Theer's bakers an' grocers an' fleshers galore!

An' milliners' winders a' flauntin' awa'

Wi' the last o' the fashions frae Lunnon an' a'.

An' eh, sic a thrang, sir! I saw in a minnit Mair folk than the toun o' Kinghorn will hae in it I wadna hae thocht that the hail o' creation Could boast at ae time sic a vast population!

Ma word, sir! It gars ye clap haun' tae yer broo An' wunner what's Providence after the noo That he lets sic a swarm o' they cratur's be born Wham naebody kens aboot here in Kinghorn.

What?--Leeberal minded?--Ye canna but be When ye've had sic a graun' eddication as me.

For oh, theer is naethin' like traivel, ye ken, For growin' acquent wi' the natur' o' men.

"FALLS OF FOYERS."--A correspondent writes:--"I have seen a good many letters in the _Times_, headed 'The Falls of the Foyers.' Here and abroad I have seen many Foyers, and only fell down once. This was at the Theatre Francais, where the Foyer is kept highly polished, or used to be so. If the Foyers are carpeted or matted, there need be no 'Falls.'

Yours,

COMMON SENSE."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WINGED"

_First Gael._ "What's the matter, Tonal?"

_Second ditto (who had been out with Old Briggs)._ "Matter! Hur legs is full o' shoots".]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MR. PUNCH AT THE HIGHLAND GAMES

Shows the natives how to "put the stone."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: AN ARTIST SCAMP IN THE HIGHLANDS

_Artist (entering)._ "My good woman, if you'll allow me, I'll just paint that bedstead of yours."

_Cottager (with bob-curtsey)._ "Thank ye, sir, I' sure it's very kind of ye--but dinna ye think that little one over yonder wants it more?"]

EN eCOSSE

_a Monsieur Punch_

DEAR MISTER,--I come of to make a little voyage in Scotland. Ah, the beautiful country of Sir Scott, Sir Wallace, and Sir Burns! I am gone to render visit to one of my english friends, a charming boy--_un charmant garcon_--and his wife, a lady very instructed and very spiritual, and their childs. I adore them, the dear little english childs, who have the cheeks like some roses, and the hairs like some flax, as one says in your country, all buckled--_boucles_, how say you?

I go by the train of night--in french one says "_le sleeping_"--to Edimbourg, and then to Calendar, where I attend to find a coach--in french one says "_un mail_" or "_un fourinhand_." _Nom d'une pipe_, it is one of those ridicule carriages, called in french "_un breack_" and in english a char-a-banc--that which the english p.r.o.nounce "_tcherribaingue_"--which attends us at the going out of the station! Eh well, in voyage one must habituate himself to all! But a such carriage discovered--_decouverte_--seems to me well unuseful in a country where he falls of rain without cease.

Before to start I demand of all the world some _renseignements_ on the scottish climate, and all the world responds me, "All-days of the rain."

By consequence I procure myself some impermeable vestments, one mackintosch coat, one mackintosch cape of Inverness, one mackintosch covering of voyage, one south-western hat, some umbrellas, some gaiters, and many pairs of boots very thick--not boots of town, but veritable "shootings."

I arrive at Edimbourg by a morning of the most sads; the sky grey, the earth wet, the air humid. Therefore I propose to myself to search at Calender a place at the interior, _et voila_--and see there--the _breack_ has no interior! There is but that which one calls a "boot", and me, Auguste, can I to lie myself there at the middle of the baggages? Ah no! Thus I am forced to endorse--_endosser_--my impermeable vestments and to protect myself the head by my south-western hat. Then, holding firmly the most strong of my umbrellas, I say to the coacher, "He goes to fall of the rain, is it not?" He makes a sign of head of not to comprehend. Ah, for sure, he is scottish! I indicate the sky and my umbrella, and I say "Rain?" and then he comprehends. "_Eh huile_", he responds to me, "_ah canna se, mebi huile no he meukl the de_." I write this phonetically, for I comprehend not the scottish language. What droll of conversation! Him comprehends not the english; me I comprehend not the scottish.

But I essay of new, "How many has he of it from here to the lake?"

_C'est inutile_--it is unuseful. I say, "Distance?" He comprehends.

"_Mebi oui taque toua hours_", says he; "_beutt yile no fache yoursel, its no se lang that yile bi ouishinn yoursel aoua_." _Quelle langue_--what language, even to write phonetically! I comprehend one sole word, "hours." Some hours! _Sapristi!_ I say, "Hours?" He says "_Toua_" all together, a monosyllable. _Sans aucune doute ca veut dire_ "twelve"--_douze_. Twelve hours on a _breack_ in a such climate! Ah, no!

_C'est trop fort_--it is too strong! "Hold", I cry myself, "attend, I descend, I go not!" It is true that I see not how I can to descend, for I am _entoure_--how say you? of voyagers. We are five on a bench, of the most narrows, and me I am at the middle. And the bench before us is also complete, and we touch him of the knees. And my neighbours carry on the knees all sorts of packets, umbrellas, canes, sacks of voyage, &c. _Il n'y a pas moyen_--he has not there mean. And the coacher says me "_Na, na, monne, yile no ghitt doun, yile djest bad ouar yer sittinn._" Then he mounts to his place, and we part immediately. _Il va tomber de la pluie! Douze heures! Mon Dieu, quel voyage!_

Agree, &c.,

AUGUSTE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ZEAL

_Saxon Tourist._ "Been at the kirk?"

_Celt._ "Aye."

_Saxon T._ "How far is it?"

_Celt._ "Daur say it'll be fourteen mile."

_Saxon T._ "Fourteen miles!!"

_Celt._ "Aye, aw'm awfu' fond o' the preachin'"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THRIFT

_Peebles Body (to townsman who was supposed to be in London on a visit)._ "E--eh Mac! ye're sune hame again!"

_Mac._ "E--eh, it's just a ruinous place, that! Mun, a had na' been the-erre abune twa hoours when--_bang_--went _saxpence!!!_"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SATISFACTORY SOLUTION

"I fear, Duncan, that friend of mine does not seem overly safe with his gun."

"No, sir. But I'm thinkin' it'll be all right if you wa.s.s to go wan side o' him and Mr. John the ither. He canna shoot baith o' ye!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "VITA FUMUS"