_Allan._ “Poet! Hoo could Tam Stirdy be a poet? Man, he was at the schule wi’ _me_!”] UNSPEAKABLE SCOTS Hear, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnnie Groats-- A chiel’s amang ye takin’ notes: Behold his labours-- A volume padded weel wi’ “quotes” Aboot his neighbours. And wha should ken sae weel as he What a’ oor fauts and failin’s be? Has he no seen wi’ his ain ee Auld Reekie’s lums? Drumtochty’s kent as weel’s E.C. And sae is Thrums. Ou aye, there’s noucht he disna ken O’ Scottish life and Scottish men. Wi’ lugs attentive let us then List to his railin’s, And humbly set oorsels to men’ Oor mony failin’s. The Scot, says he, is dull and dour, Aye jealous, greedy, jaundiced, sour, A drucken, coarse, ill-mannered boor, Wherein one traces Nae sign o’ Crosland’s mental pow’r And courtly graces. We arena gleg, we Scottish folk: We canna catch the witty stroke That will a Surrey Ha’ provoke, To lauchter shakin’, Nay, whiles we canna see a joke O’ Crosland’s makin’. We swear, we lo’e the barley bree, We thieve--but, eh, sirs! how should we Be quit o’ thae black vices he Sae criticises, When a’ the virtues Mr. C. Monopolises? [Illustration: “SATISFACTORY” _Mistress._ “Well, Jessie, I’m going into Nairn, and will see your mother. Can I give her any message from you?” _Jessie (her first “place”)._ “Ou, mem, ye can just say I’m unco weel pleased wi’ ye!!”] * * * * * THE DAY AND THE DEED.--A certain Scottish Presbytery were sorely dumbfounded by an answer to a request of theirs for signature to a Sabbatarian petition. The reply (translated to them of course) was _Laborare est orare_. * * * * * _Guard (to inebriated traveller, at junction)._ Now, sir, all change, please. _Traveller (with dignity)._ D’ye ken, mon, that I’ve got a return ticket? * * * * * [Illustration: “ICHABOD!” _Scots Wife (to her gossip)._ “Ah dinna ken what’s come ower the Kirk. Ah canna bide to see oor menester spankin’ aboot on yon cyclopædy!”] A BALLAD OF EDINBORO’ TOON The lusty sun did glower aboon, Wi’ welcome in his cheerfu’ rays; I walked in Edinboro’ toon, A’ in ma caller claes. For I had donned ma coat o’ cheiks That cost me guineas twa an’ three. But and ma pair o’ ditto breeks That luiked sae pleasantlie. On ilka breek were creasies twa; And they did hang sae fine, sae fine, Frae John o’ Groats to Gallowa’ Were nane sae fair as mine. An’ first I honoured Geordie Street, An’ syne I walked the Princes ane, To gie to ilka lass a treat An’ a’ the laddies pain.