us! Look at her standing
+out there in the garden, all in the rain. That's what I always say about
+the Scotch--they _are_ warm-hearted!
+
+    [_She waves her hand in farewell to some distant object._
+
+_Her Companion. That_ ain't her; that's an old apple-tree in the garden
+_you_'re waving to. _She's_ keeping indoors--and shows her sense too.
+
+_The Female P. (disgusted)._ Well, I _do_ think after our being at the
+farm a fortnight and all, she _might_----But that's Scotch all _over_,
+that is; get all they can out of you, and then, for anything _they_
+care----!
+
+_The Surly P._ I don't know whether you are aware of it, ma'am, but that
+umbrella of yours is sending a constant trickle down the back of my
+neck, which is _most_ unpleasant!
+
+_The Female P._ I'm sorry to hear it, sir, but it's no worse for you
+than it is for me. I've got somebody else's umbrella dripping down _my_
+back, and _I_ don't complain.
+
+_The Surly P._ I _do_, ma'am, for, being in front, I haven't even the
+poor consolation of feeling that my umbrella is a nuisance to anybody.
+
+_A Sardonic P. (in the rear, politely)._ On the contrary, sir, I find it
+a most pleasing object to contemplate. Far more picturesque, I don't
+doubt, than any scenery it may happen to conceal.
+
+_A Chatty P. (to the driver; not because he cares, but simply for the
+sake of conversation)._ What fish do you catch in that river there?
+
+_The Driver (with an effort)._ There'll be troots, an', maybe, a pairrch
+or two.
+
+_The Chatty P._ Perch? Ah, that's rather like a goldfish in shape, eh?
+
+_Driver (cautiously)._ Aye, it would be that.
+
+_Chatty P._ Only considerably bigger, of course.
+
+_Driver (evasively)._ Pairrch is no a verra beg fesh.
+
+_Chatty P._ But bigger than goldfish.
+
+_Driver (more confidently)._ Ou aye, they'll be begger than goldfesh.
+
+_Chatty P. (persistently)._ You've seen goldfish--know what they're
+like, eh?
+
+_Driver (placidly)._ I canna say I do.
+
+    [_They pass a shooting party with beaters._
+
+_Chatty P. (as before)._ What are they going to shoot?
+
+_Driver._ They'll jist be going up to the hells for a bet grouse
+drivin'.
+
+_A Lady P._ I wonder why they carry those poles with the red and yellow
+flags. I suppose they're to warn tourists to keep out of range when they
+begin firing at the butts. I know they _have_ butts up on the moor,
+because I've seen them. Just look at those birds running after that man
+throwing grain for them. Would those be _grouse_?
+
+_Driver._ Ye'll no find grouse so tame as that, mem; they'll jist be
+phaysants.
+
+_The Lady P._ Poor dear things! why, they're as tame as chickens. It
+_does_ seem so cruel to kill them!
+
+_Her Comp._ Well, but they kill chickens, occasionally.
+
+_The Lady P._ Not with a horrid gun; and, besides, that's such a totally
+different thing.
+
+_The Chatty P._ What do you call that mountain, driver, eh?
+
+_Driver._ Yon hell? I'm no minding its name.
+
+_The Surly P._ You don't seem very ready in pointing out the objects of
+interests on the route, I must say.
+
+_Driver (modestly)._ There'll be them on the corch that know as much
+aboot it as myself. (_After a pause--to vindicate his character as a
+cicerone._) Did ye nottice a bit building at the end of the loch over
+yonder?
+
+_The Surly P._ No, I didn't.
+
+_Driver._ Ye might ha' seen it, had ye looked.
+
+    [_He relapses into a contented silence._
+
+_Chatty P._ Anything remarkable about the building?
+
+_Driver._ It was no the building that's remairkable. (_After a severe
+struggle with his own reticence._) It was jist the spoat. 'Twas there
+_Roderick Dhu_ fought _Fitz-James_ after convoying him that far on his
+way.
+
+    [_The Surly Passenger snorts as though he didn't consider this
+    information._
+
+_The Lady P. (who doesn't seem to be up in her "Lady of the Lake").
+Fitz-James who?_
+
+_Her Comp._ I fancy he's the man who owns this line of coaches. There's
+his name on the side of this one.
