THE TWELFTH

THE TWELFTHTHE TWELFTH(Guilderstein in the Highlands)Guild. (his first experience)."I've been swindled! That confounded agent said it was all drivin' on this moor, and look at it, all hills and slosh! Not a decent carriage road within ten miles!"

(Guilderstein in the Highlands)

Guild. (his first experience)."I've been swindled! That confounded agent said it was all drivin' on this moor, and look at it, all hills and slosh! Not a decent carriage road within ten miles!"

THE MATERNAL INSTINCTTHE MATERNAL INSTINCTThe Master."I'm sayin', wumman, ha'e ye gotten the tickets?"The Mistress."Tuts, haud your tongue aboot tickets. Let me count the weans!"

The Master."I'm sayin', wumman, ha'e ye gotten the tickets?"

The Mistress."Tuts, haud your tongue aboot tickets. Let me count the weans!"

tip us the 'Ighland flingThe Irrepressible."Hi, Scotty, tip us the 'Ighland fling."

The Irrepressible."Hi, Scotty, tip us the 'Ighland fling."

TippedTipped!

Tipped!

Return of the woundedReturn of the wounded and missing Popplewitz omitted to send in after his day on the moors.

Return of the wounded and missing Popplewitz omitted to send in after his day on the moors.

RECRIMINATIONRECRIMINATIONInhabitant of Uist."I say, they'll pe speaking fa-ar petter English in Uist than in Styornaway."Lass of the Lewis."Put in Styornaway they'll not pe caa-in' fush 'feesh,' whatefer!"

Inhabitant of Uist."I say, they'll pe speaking fa-ar petter English in Uist than in Styornaway."

Lass of the Lewis."Put in Styornaway they'll not pe caa-in' fush 'feesh,' whatefer!"

Missed againGUILDERSTEIN IN THE HIGHLANDSGuilderstein."Missed again! And dat fellow, Hoggenheimer, comin'on Monday too! Why did I not wire to Leadenhall for an 'aunch, as Betty told me!"

Guilderstein."Missed again! And dat fellow, Hoggenheimer, comin'on Monday too! Why did I not wire to Leadenhall for an 'aunch, as Betty told me!"

Gie me a gude funeralJuvenis."Jolly day we had last week at McFoggarty's wedding! Capital champagne he gave us, and we did it justice, I can tell you--"Senex(who prefers whiskey). "Eh-h, mun, it's a' verra weel weddings at ye-er time o' life. Gie me a gude funeral!"

Juvenis."Jolly day we had last week at McFoggarty's wedding! Capital champagne he gave us, and we did it justice, I can tell you--"

Senex(who prefers whiskey). "Eh-h, mun, it's a' verra weel weddings at ye-er time o' life. Gie me a gude funeral!"

Whilst staying at MacFoozle Castle, my excellent host insisted that I should accompany him to see the Highland games. The MacFoozle himself is a typical Hielander, and appeared in a kilt and jelly-bag—philabeg, I mean. Suggested to him that I should go, attired in pair of bathing-drawers, Norfolk jacket, and Glengarry cap, but he, for some inscrutable reason of his own, negatived the idea. Had half a mind to dress in kilt myself, but finally decided against the national costume as being too draughty.Arrived on ground, and found that "tossing the caber" was in full progress. Braw laddies struggled, in turn, with enormous tree trunk. The idea of the contest is, that whoever succeeds in killing the greatest number of spectators by hurling the tree on to them, wins the prize. Fancy these laddies had been hung too long, or else they were particularly braw. Moved up to windward of them promptly.

"Who is the truculent-looking villain with red whiskers?" I ask.

"Hush!" says my host, in awed tones. "That is the MacGinger himself!"

I grovel. Not that I have ever even heard his name before, but I don't want to show my ignorance before the MacFoozle. The competition of pipers was next in order, and I took to my heels and fled. Rejoined MacFoozle half an hour later to witness the dancing. On a large raised platform sat the judges, with the mighty MacGinger himself at their head. Can't quite make out whether the dance is a Reel, a Strathspey, a Haggis, or a Skirl—sure it is one or the other. Just as I ask for information, amid a confusingwhirl of arms and legs and "Hoots!" a terrific crack is heard, and the platform, as though protesting at the indignities heaped upon it, suddenly gives way, and in a moment, dancers, pipers, and judges are hurled in a confused and struggling heap to the ground. The MacGinger falls upon some bag-pipes, which emit dismal groanings beneath his massive weight. This ends the dancing prematurely, and a notice is immediately put up all round the grounds that (to take its place) "There will be another competition of bag-pipes." I read it, evaded the MacFoozle, and fled.

