_Accused._ "Put, Pailie, it's na provit!"
_Bailie._ "Hoot toots, Tonal, and hear me speak! Aw'll only fine ye ha'f-a-croon the day, because et's no varra well provit. But if ever ye come before me again, ye'll no get aff under five shillin's, whether et's provit or no!!"]
[Illustration: MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF YE ENGLYSHE IN 1849
[Illustration: ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES OF SHOOTING FROM A BUTT
_Keeper (on moor rented by the latest South African millionaire, to guest)._ "Never mind the birds, sir. For onny sake, lie down! The maister's gawn tae shoot!"]
_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 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 Irrepressible._ "Hi, Scotty, tip us the 'Ighland fling."
[Illustration: Return of the wounded and missing Popplewitz omitted to send in after his day on the moors.]
_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!"]
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.