+
+_The Lady P._ And I saw _Roderick Dhu's_ on another coach. I _thought_
+it sounded familiar, somehow. He must be the _rival_ proprietor, I
+suppose. I wonder if they've made it up yet.
+
+_The Driver (to the Surly Passenger, with another outburst of
+communicativeness)._ Yon stoan is called "Sawmson's Putting Stoan." He
+hurrled it up to the tope of the hell, whaur it's bided ever sence.
+
+    [_The Surly Passenger receives this information with an incredulous
+    grunt._
+
+_The Lady P._ What a magnificent old ruin that is across the valley,
+some ancient castle, evidently; they can't build like that nowadays!
+
+_The Driver._ That's the Collander Hydropawthec, mem; burrnt doon two or
+three years back.
+
+_The Lady P. (with a sense of the irony of events)._ _Burnt_ down! A
+Hydropathic! Fancy!
+
+_Male P. (as they enter Callander and pass a trim villa)._ There,
+_that's_ Mr. Figgis's place.
+
+_His Comp._ What--_that_? Why, it's quite a _bee-yutiful_ place, with
+green venetians, and a conservatory, and a croaky lawn, and everything!
+Fancy all that belonging to _him!_ It's well to be a grocer--in _these_
+parts, seemingly!
+
+_Male P._ Ah, _we_ ought to come up and start business here; it 'ud be
+better than being in the Caledonian Road!
+
+    [_They meditate for the remainder of the journey upon the caprices
+    of Fortune with regard to grocery profits in Caledonia and the
+    Caledonian Road respectively._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER"
+
+_Mr. Punch_ is at present in the Highlands "a-chasing the deer."
+
+_Mrs. Punch_ is at home, and has promised all her friends haunches of
+venison as soon as they arrive!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "DESIRABLE"
+
+_Saxon Passenger (on Highland coach)._ "Of course you're well acquainted
+with the country round about here. Do you know 'Glen Accron'?"
+
+_Driver._ "Aye, weel."
+
+_Saxon Passenger (who had just bought the estate)._ "What sort of a
+place is it?"
+
+_Driver._ "Weel, if ye saw the deil tethered on't, ye'd just say 'Puir
+brute'!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ISOLATION!--OFF THE ORKNEYS
+
+_Southern Tourist._ "'Get any newspapers here?"
+
+_Orcadian Boatman._ "Ou aye, when the steamer comes. If it's fine,
+she'll come ance a week; but when it's stormy, i' winter, we dinna catch
+a glint o' her for three months at a time."
+
+_S. T._ "Then you'll not know what's goin' on in London!"
+
+_O. B._ "Na--but ye see ye're just as ill aff i' London as we are, for
+ye dinna ken what's gaun on here!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ON THE MOORS
+
+_The Laird's Brother-in-law (from London)._ "It's very strange, Lachlan!
+I'm having no luck!--and yet I seem to see two birds in place of one?
+That was surely very strong whiskey your master gave me at lunch?"
+
+_Keeper._ "Maybe aye and maybe no--the whuskey was goot; but any way ye
+dinna manage to hit the richt bird o' the twa!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A POOR ADVERTISEMENT
+
+_Tourist._ "I suppose you feel proud to have such a distinguished man
+staying in your house?"
+
+_Host of the "Drumdonnachie Arms."_ "'Deed no! A body like that does us
+mair hairm than guid; his appearance is nae credit tae oor
+commissariat!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: GENEROSITY
+
+_Noble Lord (whose rifle has brought to a scarcely untimely end a very
+consumptive-looking fallow deer)._ "Tut--t, t, t, t, tut! O, I say,
+Stubbs!"--(_to his keeper_)--"you shouldn't have let me kill such a
+poor, little, sickly, scraggy thing as this, you know! It positively
+isn't fit for human food! Ah! look here, now! I'll tell you what. You
+and McFarlin may have this buck between you!!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: TRAVELLER TOO BONA FIDE
+
+_Dusty Pedestrian._ "I should like a glass of beer, missis, please----"
+
+_Landlady._ "Hae ye been trevellin' by rell?"
+
+_Pedestrian._ "No, I've been walking--fourteen miles."