My harts in the Highlands shall have their hills clear,My harts in the Highlands no serf shall come near—I'll chase out the Gael to make room for the roe,My harts in the Highlands were ever his foe.

My harts in the Highlands shall have their hills clear,

My harts in the Highlands no serf shall come near—

I'll chase out the Gael to make room for the roe,

My harts in the Highlands were ever his foe.

Things no Highlander can Understand.Breaches of promise.

HEBRIDEAN SPORTHEBRIDEAN SPORTShooting Tenant (accounting for very large species of grouse which his setter has just flushed)."Capercailzie! By George!"Under-keeper Neil."I'm after thinking, sir, you'll have killed Widow McSwan's cochin cock. Ye see the crofters were forced to put him and the hens away out here till the oats is ripe!"

Shooting Tenant (accounting for very large species of grouse which his setter has just flushed)."Capercailzie! By George!"

Under-keeper Neil."I'm after thinking, sir, you'll have killed Widow McSwan's cochin cock. Ye see the crofters were forced to put him and the hens away out here till the oats is ripe!"

LATEST FROM THE MOORSLATEST FROM THE MOORSIntelligent Foreigner."Tell me—zee 'Ilanders, do zay always wear zee raw legs?"

Intelligent Foreigner."Tell me—zee 'Ilanders, do zay always wear zee raw legs?"

A GROAN FROM A GILLIE

Lasses shouldna' gang to shoot,Na, na!Gillies canna' help but hoot,Ha, ha!Yon douce bodies arena' fittin'Wi' the gudeman's to be pittin',Bide at hame and mind yere knittin'!Hoot, awa'!"Wimmen's Rechts" is vara weel,Ooh, aye!For hizzies wha've nae hearts to feel;ForbyeWimmen's Rechts is aiblins WrangWhen nat'ral weak maun ape the strang,An' chaney cups wi' cau'drons gang,Auch, fie!Hennies shouldna' try to crawSae fast—Their westlin' thrapples canna' blairSic a blast.Leave to men-folk bogs and ferns,An' pairtricks, muircocks, braes, and cairns;And lasses! ye may mind the bairns—That's best!

Lasses shouldna' gang to shoot,

Na, na!

Gillies canna' help but hoot,

Ha, ha!

Yon douce bodies arena' fittin'

Wi' the gudeman's to be pittin',

Bide at hame and mind yere knittin'!

Hoot, awa'!

"Wimmen's Rechts" is vara weel,

Ooh, aye!

For hizzies wha've nae hearts to feel;

Forbye

Wimmen's Rechts is aiblins Wrang

When nat'ral weak maun ape the strang,

An' chaney cups wi' cau'drons gang,

Auch, fie!

Hennies shouldna' try to craw

Sae fast—

Their westlin' thrapples canna' blair

Sic a blast.

Leave to men-folk bogs and ferns,

An' pairtricks, muircocks, braes, and cairns;

And lasses! ye may mind the bairns—

That's best!

Tonalt(X)his mark.

A PRECISIANA PRECISIANArtist (affably)."Fine morning."Native."No' bad ava'."Artist."Pretty scenery."Native."Gey an' good."Artist (pointing to St. Bannoch's, in the distance)."What place is that down at the bottom of the loch?"Native."It's no at the bottom—it's at the fut!"Artist (to himself)."You past-participled Highlander!"[Drops the subject!

Artist (affably)."Fine morning."Native."No' bad ava'."

Artist."Pretty scenery."Native."Gey an' good."

Artist (pointing to St. Bannoch's, in the distance)."What place is that down at the bottom of the loch?"

Native."It's no at the bottom—it's at the fut!"

Artist (to himself)."You past-participled Highlander!"

[Drops the subject!

(More Leaves from the Highland Journal of Toby, M.P.)

Quiverfield, Haddingtonshire, Monday.—You can't spend twenty-four hours at Quiverfield without having borne in upon you the truth that the only thing to do in Scotland is to play goff. (On other side of Tweed they call it golf. Here we are too much in a hurry to get at the game to spend time on unnecessary consonant.) The waters of what Victor Hugo called "The First of the Fourth" lave the links at Quiverfield. Blue as the Mediterranean they have been in a marvellous autumn, soon to lapse into November. We can see the Bass Rock from the eighth hole, and can almost hear the whirr of the balls skimming with swallow flight over the links at North Berwick.

Prince Arthur here to-day, looking fully ten years younger than when I last saw him at Westminster. Plays through live-long day, and drives off fourteen miles for dinner at Whittinghame, thinking no more of it than if he were crossingPalace Yard. Our host, Waverley Pen, is happy in possession of links at his park gates. All his own, for self and friends. You step through the shrubbery, and there are the far-reaching links; beyond them the gleaming waters of the Forth. Stroll out immediately after breakfast to meet the attendant caddies; play goff till half-past one; reluctantly break off for luncheon; go back to complete the fearsome foursome; have tea brought out to save time; leave off in bare time to dress for dinner; talk goff at dinner; arrange matches after dinner; and the new morning finds the caddies waiting as before.

