  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!” 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!” 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!” Alexander ab Alexandro.—(“It is stated that a Scotsman, at Greenock, is to have the honour of contributing a considerable portion of the machinery for the Suez Canal works.”) A Scotsman, of course. Who should understand the desert but Sandy? A Scots Aunt who’s always on the Sofa.—Aunty-Macassar. DISGUISED IN TARTAN Mossoo has been invited north for a few days’ shooting. He arrives tout À fait—“en Montagnard”! Charm of a Scots Smoking Concert.—The Pipes. Succour for Scotsmen.—If a Scotsman were between Scylla and Charybdis, and puzzled as to which he should give the preference, would not his national instinct prompt him at once to take the Siller? and, when once he had got his hand fairly upon it, we do not think he would very quickly leave it again. THIS IS THE PROTECTION A PLAID AFFORDS TO THOSE WHO DO NOT KNOW THE WAY TO CARRY IT REPUDIATION Butcher (rushing out). “Hey—ess that yoer doag, mun?” Donald. “Aweel—he wass mine ance, but he’s aye daein’ for hessel noo!!” |
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