+
+_Landlady._ "Na, na, nae drink will ony yin get here, wha's been
+pleesure-seekin' o' the Sawbath day!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+He goes on board the _Iona_. The only drawback to his perfect enjoyment
+is the jealousy caused among all the gentlemen by the ladies clustering
+round him on all occasions.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS
+
+There were often unforeseen circumstances which gave to the Highland
+stalking of those days an added zest!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE PLEASURES OF TRAVEL
+
+(_By Ane that has kent them_)
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    'Tis a great thing, the Traivel; I'll thank ye tae find
+    Its equal for openin' the poors o' the mind.
+    It mak's a man polished, an' gies him, ye ken,
+    Sic a graun' cosmypollitan knowledge o' men!
+
+    I ne'er was a stay-at-hame callant ava,
+    I aye must be rantin' an' roamin' awa',
+    An' far hae I wandered, an' muckle hae seen
+    O' the ways o' the warl' wi' ma vara ain een.
+
+    I've been tae Kingskettle wi' Wullie an' Jeames,
+    I've veesited Anster an' Elie an' Wemyss,
+    I've walked tae Kirkca'dy an' Cupar an' Crail,
+    An' I aince was awa' tae Dundee wi' the rail.
+
+    Losh me, sir! The wonnerfu' things that I saw!
+    The kirks wi' their steeples, sae bonny an' braw
+    An' publics whauriver ye turned wi' yer ee--
+    'Tis jist a complete eddication, Dundee!
+
+    Theer's streets--be the hunner! An' shops be the score!
+    Theer's bakers an' grocers an' fleshers galore!
+    An' milliners' winders a' flauntin' awa'
+    Wi' the last o' the fashions frae Lunnon an' a'.
+
+    An' eh, sic a thrang, sir! I saw in a minnit
+    Mair folk than the toun o' Kinghorn will hae in it
+    I wadna hae thocht that the hail o' creation
+    Could boast at ae time sic a vast population!
+
+    Ma word, sir! It gars ye clap haun' tae yer broo
+    An' wunner what's Providence after the noo
+    That he lets sic a swarm o' they cratur's be born
+    Wham naebody kens aboot here in Kinghorn.
+
+    What?--Leeberal minded?--Ye canna but be
+    When ye've had sic a graun' eddication as me.
+    For oh, theer is naethin' like traivel, ye ken,
+    For growin' acquent wi' the natur' o' men.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"FALLS OF FOYERS."--A correspondent writes:--"I have seen a good many
+letters in the _Times_, headed 'The Falls of the Foyers.' Here and
+abroad I have seen many Foyers, and only fell down once. This was at the
+Theatre Francais, where the Foyer is kept highly polished, or used to be
+so. If the Foyers are carpeted or matted, there need be no 'Falls.'
+
+  Yours,
+
+    COMMON SENSE."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "WINGED"
+
+_First Gael._ "What's the matter, Tonal?"
+
+_Second ditto (who had been out with Old Briggs)._ "Matter! Hur legs is
+full o' shoots".]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MR. PUNCH AT THE HIGHLAND GAMES
+
+Shows the natives how to "put the stone."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: AN ARTIST SCAMP IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Artist (entering)._ "My good woman, if you'll allow me, I'll just paint
+that bedstead of yours."
+
+_Cottager (with bob-curtsey)._ "Thank ye, sir, I' sure it's very kind of
+ye--but dinna ye think that little one over yonder wants it more?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+EN ECOSSE
+
+_A Monsieur Punch_
+
+DEAR MISTER,--I come of to make a little voyage in Scotland. Ah, the
+beautiful country of Sir Scott, Sir Wallace, and Sir Burns! I am gone to
+render visit to one of my english friends, a charming boy--_un charmant
+garcon_--and his wife, a lady very instructed and very spiritual, and
+their childs. I adore them, the dear little english childs, who have the
+cheeks like some roses, and the hairs like some flax, as one says in
+your country, all buckled--_boucles_, how say you?
