An English friend of ours called many years ago at Inverness Post Office for some letters awaiting him there. They were addressed to the Poste Restante, “Inverness, N.B.” In handing him the letters, an elderly lady who then graced the postal staff remarked: “You micht tell your freen’s that ‘N.B.’ is quite superfluous. Hoo wad they like us to write ‘London, S.B.’? And we don’t think that muckle o’ London up here.” Now, whether we use “N.B.” as meaning “North Britain,” or “Nota Bene,” we shall leave you to guess!

Unless we are mistaken, we have seen more than once in English papers a suggestion that the Scots are a race devoid of humour. “He joked wi’ deeficulty” is, we believe, a reference to a Scotsman. “A surgical——.” But no, we shall not repeat that! Oddly enough, the pages of Mr. Punch, true mirror of our national characteristics, yield an abundant harvest of Scottish humour. Have we not already in this same series made merry with “Mr. Punch in the Highlands”? And we are now to laugh with him again at this banquet of Scottish humour, which by no means exhausts his store. We have already heard that some seventy-five per cent. of the jokes appearing in Punch contributed by those not on the permanent staff come from Scotsmen; so it is a reasonable assumption that the bulk of the anecdotes in the present collection have originated north of the border, even when they tell against the Scot; for it is not the least of his good points that Sandy is able to appreciate a story that does not present him in the most favourable light. No humour in Scotland! Here is Mr. Punch’s reply!

Let this be noted by the Southerner: there is much confusion as to the Highlander and the Lowlander. Here is not the place, even did space allow, to attempt a definition of the difference between the two races which Sir Walter Scott typifies in Rob Roy and in Bailie Nicol Jarvie. In “Mr. Punch in the Highlands” we have something of the humour of the one; here we have a good deal of the humour of the other.

Of course a portion of the present book would be properly described as “the Scot through English glasses,” and in this respect it is none the less valuable, being the next best thing to that for which Burns sighed—

Mr. Punch has striven to leave the Scot with no illusions as to the characteristics he presents to his fellow Britons. We may gather from these pages that Mr. Punch, as spokesman for John Bull, has detected in Sandy an occasional affection for that whisky which he produces so industriously—and chiefly for English consumption—and that he has noted in him a certain inclination “to keep the Sabbath day—and everything else he can lay his hands on.” Who shall say that Mr. Punch has been mistaken? But we are not here to moralise; mirth is our motive; and if the fun be good—as none will deny who fingers these pages—enough is said.

This, at least, we may add: No artist who has ever been on Mr. Punch’s staff has made anything like so much of the dry, pawky humour that obtains north of the Tweed as did Charles Keene. More than fifty per cent. of Mr. Punch’s illustrations of Scottish humour come from his pencil; and he is ahead of his confrÈres not only in quantity but in quality—none of them has beaten him in the pictorial representation of Scottish character. The shrewd, dour faces of some of his Scotsmen are inimitable.

MR. PUNCH’S
SCOTTISH HUMOUR