[1] A little pickle. [2] Sporting like a kitten. [3] The Lowland language has no equivalent for this word, which in itself is so peculiarly expressive. [4] Whispers soft things. [5] Sitting. [6] Arm round my waist. [7] Four lips. [8] Jaunty. [9] Go away. [10] Remain. [11] Hieland proverb signifying that enough for one is _not_ sufficient for two. [12] Sleep. ---------------------------------- [Illustration: SAWBATH RECREATION _Gentleman from N. B. (he had sent his Presbyterian butler to a service at Westminster Abbey)._ “Well, Dugald, what did you think of it?” _Dugald._ “Aweel, sir, it was mair like heev’n than airth; but e--h, sir, it’s just an awfu’ way o’ spennin’ the Sawbath, yon!!”] * * * * * THE IRISHMAN IN SCOTLAND.--Sorr, there is a river that requires milk an’ sugar before ye’d dhrink a dhrop of it? What is it? Sure ’tis the river _Tay_. * * * * * A CONUNDRUM MADE BY A LITTLE BOY ONLY SEVEN YEARS OLD.--Why is an umbrella like a Scottish shower?--Because the moment it rains it’s _missed_. * * * * * [Illustration: SCENE--_A Scottish Estate. The New Heir has run down to see the property._ _The Heir._ “I sha’n’t be able to come and settle here just yet, McTavish, as I’m ordered out to South Africa, but----” _McTavish (his Factor--with feeling)._ “A’m sorry,--A’m varra sorry to hear that”--(_the Heir is rather touched_)--“because ye’ll understan’, if onything was to happen to ye, A doot the estate couldna stan’ two succession duties so close.”] KINGHORN AN’ LUNNON (_A Comparison_) The sichts we’ve seen! The punds my wife Has spent instead o’ bankit! But eh! we’re back in bonny Fife, Sae let the Lord be thankit! An’ Lunnon? Weel, ye ken, it’s gay An’ busy, nicht an’ morn, man, An’ there’s a pickle fouk--but eh! It’s no--it’s no Kinghorn, man. Ye’ll wanner on, an’ on, an’ on, Through miles an’ miles o’ men, man, An’ yet in a’ the crood like yon There’s de’il a face ye’ll ken, man. Na! Lunnon’s oot the warl’, ye see, For look ye, I’ll be sworn, man, Sic unco things could never be In ceevilised Kinghorn, man. The shops? Ou, aye, there’s shops indeed, But faith, they’re rale unhaundy: Ane keeps yer butter, ane yer breid, An’ yet a third yer braundy. Noo here, gin ye be wantin’ oucht, Boots, butcher’s meat or corn, man, Shag, bonnets, breeks, they’ll a’ be boucht Thegither in Kinghorn, man. The fashions? Weel, ye ken, we saw A wheen o’ giddy hussies Paradin’ in their duddies braw Upon the cars an’ ’busses. But dinna think owre much o’ yon, For sure as I am born, man, For style, it’s no a patch upon Our floo’er show at Kinghorn, man.