+
+I go by the train of night--in french one says "_le sleeping_"--to
+Edimbourg, and then to Calendar, where I attend to find a coach--in
+french one says "_un mail_" or "_un fourinhand_." _Nom d'une pipe_, it
+is one of those ridicule carriages, called in french "_un breack_" and
+in english a char-a-banc--that which the english pronounce
+"_tcherribaingue_"--which attends us at the going out of the station! Eh
+well, in voyage one must habituate himself to all! But a such carriage
+discovered--_decouverte_--seems to me well unuseful in a country where
+he falls of rain without cease.
+
+Before to start I demand of all the world some _renseignements_ on the
+scottish climate, and all the world responds me, "All-days of the rain."
+By consequence I procure myself some impermeable vestments, one
+mackintosch coat, one mackintosch cape of Inverness, one mackintosch
+covering of voyage, one south-western hat, some umbrellas, some gaiters,
+and many pairs of boots very thick--not boots of town, but veritable
+"shootings."
+
+I arrive at Edimbourg by a morning of the most sads; the sky grey, the
+earth wet, the air humid. Therefore I propose to myself to search at
+Calender a place at the interior, _et voila_--and see there--the
+_breack_ has no interior! There is but that which one calls a "boot",
+and me, Auguste, can I to lie myself there at the middle of the
+baggages? Ah no! Thus I am forced to endorse--_endosser_--my impermeable
+vestments and to protect myself the head by my south-western hat. Then,
+holding firmly the most strong of my umbrellas, I say to the coacher,
+"He goes to fall of the rain, is it not?" He makes a sign of head of not
+to comprehend. Ah, for sure, he is scottish! I indicate the sky and my
+umbrella, and I say "Rain?" and then he comprehends. "_Eh huile_", he
+responds to me, "_ah canna se, mebi huile no he meukl the de_." I write
+this phonetically, for I comprehend not the scottish language. What
+droll of conversation! Him comprehends not the english; me I comprehend
+not the scottish.
+
+But I essay of new, "How many has he of it from here to the lake?"
+_C'est inutile_--it is unuseful. I say, "Distance?" He comprehends.
+"_Mebi oui taque toua hours_", says he; "_beutt yile no fache yoursel,
+its no se lang that yile bi ouishinn yoursel aoua_." _Quelle
+langue_--what language, even to write phonetically! I comprehend one
+sole word, "hours." Some hours! _Sapristi!_ I say, "Hours?" He says
+"_Toua_" all together, a monosyllable. _Sans aucune doute ca veut dire_
+"twelve"--_douze_. Twelve hours on a _breack_ in a such climate! Ah, no!
+_C'est trop fort_--it is too strong! "Hold", I cry myself, "attend, I
+descend, I go not!" It is true that I see not how I can to descend, for
+I am _entoure_--how say you? of voyagers. We are five on a bench, of the
+most narrows, and me I am at the middle. And the bench before us is also
+complete, and we touch him of the knees. And my neighbours carry on the
+knees all sorts of packets, umbrellas, canes, sacks of voyage, &c. _Il
+n'y a pas moyen_--he has not there mean. And the coacher says me "_Na,
+na, monne, yile no ghitt doun, yile djest baid ouar yer sittinn._" Then
+he mounts to his place, and we part immediately. _Il va tomber de la
+pluie! Douze heures! Mon Dieu, quel voyage!_
+
+  Agree, &c.,
+
+    AUGUSTE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: ZEAL
+
+_Saxon Tourist._ "Been at the kirk?"
+
+_Celt._ "Aye."
+
+_Saxon T._ "How far is it?"
+
+_Celt._ "Daur say it'll be fourteen mile."
+
+_Saxon T._ "Fourteen miles!!"
+
+_Celt._ "Aye, aw'm awfu' fond o' the preachin'"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: THRIFT
+
+_Peebles Body (to townsman who was supposed to be in London on a
+visit)._ "E--eh Mac! ye're sune hame again!"
+
+_Mac._ "E--eh, it's just a ruinous place, that! Mun, a had na' been
+the-erre abune twa hoours when--_bang_--went _saxpence!!!_"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A SATISFACTORY SOLUTION
+
+"I fear, Duncan, that friend of mine does not seem overly safe with his
+gun."
+
+"No, sir. But I'm thinkin' it'll be all right if you wass to go wan side
+o' him and Mr. John the ither. He canna shoot baith o' ye!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "VITA FUMUS"
+
+_Tonal._ "Whar'll ye hae been till, Tugal?"