Fingen's fingerFingen's finger.

Decidedly the only thing to do in Scotland is to play goff.

Deeside, Aberdeenshire, Wednesday.—Fingen, M.P., once told an abashed House of Commons that he "owned a mountain in Scotland." Find, on visiting him in his ancestral home, that he owns a whole range. Go up one or two of them; that comparatively easy; difficulty presents itself when we try to get down. Man and boy, Fingen has lived here fifty years; has not yet acquired knowledge necessary to guide a party home after ascending one of his mountains. Walking up in cool of afternoon, we usually get home sore-footed and hungry about midnight.

"Must be going now", says Fingen, M.P., when we have seen view from top of mountain. "Just time to get down before dark. But I know short cut; be there in a jiffy. Come along."

We come along. At end of twenty minutes find ourselves in front of impassable gorge.

"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., cheerily. "Must have taken wrong turn; better go back and start again."

All very well to say go back; but where werewe? Fingen, M.P., knows; wets his finger; holds it up.

"Ha!" he says, with increased joyousness of manner; "the wind is blowing that way, is it? Then we turn to the left."

Another twenty minutes stumbling through aged heather. Path trends downwards.

"That's all right", says Fingen, M.P.; "must lead on to the road."

Instead of which we nearly fall into a bubbling burn. Go back again; make bee line up acclivity nearly as steep as side of house; find ourselves again on top of mountain.

"How lucky!" shouts Fingen, M.P., beaming with delight.

As if we had been trying all this time to get to top of mountain instead of to bottom!

Wants to wet his finger again and try how the wind lies. We protest. Let us be saved that at least. Fingen leads off in quite another direction. By rocky pathway which threatens sprains; through bushes and brambles that tear the clothes; by dangerous leaps from rock to rock he brings us to apparently impenetrable hedge. We stare forlorn.

"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., more aggressively cheerful than ever. "The road is on other side. Thought we would come upon it somewhere." Somehow or other we crawl through.

"Nothing like having an eye to the lay of country", says Fingen, M.P., as we limp along the road. "It's a sort of instinct, you know. If I hadn't been with you, you might have had to camp out all night on the mountain."

They don't play goff at Deeside. They bicycle. Down the long avenue with spreading elm trees deftly trained to make triumphal arches, the bicycles come and go. Whipsroom, M.P., thinksopportunity convenient for acquiring the art of cycling. W. is got up with consummate art. Has had his trousers cut short at knee in order to display ribbed stockings of rainbow hue. Loose tweed-jacket, blood-red necktie, white felt hat with rim turned down all round, combine to lend him air of a Drury Lane bandit out of work. Determined to learn to ride the bicycle, but spends most of the day on his hands and knees, or on his back. Looking down avenue at any moment pretty sure to find W. either running into the iron fence, coming off sideways, or bolting head first over the handles of his bike. Get quite new views of him fore-shortened in all possible ways, some that would be impossible to any but a man of his determination.

crack of the whip('s pate!)The crack of the whip('s pate!)

"Never had a man stay in the house", says Fingen, M.P., ruefully, "who so cut up the lawn with his head, or indented the gravel with his elbows and his knees."

Evidently I was mistaken about goff. Cycling's the thing in Scotland.

Goasyoucan, Inverness-shire, Saturday.—Wrong again. Not goff nor cycling is the thing to do in Scotland. It's stalking. Soon learn that great truth at Goasyoucan. The hills that encircle the house densely populated with stags. To-day three guns grassed nine, one a royal. This the place to spend a happy day, crouching down among the heather awaiting the fortuitous moment. Weather no object. Rain or snow out you go, submissive to guidance and instruction of keeper; by comparison with whose tyranny life of the ancient galley-slave was perfect freedom.

Consummation of human delight this, to lie prone on your face amid the wet heather, with the rain pattering down incessantly, or the snow pitilessly falling, covering you up flake by flake as if it were a robin and you a babe in the wood. Mustn't stir; mustn't speak; if you can conveniently dispense with the operation, better not breathe. Sometimes, after morning and greater part of afternoon thus cheerfully spent, you may get a shot; even a stag. Also you may not; or, having attained the first, may miss the latter. At any rate you have spent a day of exhilarating delight.

Stalking is evidently the thing to do in Scotland. It's a far cry to the Highlands. Happily there is Arthur's Seat by Edinburgh town where beginners can practise, and old hands may feign delight of early triumphs.

