_Old Stalker._ "Hoot, mon, wad he hae me bring out a scythe?"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Our artist catches it again this winter in the Highlands.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A FINE HEAD (BUT NOT OF THE RIGHT SORT OF CATTLE) Perkins has paid a mint of money for his shooting, and has had bad luck all the season. To-day, however, he gets a shot, only--it turns out to be at a cow!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A "SCENE" IN THE HIGHLANDS

_Ill-used husband_ (_under the bed_). "Aye! Ye may crack me, and ye may thrash me, but ye canna break my manly sperrit. I'll na come oot!!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS

He is at present on a boating excursion, and describes the motion as extremely pleasant, and has no dread of sea-sickness.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "GAME" IN THE HIGHLANDS

_Captain Jinks._ "Birds plentiful, I hope, Donald?"

_Donald._ "Tousans, sir--in tousans."

_Captain J._ "Any zebras?"

_Donald_ (_anxious to please_). "Is't zebras? They're in tousans, too."

_Captain J._ "And gorillas, no doubt?"

_Donald._ "Well, noo an' then we see ane or twa--just like yerself."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES'S ADVENTURES IN THE HIGHLANDS

Lavinia takes a siesta,]

[Ill.u.s.tration: And the frightful situation she finds herself in at the end of it.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Lavinia arrives at a waterfall, and asks its name. The shepherd (not understanding English) informs her in Gaelic that it is called (as Lavinia supposes) "Vicharoobashallochoggilnabo." Lavinia thinks it a very pretty name.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A bright idea strikes the shepherd, and before Lavinia can remonstrate, he transports her, in the usual manner, to the other side.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MISS LAVINIA BROUNJONES

She comes suddenly on a strange structure--apparently a native fort, and is just going to sketch it, when a savage of gigantic stature, and armed to the teeth, starts from an ambush, and menaces her in Gaelic!]

TWENTY HOURS AFTER

EUSTON, 8 P.M.

I'm sick of this sweltering weather.

Phew! ninety degrees in the shade!

I long for the hills and the heather, I long for the kilt and the plaid; I long to escape from this hot land Where there isn't a mouthful of air, And fly to the breezes of Scotland-- It's never too stuffy up there.

For weeks I have sat in pyjamas, And found even these were _de trop_, And envied the folk of Bahamas Who dress in a feather or so; But now there's an end to my grilling, My Inferno's a thing of the past; Hurrah! there's the whistle a-shrilling-- We are off to the Highlands at last!

CALLANDER, 4 P.M.

The dull leaden skies are all clouded In the gloom of a sad weeping day, The desolate mountains are shrouded In palls of funereal grey; 'Mid the skirl of the wild wintry weather The torrents descend in a sheet As we shiver all huddled together In the reek of the smouldering peat.

A plague on the Highlands! to think of The heat that but lately we banned; Oh! what would we give for a blink of The bright sunny side of the Strand!

To think there are folk that still revel In Summer, and fling themselves down, In the Park, or St. James? What the d---- Possessed us to hurry from town?

"OUT OF TUNE AND HARSH."--_First Elder_ (_at the Kirk "Skellin'"_). "Did ye hear Dougal? More snorin' in the sermon?"

_Second Elder_, "Parefec'ly disgracefu'! He's waukened 's a'!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: OVERHEARD IN THE HIGHLANDS

_First Chieftain._ "I say, old chap, what a doose of a bore these games are!"

_Second Chieftain._ "Ah, but, my dear boy, it is this sort of thing that has made us Scotchmen _what we are!!_"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "SERMONS IN STONES"

_Tourist_ (_of an inquiring and antiquarian turn_). "Now I suppose, farmer, that large cairn of stones has some history?"

_Highland Farmer._ "Ooh, aye, that buig o' stanes has a gran' history whatever!"

_Tourist_ (_eagerly_). "Indeed! I should like to----What is the legend----?"

_Farmer._ "Just a gran' history!" (_Solemnly._) "It took a' ma cairts full and horses sax months to gather them aff he land and pit them ther-r-re!!"]