+
+_Tugal._ "At ta McTavishes' funeral----"
+
+_Tonal._ "An' is ta Tavish deed?"
+
+_Tugal._ "Deed is he!!"
+
+_Tonal._ "Losh, mon! Fowk are aye deein' noo that never used to dee
+afore!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: PRECAUTIONS
+
+_Saxon Angler (to his keeper)._ "You seem in a great hurry with your
+clip! I haven't seen a sign of a fish yet--not a rise!"
+
+_Duncan._ "'Deed, sir, I wisna a botherin' mysel' aboot the fush; but
+seein' you wis new to the business, I had a thocht it widna be lang
+afore you were needin' a left oot o' the watter yoursel'!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: HIS POUND OF FLESH
+
+_Financier (tenant of our forest, after a week's unsuccessful
+stalking)._ "Now, look here, my man. I bought and paid for ten stags. If
+the brutes can't be shot, you'll have to trap them! I've promised the
+venison, and I mean to have it!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: SCRUPULOUS
+
+_Shepherd._ "O, Jims, mun! Can ye no gie a whustle on tha ram'lin' brute
+o' mine? I daurna mysel'; it's just fast-day in oor parish!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "THE LAND OF LORN"
+
+_It has drizzled incessantly, for a fortnight, since the Smiths came
+down to their charming villa at Braebogie, in Argyleshire._
+
+_Keeper (who has come up to say the boat is ready on the loch, if
+"they're for fushin' the day")._ "Eh! I should na wonder if this weather
+tur-rns ta rain!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: LOCAL
+
+SUNDAY MORNING
+
+_Tourist (staying at the Glenmulctem Hotel--dubiously)._ "Can
+I--ah--have a boat?"
+
+_Boatman._ "Oo--aye!"
+
+_Tourist._ "But I thought you--ah--never broke the--aw--Sabbath in
+Scotland?"
+
+_Boatman._ "Aweel, ye ken the Sawbath disna' come doon to the loch--it
+just staps at the hottle!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+EN ECOSSE (ENCORE)
+
+_A Monsieur Punch_
+
+DEAR MISTER,--I have spoken you of my departure from Calendar on the
+_breack_. Eh, well, he rained not of the whole of the whole--_du tout
+du tout! Il faisait un temps superbe_--he was making a superb time, the
+route was well agreeable, and the voyage lasted but two hours, and not
+twelve. What droll of idea! In Scottish _twa_ is two, not twelve. I was
+so content to arrive so quick, and without to be wetted that I gave the
+coacher a good to-drink--_un bon pourboire_--though before to start all
+the voyagers had paid him a "tipp", that which he called a "driver's
+fee." Again what droll of idea! To give the to-drink before to start,
+and each one the same--six pennys.
+
+My friend encountered me and conducted me to his house, where I have
+passed fifteen days, a sojourn of the most agreeables. And all the time
+almost not one sole drop of rain! _J'avais beau_--I had fine--to buy all
+my impermeable vestments, I carry them never. One sole umbrella suffices
+me, and I open him but two times. And yet one says that the Scotland is
+a rainy country. It is perhaps a season _tout a fait_--all to
+fact--exceptional. But fifteen days almost without rain! One would
+believe himself at the border of the Mediterranean, absolutely at the
+South. And I have eaten of the "porridg", me Auguste! _Partout_ I essay
+the dish of the country. I take at first a spoonful pure and simple. _Oh
+la, la!_ My friend offers me of the cream. It is well. Also of the salt.
+_Quelle idee!_ But no, before me I perceive a dish of _confiture_, that
+which the Scottish call "marmaladde." _A la bonne heure!_ With some
+marmaladde, some cream, and much of sugar, I find that the "porridg" is
+enough well, for I taste him no more.
