_Mrs. MacShoddy._ Well! that’ll be very nice for you! You’re _sure_ to be invited to the Mansion House in London during the season! * * * * * A SCOT ON SWEET SOUNDS.--A’ music whatever is o’ Scottish origin an’ derivation. It a’ cam Sooth frae ayont the Tweed. A’ music just resolves itsel’ intil a meexture o’ Tweed-ledum an’ Tweedle-Dee--the Scottish Dee. The oreeginal St. Cecilia was a Miss MacWhirter. She invented the Bagpipes. * * * * * REJECTED MEDICAL ADVICE (BY A SCOTSMAN).--“Try your native air.” * * * * * In Scotland, it is not permitted even to whistle on the Sunday. My friend, Wagg, tells me, however, that “you _must_ whistle for what you want.” I remark this contradiction. But they are an obstinate race, the Scots. * * * * * [Illustration: _Mrs. Golightly (fishing for a compliment)._ “Ah! Mr. McJoseph, _beauty_ is the most precious of all gifts for a _woman_! I’d sooner possess _beauty_ than anything in the world!” _Mr. McJoseph (under the impression that he is making himself very agreeable)._ “I’m _sure_, Mrs. Golightly, that _any_ regret you may possibly feel on _that_ score must be amply compensated for by--er--the consciousness of your _moral worth_, you know,--and of your various _mental_ accomplishments!”] [Illustration: _Jink._ “My dear MacFuddle, it’s the very thing you want! Charming house--lovely spot! Cheap, too. But one great drawback. You can’t get any water there!” _MacFuddle._ “Oh, that doesn’t matter!”] [Illustration: REFRESHMENT _Hospitable Good Templar (to Visitor--average Scotsman)._ “Well, now, what will you tak’, Mac, after your walk--tea, or coffee, or pease-brose?”!! [_Comment is needless._] THE EGREGIOUS ENGLISHMAN [The Scottish Education Department, not satisfied with the pronunciation in vogue beyond the Tweed, has appointed a Liverpool gentleman to instruct the teachers of Scot’and how to speak polite English.] A plague on yon Depairtment, Jeames! It maun be aye appearin’ Wi’ sic a host o’ daft-like schemes, Forever interferin’. ’Tis past a joke when feckless fouk Awa’ in Lunnon ettle Wi’ a’ this fuss tae talk tae us, The Schule Board o’ Kingskettle. I’ll tell ye hoo it comes tae pass-- The facts are easy stated: They tak’ inspectors frae a class No richtly eddicated, An’ when the fules inspect oor schules, I’ll swear upon my life, Jeames, There’s no a man can unnerstan’ The classic tongue o’ Fife, Jeames. An’ whaur’s the cure? The thing tae dae Tae pit them on their mettle Wad be tae raise inspectors tae The staundard o’ Kingskettle; But eh! I fear frae what I hear Thae fouk in Lunnon toun, Jeames, Are bent the noo on findin’ hoo To eddicate us doun, Jeames.