Chapter II: Part 2

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!"

* * * * *

"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!"]

* * * * *

"Come along, old fellow! Here's a point!!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Old Gent._ "When is the steamer due here?"

_Highland Pier-Master._ "Various. Sometimes sooner, sometimes earlier, an' even sometimes before that, too."]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

_Friend (to novice at salmon fishing)._ "I say, old boy, mind how you wade; there are some tremendous holes, fourteen or fifteen feet deep."]

* * * * *

_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_?"]

* * * * *

_Scotch Shepherd._ "Nae, sir. We've just to dee a natural death!"]

* * * * *

(_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."]

* * * * *

_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._

]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_Gillie._ "Eh, mon! But it's fortunate there's beef in Aberdeen!"]

* * * * *

MR. BRIGGS IN THE HIGHLANDS

_By_ JOHN LEECH

[N.B. The said animal is as strong as a bull, and uses his legs like
a race-horse.

]

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!

_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!"

* * * * *

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!!"]

* * * * *

(_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."]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_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!!!_"]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_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_

]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_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.

_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._

* * * * *

_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!]

* * * * *

_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'!"]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_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!!!"]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

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.]

* * * * *

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_)

'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."

* * * * *

_First Gael._ "What's the matter, Tonal?"

_Second ditto (who had been out with Old Briggs)._ "Matter! Hur legs is full o' shoots".]

* * * * *

Shows the natives how to "put the stone."]

* * * * *

_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.

* * * * *

_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'"]

* * * * *

_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!!!_"]

* * * * *

"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!"]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

_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'!"]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

_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."]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

_Old Stalker._ "Hoot, mon, wad he hae me bring out a scythe?"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

He is at present on a boating excursion, and describes the motion as extremely pleasant, and has no dread of sea-sickness.]

* * * * *

_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."]

* * * * *

Lavinia takes a siesta,]

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'!"

* * * * *

_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!!_"]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

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!]

* * * * *

_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!

* * * * *

* * * * *

_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."]

* * * * *

_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'!"]

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_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!!"]

* * * * *

_Sportsman._ "Boy, you've been at this whiskey!"

_Boy_ (_who has brought the luncheon-basket_). "Na! The cooark wadna come oot!"]

* * * * *

_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!

* * * * *

_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!"]

* * * * *

THE END

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.