+
+One day we make an ascension, and we see many grouses. Only we can not
+to shoot, for it is not yet the season of the huntings. It is but a hill
+that we mount. The name appears me to be french, but bad written. "Ben
+Venue", that is to say, "_Bienvenu_"--_soyez le bienvenu_. She is one of
+the first of the Scottish hills, and she says "welcome" in french. It is
+a pretty idea, and a politeness very amiable towards my country. I
+salute the hospitable Scotland and I thank her. It is a great country,
+of brave men, of charming women--ah, I recall to myself some eyes so
+beautiful, some forms so attracting!--of ravishing landscapes, and, at
+that epoch there, of a climate so delicious. She has one sole and one
+great defect. The best Scottish hotels cost very dear, and, my faith,
+the two or three that I visited are not great thing like
+comfortable--_ne sont pas grand'chose comme comfortable!_
+
+One day we make a little excursion on the Lake of Lomond. The lake is
+well beautiful, and the steamboat is excellent. But in one certain
+hotel, in descending from a _breack_, and before to embark, we take the
+"lunch." We bargain not, we ask not even the price, we eat at the _table
+d'hote_ like all the world in Swiss, in France, even in Germany, when
+there is but one half hour before the departure of the train or of the
+boat. _Oh la, la!_ I have eaten in the spanish hotels, on the steamboats
+of the italian lakes, even in the _restaurants--mon Dieu!_--of the
+english railways, but never, never--_au grand jamais_--have I eaten a
+_dejeuner_ like that! One dish I shall forget never; some exterior green
+leaves of lettuce, without oil or vinegar, which they called a "salad."
+_Parbleu_--by blue! In all the history of the world there has been but
+one man who would have could to eat her with pleasure--Nabuchodonosor!
+
+  Agree, &c.,
+
+    AUGUSTE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "CANNY"
+
+_Sister._ "Why, Charles, you've got raw whiskey here!"
+
+_Charles._ "Well, it's hardly worth while to bring water. We can always
+find that as we go along--when we want it."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: CAUTIOUS
+
+_Visitor (at out-of-the-way inn in the North)._ "Do you know anything
+about salmon-poaching in this neighbourhood?"
+
+_Landlady (whose son is not above suspicion)._--"Eh--no, sir. Maybe it's
+a new style of cooking as we haven't heard of in these parts, as you
+see, sir, we only do our eggs that way; and"--(_brightening up_)--"if
+you like 'em, I can get you a dish at once!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A DECIDED OPINION
+
+_Proprietor of shootings ("in the course of conversation")._ "Yes, but
+you know, Sandy, it's difficult to choose between the Scylla of a shy
+tenant, and the Charybdis of----"
+
+_Sandy (promptly)._ "Aweel! Gie me the siller, an' anybuddy that likes
+may hae the tither!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _Chappie (after missing his fourth stag, explains)._
+"Aw--fact is, the--aw--waving grass was in my way."
+
+_Old Stalker._ "Hoot, mon, wad he hae me bring out a scythe?"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Our artist catches it again this winter in the
+Highlands.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A FINE HEAD (BUT NOT OF THE RIGHT SORT OF CATTLE) Perkins
+has paid a mint of money for his shooting, and has had bad luck all the
+season. To-day, however, he gets a shot, only--it turns out to be at a
+cow!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A "SCENE" IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Ill-used husband_ (_under the bed_). "Aye! Ye may crack me, and ye may
+thrash me, but ye canna break my manly sperrit. I'll na come oot!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+He is at present on a boating excursion, and describes the motion as
+extremely pleasant, and has no dread of sea-sickness.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "GAME" IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_Captain Jinks._ "Birds plentiful, I hope, Donald?"
+
+_Donald._ "Tousans, sir--in tousans."
+
+_Captain J._ "Any zebras?"
+
+_Donald_ (_anxious to please_). "Is't zebras? They're in tousans, too."
+
+_Captain J._ "And gorillas, no doubt?"
+
+_Donald._ "Well, noo an' then we see ane or twa--just like yerself."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES'S ADVENTURES IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+Lavinia takes a siesta,]
+
+[Illustration: And the frightful situation she finds herself in at the
+end of it.]
+
+[Illustration: Lavinia arrives at a waterfall, and asks its name. The
+shepherd (not understanding English) informs her in Gaelic that it is
+called (as Lavinia supposes) "Vicharoobashallochoggilnabo." Lavinia
+thinks it a very pretty name.]
+
+[Illustration: A bright idea strikes the shepherd, and before Lavinia
+can remonstrate, he transports her, in the usual manner, to the other
+side.]