THE "IRREPRESSIBLE" AGAINTHE "IRREPRESSIBLE" AGAINGent in Knickerbockers."Rummy speakers them 'Ighlanders, 'Enery. When we wos talking to one of the 'ands, did you notice 'im saying 'nozzing' for 'nothink,' and 'she' for 'e'?"

Gent in Knickerbockers."Rummy speakers them 'Ighlanders, 'Enery. When we wos talking to one of the 'ands, did you notice 'im saying 'nozzing' for 'nothink,' and 'she' for 'e'?"

I've forgotten my flask"THE LAST STRAW""Tired out, are you? Try a drop of brandy! Eh!—what!—confound——By jingo, I've forgotten my flask!"

"Tired out, are you? Try a drop of brandy! Eh!—what!—confound——By jingo, I've forgotten my flask!"

NOTHING LIKE MOUNTAIN AIRNOTHING LIKE MOUNTAIN AIRTourist (who has been refreshing himself with the toddy of the country)."I shay, ole fler! Highlands seem to 'gree with you wonerfly—annomishtake. Why, you lookDOUBLEthe man already!"

Tourist (who has been refreshing himself with the toddy of the country)."I shay, ole fler! Highlands seem to 'gree with you wonerfly—annomishtake. Why, you lookDOUBLEthe man already!"

HEIGHT OF BLISSTHE HEIGHT OF BLISSHighland Shepherd."Fine toon, Glasco', I pelieve, and lots o' coot meat there."Tourist."Oh, yes, lots."Highland Shepherd."An' drink, too?"Tourist."Oh, yes."Highland Shepherd (doubtingly)."Ye'll get porter tae yir parrich?"Tourist."Yes, if we like."Highland Shepherd."Cra-ci-ous!"[Speechless with admiration.

Highland Shepherd."Fine toon, Glasco', I pelieve, and lots o' coot meat there."

Tourist."Oh, yes, lots."

Highland Shepherd."An' drink, too?"

Tourist."Oh, yes."

Highland Shepherd (doubtingly)."Ye'll get porter tae yir parrich?"

Tourist."Yes, if we like."

Highland Shepherd."Cra-ci-ous!"

[Speechless with admiration.

TENACITYTENACITYFirst North Briton(on the Oban boat, in a rolling sea and dirty weather). "Thraw it up, man, and ye'll feel a' the better!"Second ditto(keeping it down). "Hech, mon, it's whuskey!!"

First North Briton(on the Oban boat, in a rolling sea and dirty weather). "Thraw it up, man, and ye'll feel a' the better!"

Second ditto(keeping it down). "Hech, mon, it's whuskey!!"

EXCUSABLE WRATHEXCUSABLE WRATHDrover(exhausted with his struggles). "Whit are ye wouf, woufan' there, ye stupit ass! It wud be wis-eer like if ye gang awn hame, an' bring a barrow!"

Drover(exhausted with his struggles). "Whit are ye wouf, woufan' there, ye stupit ass! It wud be wis-eer like if ye gang awn hame, an' bring a barrow!"

A SOFT IMPEACHMENTA SOFT IMPEACHMENTSporting Saxon (mournfully, after three weeks' incessant down-pour)."Does it always rain like this up here, Mr. McFuskey?"His Guide, Philosopher, and Friendly Landlord (calmly)."Oo aye, it's a-ye just a wee bit shooery."!!

Sporting Saxon (mournfully, after three weeks' incessant down-pour)."Does it always rain like this up here, Mr. McFuskey?"

His Guide, Philosopher, and Friendly Landlord (calmly)."Oo aye, it's a-ye just a wee bit shooery."!!

ANTIQUARIAN RESEARCHANTIQUARIAN RESEARCH2a.m.Brown (who has taken a shooting-box in the Highlands, and has been "celebrating" his first appearance in a kilt)."Worsht of these ole-fashioned beshteads is, they take such a lot of climbin' into!"

2a.m.

Brown (who has taken a shooting-box in the Highlands, and has been "celebrating" his first appearance in a kilt)."Worsht of these ole-fashioned beshteads is, they take such a lot of climbin' into!"

there is disease on the moorGUILDERSTEIN IN THE HIGHLANDSMrs. G."We must leave this horrible place, dear. The keeper has just told me there is disease on the moor. Good gracious, the boys might take it!"

Mrs. G."We must leave this horrible place, dear. The keeper has just told me there is disease on the moor. Good gracious, the boys might take it!"

A GREAT DRAWBACKA GREAT DRAWBACKDougal(with all his native contempt for the Londoner). "Aye, mon, an' he's no a bad shot?"Davie."'Deed an' he's a verraguidshot."Dougal."Hech! it's an awfu' peetie he's a Londoner!"

