STOP HIM!--A Scots gentleman puts the postage stamps wrong way up on his letters, and calls it, with a tender feeling,--Turning a penny! * * * * * [Illustration: _Hungry Visitor (ignorant of the nature of this particular delicacy)._ “Ah, Donal, mon, we ken weel hae the rabbit for saxpence. We ken get twa bawbees fur the skeen when we get back to Glasgow!”] * * * * * SEASONABLE WEATHER IN SCOTLAND.--(_Edinburgh, New Year’s Day._) _Sandy._ There’s mair snaw this new year than I’ve seen for mony a day; it’s by ord’nar. _Jock._ Ay, but it’s vera saisonable wather. _Sandy._ ’Deed, ye may say that, Jock,--fine saft fa’in for the fou folk. * * * * * [Illustration: CURLING ON THE ICE IN SCOTLAND.] [Illustration: HIGHLY CONSIDERATE _Little Smithkin (debonairly)._ “Object to smoking?” _North Briton._ “Nae in the least, if it does na’ mak’ ye seek!” [_As Little S. said, he “cut the old cad for the rest of the journey._”] THE LUNNON TWANG I’ve heard a Frenchman wag his tongue Wi’ unco din an’ rattle, An’, ’faith, my vera lugs hae sung Wi’ listenin’ tae his prattle; But French is no the worst of a’ In point o’ noise an’ clang, man; There’s ane that beats it far awa’, And that’s the Lunnon twang, man. You wadna think, within this land, That folk could talk sae queerly, But, sure as death, tae understand The callants beats me fairly. An’, ’faith, ’tis little gude their schules Can teach them, as ye’ll see, man, For--wad ye credit it?--the fules Can scarcely follow _me_, man. An’ yet, tae gie the deils their due, (An’ little praise they’re worth, man,) They seem tae ken, I kenna hoo, That I come frae the Nor-r-th, man! They maun be clever, for ye ken There’s nought tae tell the chiefs, man: I’m jist like a’ the ither men That hail frae Galashiels, man. But oh! I’m fain tae see again The bonny hills an’ heather! Twa days, and ne’er a drap o’ rain-- Sic awfu, drouthy weather! But eh! I doubt the Gala boys Will laugh when hame I gang, man, For oo! I’m awfu’ feared my voice Has ta’en the Lunnon twang, man! * * * * * THE GALLANT SCOTS.--As a party of very pretty girls approached the camp of the Royal Scottish at Wimbledon, the band struck up--“The Camp-belles are Coming!” * * * * * [Illustration: A PROMISING WITNESS! _Scots Counsel (addressing an old woman in a case before Judge and Jury)._ “Pray, my good woman, do you keep a diary?” “Naw, sir, I kups a whusky shop!”] [Illustration: PRECAUTION _Donal’._ “A’m sayin’, Tam, what for dae ye tak’ yir dram a’ at a’e mouthfu’?” _Tam (gravely)._ “Eh, Donal’, man, A ance had ma gless knockit ower!”] * * * * *