+
+[Illustration: MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES
+
+She comes suddenly on a strange structure--apparently a native fort, and
+is just going to sketch it, when a savage of gigantic stature, and armed
+to the teeth, starts from an ambush, and menaces her in Gaelic!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TWENTY HOURS AFTER
+
+EUSTON, 8 P.M.
+
+    I'm sick of this sweltering weather.
+      Phew! ninety degrees in the shade!
+    I long for the hills and the heather,
+      I long for the kilt and the plaid;
+    I long to escape from this hot land
+      Where there isn't a mouthful of air,
+    And fly to the breezes of Scotland--
+      It's never too stuffy up there.
+
+    For weeks I have sat in pyjamas,
+      And found even these were _de trop_,
+    And envied the folk of Bahamas
+      Who dress in a feather or so;
+    But now there's an end to my grilling,
+      My Inferno's a thing of the past;
+    Hurrah! there's the whistle a-shrilling--
+      We are off to the Highlands at last!
+
+CALLANDER, 4 P.M.
+
+    The dull leaden skies are all clouded
+      In the gloom of a sad weeping day,
+    The desolate mountains are shrouded
+      In palls of funereal grey;
+    'Mid the skirl of the wild wintry weather
+      The torrents descend in a sheet
+    As we shiver all huddled together
+      In the reek of the smouldering peat.
+
+    A plague on the Highlands! to think of
+      The heat that but lately we banned;
+    Oh! what would we give for a blink of
+      The bright sunny side of the Strand!
+    To think there are folk that still revel
+      In Summer, and fling themselves down,
+    In the Park, or St. James? What the d----
+      Possessed us to hurry from town?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"OUT OF TUNE AND HARSH."--_First Elder_ (_at the Kirk "Skellin'"_). "Did
+ye hear Dougal? More snorin' in the sermon?"
+
+_Second Elder_, "Parefec'ly disgracefu'! He's waukened 's a'!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: OVERHEARD IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+_First Chieftain._ "I say, old chap, what a doose of a bore these games
+are!"
+
+_Second Chieftain._ "Ah, but, my dear boy, it is this sort of thing that
+has made us Scotchmen _what we are!!_"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "SERMONS IN STONES"
+
+_Tourist_ (_of an inquiring and antiquarian turn_). "Now I suppose,
+farmer, that large cairn of stones has some history?"
+
+_Highland Farmer._ "Ooh, aye, that buig o' stanes has a gran' history
+whatever!"
+
+_Tourist_ (_eagerly_). "Indeed! I should like to----What is the
+legend----?"
+
+_Farmer._ "Just a gran' history!" (_Solemnly._) "It took a' ma cairts
+full and horses sax months to gather them aff he land and pit them
+ther-r-re!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: JETSAM AND FLOTSAM
+
+Smith being shut out from the Continent this year, takes a cottage ornee
+on Dee-Side. Scotland. The children are sent up first. The house is
+described as "conveniently furnished"--they find it so!]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: IN THE WILDS OF THE NORTH.
+
+_Hungry Saxon_ (_just arrived, with equally hungry family_). "Well,
+now--er--what can you give us for dinner, as soon as we've had a wash?"
+
+_Scotch Lassie._ "Oh, jist onything!"
+
+_H. S._ (_rubbing his hands in anticipation_). "Ah! Now we'll have a
+nice juicy steak."
+
+_Lassie._ "A--weel. We'll be haein' some steak here maybe by the boat i'
+the morn's morn!"
+
+_H. S._ (_a little crestfallen_). "Oh--well--chops then. We'll say
+mutton chops."
+
+_Lassie._ "Oh, ay, but we've no been killin' a sheep the day!"
+
+    [_Ends up with boiled eggs, and vows to remain at home for the future._
+
+]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE DUKE OF ATHOLL'S SHILLING (1851)
+
+The _North British Mail_ assures us that the Duke of Atholl exacts one
+shilling a head from every person taking a walk in his ground at
+Dunkeld. This is rather dear; but the impost would be insupportable if
+his Grace insisted upon also showing himself for the money.
+
+A HIGHLAND CORONACH
+
+_Or Lament over the Acts and State of the Duke of Atholl._
+
+After Scott.