Dougal(with all his native contempt for the Londoner). "Aye, mon, an' he's no a bad shot?"

Davie."'Deed an' he's a verraguidshot."

Dougal."Hech! it's an awfu' peetie he's a Londoner!"

"Jam satis terris,"&c.

Alt-na-blashy.—The aqueous and igneous agencies seem to be combined in these quarters, for since the rain we hear of a great increase of burns. In default of the moors we fall back on the kitchen and the cellar. I need hardly add that dry wines are almost exclusively used byour party, and moist sugar is generally avoided. Dripping, too, is discontinued, and everything that is likely to whet the appetite is at a discount.

Drizzle-arich.—A Frenchman, soaked out of our bothy by the moisture of the weather, was overheard to exclaim "Après moi le déluge."

Inverdreary.—Greatly to the indignation of their chief, several of the "Children of the Mist", in this romantic but rainy region, have assumed the garb of the Mackintoshes.

Loch Drunkie.—We have several partners in misery within hail, or life would be fairly washed out of us. We make up parties alternately at ourshooting quarters when the weather allows of wading between them. Inebriation, it is to be feared, must be on the increase, for few of us who go out to dinner return without making a wet night of it.

Meantime, the watering-places in our vicinity—in particular the Linns o' Dun-Dreepie—are literally overflowing.

It is asserted that even young horses are growing impatient of the reins.

Our greatest comfort is the weekly budget of dry humour fromMr. Punch.

A Disappointing Host.—Sandy."A 'm tellt ye hev a new nebbur, Donal'."Donald."Aye."Sandy."An' what like is he?"Donald."Weel, he's a curious laddie. A went to hev a bit talk wi' him th' ither evenin', an' he offered me a glass o' whuskey, d'ye see? Weel, he was poorin' it oot, an' A said to him 'Stop!'—an' he stoppit!That's the soort o' mon he is."

AMBIGUITYAMBIGUITYScene—A Highland FerryTourist."But we paid you sixpence each as we came over, and you said the same fare would bring us back."Skipper."Well, well, and I telled ye nothing but the truth, an' it'll be no more than the same fare I'm wantin' the noo for bringin' ye back."

Scene—A Highland Ferry

Tourist."But we paid you sixpence each as we came over, and you said the same fare would bring us back."

Skipper."Well, well, and I telled ye nothing but the truth, an' it'll be no more than the same fare I'm wantin' the noo for bringin' ye back."

AUGUST IN SCOTLANDAUGUST IN SCOTLANDBag Carrier (to Keeper)."What does the maister aye ask that body tae shoot wi' him for? He canna hit a thing!"Keeper."Dod, man, I daur say he wishes they was a' like him. The same birds does him a' through the season!"

Bag Carrier (to Keeper)."What does the maister aye ask that body tae shoot wi' him for? He canna hit a thing!"

Keeper."Dod, man, I daur say he wishes they was a' like him. The same birds does him a' through the season!"

A PIOBRACH HEARD WAILING DOWN GLENTANNER ON THE EXILE OF THREE GENERATIONS.

piper playing pipes

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!I'll blaw up my chanter,I've rounded fu' weel,To mony a ranter,In mony a reel,An' pour'd a' my heart i' the win'bag wi' glee:Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!For licht wis the laughter in bonny Kinreen,An' licht wis the footfa' that glanced o'er the green,An' licht ware the hearts a' an' lichtsome the eyne,Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!The auld hoose is bare noo,A cauld hoose to me,The hearth is nae mair noo,The centre o' glee,Nae mair for the bairnies the bield it has been,Och hey, for bonny Kinreen!The auld folk, the young folk, the wee anes, an' a',A hunder years' hame birds are harried awa',Are harried an' hameless, whatever winds blaw,Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.Fareweel my auld pleugh lan',I'll never mair pleugh it:Fareweel my auld cairt an'The auld yaud[3]that drew it.Fareweel my auld kailyard, ilk bush an' ilk tree!Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!Fareweel the auld braes, that my hand keepit green,Fareweel the auld ways where we waunder'd unseenEre the star o' my hearth came to bonny Kinreen,Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.The auld kirk looks up o'erThe dreesome auld dead,Like a saint speakin' hope o'erSome sorrowfu' bed.Fareweel the auld kirk, an' fareweel the kirk green,They tell o' a far better hame than Kinreen!The place we wad cling to—puir simple auld fules,O' our births an' our bridals, oor blesses an' dools,Whare oor wee bits o' bairnies lie cauld i' the mools.[4]I aft times hae wunder'dIf deer be as dear,As sweet ties o' kindred,To peasant or peer;As the tie to the hames o' the land born be,Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!The heather that blossoms unkent o' the moor,Wad dee in his lordship's best greenhoose, I'm sure,To the wunder o' mony a fairy land flure.Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.Though little the thing be,Oor ain we can ca';That little we cling be,The mair that it's sma';Though puir wis oor hame, an' thogh wild wis the scene,'Twas the hame o' oor hearts: it was bonnie Kinreen.An yet we maun leave it, baith grey head an bairn;Leave it to fatten the deer o' Cock-Cairn,O' Pannanich wuds an' o' Morven o' Gairn.Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Sae Fareweel for ever, Kinreen of the Dee!

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

Kinreen o' the Dee!

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

I'll blaw up my chanter,I've rounded fu' weel,To mony a ranter,In mony a reel,An' pour'd a' my heart i' the win'bag wi' glee:Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!For licht wis the laughter in bonny Kinreen,An' licht wis the footfa' that glanced o'er the green,An' licht ware the hearts a' an' lichtsome the eyne,Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

I'll blaw up my chanter,

I've rounded fu' weel,

To mony a ranter,

In mony a reel,

An' pour'd a' my heart i' the win'bag wi' glee:

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

For licht wis the laughter in bonny Kinreen,

An' licht wis the footfa' that glanced o'er the green,

An' licht ware the hearts a' an' lichtsome the eyne,

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

Kinreen o' the Dee!

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

The auld hoose is bare noo,A cauld hoose to me,The hearth is nae mair noo,The centre o' glee,Nae mair for the bairnies the bield it has been,Och hey, for bonny Kinreen!The auld folk, the young folk, the wee anes, an' a',A hunder years' hame birds are harried awa',Are harried an' hameless, whatever winds blaw,Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.

The auld hoose is bare noo,

A cauld hoose to me,

The hearth is nae mair noo,

The centre o' glee,

Nae mair for the bairnies the bield it has been,

Och hey, for bonny Kinreen!

The auld folk, the young folk, the wee anes, an' a',

A hunder years' hame birds are harried awa',

Are harried an' hameless, whatever winds blaw,

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.

Fareweel my auld pleugh lan',I'll never mair pleugh it:Fareweel my auld cairt an'The auld yaud[3]that drew it.Fareweel my auld kailyard, ilk bush an' ilk tree!Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!Fareweel the auld braes, that my hand keepit green,Fareweel the auld ways where we waunder'd unseenEre the star o' my hearth came to bonny Kinreen,Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.

Fareweel my auld pleugh lan',

I'll never mair pleugh it:

Fareweel my auld cairt an'

The auld yaud[3]that drew it.

Fareweel my auld kailyard, ilk bush an' ilk tree!

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

Fareweel the auld braes, that my hand keepit green,

Fareweel the auld ways where we waunder'd unseen

Ere the star o' my hearth came to bonny Kinreen,

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.

The auld kirk looks up o'erThe dreesome auld dead,Like a saint speakin' hope o'erSome sorrowfu' bed.Fareweel the auld kirk, an' fareweel the kirk green,They tell o' a far better hame than Kinreen!The place we wad cling to—puir simple auld fules,O' our births an' our bridals, oor blesses an' dools,Whare oor wee bits o' bairnies lie cauld i' the mools.[4]

The auld kirk looks up o'er

The dreesome auld dead,

Like a saint speakin' hope o'er

Some sorrowfu' bed.

Fareweel the auld kirk, an' fareweel the kirk green,

They tell o' a far better hame than Kinreen!

The place we wad cling to—puir simple auld fules,

O' our births an' our bridals, oor blesses an' dools,

Whare oor wee bits o' bairnies lie cauld i' the mools.[4]

I aft times hae wunder'dIf deer be as dear,As sweet ties o' kindred,To peasant or peer;As the tie to the hames o' the land born be,Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!The heather that blossoms unkent o' the moor,Wad dee in his lordship's best greenhoose, I'm sure,To the wunder o' mony a fairy land flure.Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.

I aft times hae wunder'd

If deer be as dear,

As sweet ties o' kindred,

To peasant or peer;

As the tie to the hames o' the land born be,

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

The heather that blossoms unkent o' the moor,

Wad dee in his lordship's best greenhoose, I'm sure,

To the wunder o' mony a fairy land flure.

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee! &c.

Though little the thing be,Oor ain we can ca';That little we cling be,The mair that it's sma';Though puir wis oor hame, an' thogh wild wis the scene,'Twas the hame o' oor hearts: it was bonnie Kinreen.An yet we maun leave it, baith grey head an bairn;Leave it to fatten the deer o' Cock-Cairn,O' Pannanich wuds an' o' Morven o' Gairn.Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Kinreen o' the Dee!Sae Fareweel for ever, Kinreen of the Dee!

Though little the thing be,

Oor ain we can ca';

That little we cling be,

The mair that it's sma';

Though puir wis oor hame, an' thogh wild wis the scene,

'Twas the hame o' oor hearts: it was bonnie Kinreen.

An yet we maun leave it, baith grey head an bairn;

Leave it to fatten the deer o' Cock-Cairn,

O' Pannanich wuds an' o' Morven o' Gairn.

Och hey, Kinreen o' the Dee!

Kinreen o' the Dee!

Sae Fareweel for ever, Kinreen of the Dee!

[3]Mare.

[4]Earth.

That's a tough old fellowCANNY!Sportsman."That's a tough old fellow, Jemmy!"Keeper."Aye, sir, a grand bird to send to your freens!"

Sportsman."That's a tough old fellow, Jemmy!"

Keeper."Aye, sir, a grand bird to send to your freens!"

EXPERTO CREDEEXPERTO CREDETourist(on approaching hostelry). "What will you have, coachman?"Driver."A wee drap whuskey, sir, thank you."Tourist."All right I'll get down and send it out to you."Driver."Na, na, gie me the saxpence. They'll gie you an unco sma' gless!"

Tourist(on approaching hostelry). "What will you have, coachman?"

Driver."A wee drap whuskey, sir, thank you."

Tourist."All right I'll get down and send it out to you."

Driver."Na, na, gie me the saxpence. They'll gie you an unco sma' gless!"

A LAMENT FROM THE NORTHA LAMENT FROM THE NORTH"And then the weather's been so bad, Donald!""Ou ay, sir. Only three fine days—and twa of them snappit up by the Sawbath!"

"And then the weather's been so bad, Donald!"

"Ou ay, sir. Only three fine days—and twa of them snappit up by the Sawbath!"

"Can you tell me which is Croft Lochay?"

The smith leant on his pitchfork—he had been up at the hay—and eyed Gwendolen and myself with friendly interest.

"Ye'll be the gentry from London Mistress McDiarmat is expectin'?"

"And which is the way to her house?"

"Well", said the smith, shading his eyes as he peered up at the Ben, "ye can't see it rightly from here, as it lies behind yon knowe. It's a whole year whatever since I hev not been up myself; but if you follow the burn——"

I glanced at Gwen and saw that she shared my satisfaction. To cross the edge of civilisation had for months past been our hearts' desire; and to have achieved a jumping-off place only approachable by a burn exceeded our wildest ambitions.

We thanked the smith, and set off on our expedition up the mountain side.

"We twa hae paidlit in the burn", sang Gwendolen as she skipped like a goat from stone to stone. "O Jack, isn't it too primitive and delightful!"

"Rather", said I, inhaling great draughts of the mountain air.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Rather", I repeated. "Wonder what there'll be to eat."

"Oh, I don't care what it is. Anything will be delicious. Is that the house, do you think?"

I looked up and saw above us a low white-washed shanty covered with thatch which was kept in its place by a network of laths. A few heavy stones were evidently designed to keep the roof from blowing off in winter storms.

"No", said Gwen. "That must be the cowhouse byre, don't you call it?"

"I'm not so sure", said I.

While we were still uncertain, a figure came to the door and bade us welcome.

"Come in, come in. Ye'll be tired with the travelling, and ye'll like to see the rooms."

We acquiesced, and Mistress McDiarmat led the way into the cowhouse.

"Shoo!" she cried as she opened the door of the bedroom. "Get away, Speckle! The henswilllay their bit egg on the bed, sir."

"What fresh eggs we shall get!" cried Gwen, delighted with this fresh proof of rusticity and with the Gaelic gutturals with which Mistress McDiarmat emphasized her remarks to Speckle.

The "other end" was furnished with two hard chairs, a table and a bed.

"Fancy a bed in the dining-room and hens in your bed!" said Gwen, in the highest of spirits. "And here comes tea! Eggs and bacon—Ah! how lovely they smell, and how much nicer than horrid, stodgy dinners! And oatcakes—and jelly—and the lightest feathery scones! O Jack, isn't it heavenly?"

"Rather", I agreed, beginning the meal with tremendous gusto. The eggs and bacon disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, and then we fell to on the light feathery scones. "Wish we hadn't wasted a fortnight's time and money in ruinous Highland hotels. Wonder what Schiehallion thinks of hot baths and late dinners, not to speak of waiters and wine-lists."

"I suppose", remarked Gwendolen, "onecouldget a bath at the Temperance Inn we passed on the road?"

"Baths!" cried I. "Why, my dear, one only has to go and sit under the neighbouring waterfall." Gwen did not laugh, and looking up I saw she had stopped in the middle of a scone on which she had embarked with great appetite.

"Try an oat-cake", I suggested.

"No, thanks", said Gwen.

"A little more jelly?"

Gwen shook her head.

I finished my meal in silence and pulled out my pipe.

"Going to smoke in here?" asked Gwen.

"It's raining outside, my dear."

"Oh, very well. But remember this is my bedroom. I decline to sleep with hens."

I put the pipe away and prepared for conversation.

"Can't you sit still?" asked Gwen after a long pause.

"This chair is very hard, dear."

"So is mine."

"Don't you think we might sit on the bed?"

"Certainly not. I shouldn't sleep a wink if we disarranged the clothes, and only an expert can re-make a chaff bed."

"Wish we had something to read", I remarked, after another long pause.

"Do you expect a circulating library on the top of Ben-y-Gloe?"

I began to realise that Gwen was no longer in a conversational mood, and made no further efforts to break the silence. Half-an-hour later Gwen came across the room and laid her hand on my shoulder. "What are you reading, dear?" she asked.

"I find we can get a train from Struan to-morrow afternoon which catches the London connection at Perth when the train's not more than two hours late."

"We can't risk that. Isn't there a train in the morning?"

"It would mean leaving this at five."

"So much the better. O Jack, if I eat another meal like that it will be fatal. To think we shall be back in dear old Chelsea to-morrow!"

tread the hayORIGIN OF THE HIGHLAND SCHOTTISCHE"This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay, tread the hay;This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay in Scotland!"

"This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay, tread the hay;This is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay in Scotland!"

GROUSE SHOOTINGGROUSE SHOOTING LATE IN THE SEASON. JOLLY, VERY!"Come along, old fellow! heres a point!!"

"Come along, old fellow! heres a point!!"

DEER -STALKING MADE EASYDEER -STALKING MADE EASY. A HINT TO LUSTY SPORTSMAN.

When is the steamer due hereSOONER OR LATEROld Gent."When is the steamer due here?"Highland Pier-Master."Various. Sometimes sooner, sometimes earlier, an' even sometimes before that, too."

Old Gent."When is the steamer due here?"

Highland Pier-Master."Various. Sometimes sooner, sometimes earlier, an' even sometimes before that, too."

HARMLESSHARMLESSCockney Sporting Gent."But I think it's a 'en!"Sandy (his keeper)."Shoot, man, shoot! She'll be no muckle the waur o' ye!!"

Cockney Sporting Gent."But I think it's a 'en!"

Sandy (his keeper)."Shoot, man, shoot! She'll be no muckle the waur o' ye!!"

PLEASANTPLEASANTFriend (to novice at salmon fishing)."I say, old boy, mind how you wade; there are some tremendous holes, fourteen or fifteen feet deep."

Friend (to novice at salmon fishing)."I say, old boy, mind how you wade; there are some tremendous holes, fourteen or fifteen feet deep."

AN IMPORTANT DETAILAN IMPORTANT DETAILOur Latest Millionaire (to Gillie, who has brought him within close range of the finest stag in the forest)."I say, Mac, confound it all,which eye do you use?"

Our Latest Millionaire (to Gillie, who has brought him within close range of the finest stag in the forest)."I say, Mac, confound it all,which eye do you use?"

English touristEnglish Tourist (in the far North, miles from anywhere)."Do you mean to say that you and your family live here all the winter? Why, what do you do when any of you are ill? You can never get a doctor!"Scotch Shepherd."Nae, sir. We've just to dee a natural death!"

English Tourist (in the far North, miles from anywhere)."Do you mean to say that you and your family live here all the winter? Why, what do you do when any of you are ill? You can never get a doctor!"

Scotch Shepherd."Nae, sir. We've just to dee a natural death!"

A ROADSIDE INNSCENE--A ROADSIDE INN IN A MOORLAND DISTRICT, SCOTLAND.(The Captain and Gamekeeper call in to have some Refreshment)Landlady (enters in fear)."Eh, sir, yer gun's no loaded is't? for a never would bide in a hoose whaur the wur a loaded gun in a' m'life."Captain (composedly),"Oh we'll soon put that right--have you got a cork?"[Exit Landlady and brings a cork, which the Captain carefully sticks in the muzzle of the gun, and assures her it is all right now--Landlady (relieved)."Ou, aye! it's a' right noo, but it wasna safe afore, ye ken."

(The Captain and Gamekeeper call in to have some Refreshment)

Landlady (enters in fear)."Eh, sir, yer gun's no loaded is't? for a never would bide in a hoose whaur the wur a loaded gun in a' m'life."

Captain (composedly),"Oh we'll soon put that right--have you got a cork?"

[Exit Landlady and brings a cork, which the Captain carefully sticks in the muzzle of the gun, and assures her it is all right now--

Landlady (relieved)."Ou, aye! it's a' right noo, but it wasna safe afore, ye ken."

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