But leddies wi’ an eye to fame, Take leeberties wi’ thy dread name, Thy wanderings frae thy woefu’ hame, Lang fixed afar; Painting thee neither black, nor lame, As auld fients are. True, Wullie Shakspeare ance did say Thou wert “a gentleman.” But to-day The leddies limn thee masher gay, Modish and maudlin’, Weel-groomed, about the public way Daundering and dawdlin’. The Prince of Darkness as a dude, Callow and cantin’, crass and crude, Compound of prater, prig, male-prude, And minor poet, Is--weel, I wadna’ here intrude _The_ word--ye know it! Milton and Goethe whyles might summon Thine image forth, a graund, grim, glum ’un; But ’tis beyond the scribblin’ woman Wi’ truth to paint ye. She’ll mak’ ye a reedeeculous rum ’un, Unsex, half saint ye! Thrasonic Bobadil the bard, Wha deems Parnassus his backyard, Tried to invoke thy presence--hard; As did great “Festus.” But somehow their attempts, ill-starred, Scarce eenterest us. They havena’ the true grit and grup In mighty shape to raise _ye_ up. They wha’d on _genuine_ horrors sup, And scare a body, Are not inspired by raw pork-chop, An’ whusky-toddy. But oh! a leddy-novelist’s Deil Wad scarcely gar a bairnie squeel! Like Hotspur’s “sarcenet oath,” we feel It hath nae terror. Is lathen dagger ta’en for steel A greater error? Sorrows o’ Satan! Aye, good lack! ’Tis bad to paint ye owre black; But thus whitewash ye! Oh! quack! quack! His truest “sorrow” Satan from the she-scribbler’s knack Must surely borrow. Weel, fare-ye-weel, Auld Nickie-Ben! Ye’ve borne some wrangs at hands o’ men, But frae the writing-woman’s pen, She-poet-prophet, Gude luck deliver ye--and then Ye’ll no dread Tophet! [Illustration: A WARNING TO LAWSONITES _First Scots Boatman._ “Weel, Geordie, hoo got ye on the day?” _Second Ditto (drouthy, he had been out with a Free Kirk Minister, a strict abstainer)._ “Nae ava. The auld carle had nae whusky, sae I took him whaur there was nae fush!”] [Illustration: DRIVING A BARGAIN _Economical Drover._ “A teeck’t tae Faa’kirk.” _Polite Clerk._ “Five-and-ninepence, please.” _Drover._ “Ah’ll gie ye five shillings!” _Clerk (astonished)._. “Eh!” _Drover._ “Weel, ah’ll gie ye five-an’-thrippence, an’ deil a bawbee mair! Is’t a bargain?!”] [Illustration: UNCOMPROMISING _The Doctor’s Daughter._ “I declare you’re a dreadful fanatic, Mrs. McCizzom. I do believe you think nobody will be saved but you and your minister!” _Old Lady._ “Aweel, my dear, ah whiles hae ma doobts aboot the meenister!”] [Illustration: QUOI? _First Artist (six months in Paris)._. “Yes, this is the best thing I’ve done.” _Second Artist (just arrived)._. “Mon, dinna let that discoorage ye!”]