+
+    He has shut up the mountain,
+    He has locked up the forest,
+    He has bunged up the fountain,
+    When our need was the sorest;
+    The traveller stirring
+    To the North, may dogs borrow;
+    But the Duke gives no hearing,
+    No pass--but to sorrow.
+
+    The hand of the tourist
+    Grasps the carpet-bag grimly,
+    But a face of the dourest
+    Frowns through the Glen dimly.
+    The autumn winds, rushing,
+    Stir a kilt of the queerest,
+    Duke and gillies come crushing
+    Where pleasure is nearest!
+
+    Queer foot on the corrie,
+    Oddly loving to cumber--
+    Give up this odd foray,
+    Awake from your slumber!
+    Take your ban from the mountain,
+    Take your lock from the river,
+    Take your bolt from the fountain,
+    Now at once, and for ever!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: The sad fate of our only ham.--The pursuit.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A RARA MONGRELLIS
+
+_Tourist._ "Your dog appears to be deaf, as he pays no attention to me."
+
+_Shepherd._ "Na, na, sir. She's a varra wise dog, for all tat. But she
+only speaks Gaelic."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "IN FOR IT"
+
+_Innocent Tourist._ "No fish to be caught in Loch Fine now? And how do
+you support yourself?"
+
+_Native._ "Whiles she carries parcels, and whiles she raws people in ta
+poat, and whiles a shentleman 'ull give her a saxpence or a shillin'!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A BLANK DAY
+
+_The Keeper_ (_to Brown, who rents the forest_). "Doon wi' ye! Doon wi'
+ye! Get ahint a stang!"
+
+_Brown_ (_out of temper--he had been "stalking" about all the morning,
+and missed several times_). "Yes, it's all very well to say 'Get behind
+a stone.' But show me one!--show me one!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Punch passes a night at McGillie Cullum Castle.]
+
+[Illustration: The Laird, as a delicate compliment, serenades him.]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A BAD SEASON
+
+_Sportsman._ "I can assure you, what with the rent of the moor, and my
+expenses, and 'what not,' the birds have cost me--ah--a sovereign
+apiece!!"
+
+_Keeper._ "A' weel, sir! 'Deed it's a maircy ye didna kill na mair o'
+'em!!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: CANDID
+
+_Sportsman._ "Boy, you've been at this whiskey!"
+
+_Boy_ (_who has brought the luncheon-basket_). "Na! The cooark wadna
+come oot!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: "UNCO CANNY"
+
+_Noble Sportsman._ "Missed, eh?"
+
+_Cautious Keeper._ "Weel, a' wadna gang quite sae faur as to say that;
+but a' doot ye hay'na _exactly_ hit."]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE SONG OF THE SCOTCH TOURIST
+
+    Those Scotch hotels! Those Scotch hotels
+    Are fit for princes and for swells;
+    But their high charges don't agree
+    With humbler travellers like me.
+
+    Twelve shillings daily for my board
+    Is more than I can well afford,
+    For this includes nor ale nor wine,
+    Whereof I drink some when I dine.
+
+    Bad sherry's charged at eight-and-six,
+    A price that in my gizzard sticks:
+    And if I want a pint of port,
+    A crown is what I'm pilfer'd for 't.
+
+    For service, too, I have to pay,
+    Two shillings, as a rule, per day:
+    Yet always, when I leave the door,
+    The boots and waiter beg for more.
+
+    So, till a fortune I can spend,
+    Abroad my autumn steps I'll bend;
+    Far cheaper there, experience tells,
+    Is living than at Scotch hotels!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: A VERY DIFFERENT MATTER
+
+_Southern Lord_ (_staying at Highland castle_). "Thank you so much.
+I--ah--weally enjoy your music. I think of having a piper at my own
+place."
+
+_Sandy the piper._ "An' fat kin' o' a piper would your lordship be
+needin'?"
+
+_Southern Lord._ "Oh, certainly a good piper like yourself, Sandy."
+
+_Sandy_ (_sniffing_). "Och! Inteet!--Ye might easily fin' a lord like
+your lordship, but it's nae sae easy to fin' a piper like me whatever!"]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE END
+
+BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Punch in the Highlands, by Various
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