IN the eighteenth century there came a Scot to London. It is only the dullest of races that ever held, as it yet holds, the fancy that Scotland is not a land of humour ists. But nothing, after all, as George Eliot saw, divides mankind so much as a different sense or taste in humour.1 The Scot who came to London was of course a humourist, but he had not quite the geniality that we associate to-day with his surname.