[Illustration: “WHERE THERE’S A WILL THERE’S A WAY” (_Liberal Scots Farmer giving his workpeople a dram_). “Awm sorry, Mrs. McDougal, ye canna tak a gless on account of your temperance principles!” _Mrs. McDougal._ “Hoot, man! Ye jist poor’t on ma bap,[A] an’ I’ll eat it!”] ---------------------------------- [A] “_Bap_,” a roll. ---------------------------------- [Illustration: _Emily the Elder._ “I can’t think why William wanted to take Archie out rabbit-shooting in such horrid weather.”--(_Cousin Archie, who is evidently smitten in this quarter, waves an adieu with his bonnet._)--“A regular Scotch mist, I declare!” _Maria the Younger._ “Yes, dear, and”--(_mischievously_)--“somebody doesn’t like missing a Scotsman!!” [_Emily goes in with a toss of her head, and plays “Tullochgorum” furiously on the piano._] * * * * * AT A WEST-END CLUB.--_Hospitable Southerner (to Scottish guest)._ Have another go of whisky? _Scottish Guest (with a sigh)._ I thank ye. No. _Hospitable Southerner (astonished)._ What! Why surely it’s not a case of “the wee drappie i’ the ee”? _Scottish Guest._ Nae, mon, it’s no that; it’s the wee drappee i’ the glass. [_H. S. takes hint and orders a tumbler of whisky._ * * * * * A REAL SCOTTISH JOKE.--What’s the next wine to golden sherry? Sillery. (_Siller_--eh?) * * * * * [Illustration: PLEASANT! SCENE--_A bleak Scottish moor._ TIME--_New Year’s Day. Train gradually stops._ _Excited Passenger._ “Now, then, guard, what _are_ you stopping here for?” _Philosophical Guard._ “Fact is, the watter’s gane aff the bile. Hooever, it’s jist possible th’ express behin’ll be late.”] [Illustration: _MacAlister._ “When ye come tae Scotland I’ll gie ye plenty fushin’ and shuitin’.” _Brown._ “Are you fond of fishing and shooting?” _MacAlister._ “Na! na! A canna fush and am faird tae shuit!”] [Illustration: THE RULING PASSION _Little Girl._ “Wull ye gie’s ha’pennies for this thripenny, for ma granny’s feared it’s no a gude ane?”] THE DECAY OF THE KILT _Mr. Briggs loquitur_: I am going down to Scotland, to the country of the kilt, For a little salmon-stalking in a place they call Glen Tilt; And as I always like to be a Roman when at Rome, I’ve purchased the correct costume and it has just come home. The kilt is most becoming, and it hangs with grace and ease, Though perhaps a little draughty in the region of the knees, And if there should be midges--but no doubt the Scotch are drest In the clothes Experience has found to suit the climate best. The dirk that dangles from my waist looks very _comme il faut_, And the sporran in my stocking gives a finish, don’t you know? The girls are all in raptures as they gaze at me in turns, And mother says they’ll take me for another Robert Burns. _Sandy loquitur_: