l o' beef like a wumman after her first-born.
Somebody'd stole it! Mercy me! we mainlanders lay on our oars and
laughed till the tears rolled out of us in streams."

"Who did steal it? Do you know?" I asked.

Billy John nodded. "I do, Sir. Why, great Susan, o' course. They'd
forgotten she, livin' right upon the beach--wan o' their own breed.
Susan stalked en through the fog an' had en locked in her own house
before they could turn round. And many a full meal we poor honest
mainlanders had off it, Sir, take it from me."

PATLANDER.

* * * * *

=Our Cynical Municipalities.=

"Schemes for the relief of the unemployed at ---- include the
extension of the cemetery."

_Daily Paper._

* * * * *

"The constable went to the warehouse doorway and found two men,
who, when asked to account for their movements, suddenly bolted in
different directions, pursued by the constable."--_Welsh Paper._

A worthy colleague of the Irish policeman who in a somewhat similar
dilemma "surrounded the crowd."

* * * * *

VIGNETTES OF SCOTTISH SPORT.

(_By a Peckham Highlander._)

O brawly sklents the break o' day
On far Lochaber's bank and brae,
And briskly bra's the Hielan' burn
Where day by day the Southron kern
Comes busking through the bonnie brake
Wi' rod and creel o' finest make,
And gars the artfu' trouties rise
Wi' a' the newest kinds o' flies,
Nor doots that ere the sun's at rest
He'll catch a basket o' the best.
For what's so sweet to nose o' man
As trouties skirrlin' in the pan
Wi' whiles a nip o' mountain dew
Tae warm the chilly Saxon through,
And hold the balance fair and right
Twixt intellect and appetite?
But a' in vain the Southron throws
Abune each trout's suspectfu' nose
His gnats and coachmen, greys and brouns,
And siclike gear that's sold in touns,
And a' in vain the burn he whups
Frae earliest sunrise till the tups
Wi' mony a wean-compelling "meeeh!"
Announce the punctual close of day.
Then hameward by the well-worn track
Gangs the disgruntled Sassenach,
And, having dined off mountain sheep,
Betakes him moodily to sleep.
And "Ah!" he cries, "would I micht be
A clansman kilted to the knee,
Wi' sporran, plaid and buckled shoe,
And Caledonian whuskers too!
Would I could wake the pibroch's throes
And live on parritch