The Reverend Mr Shirra, burger minister in Kirkcaldy, once gave the following curious defination of the Devil:—“The Devil, my brethern, is ill ony way ye’ll tak him. Tak the D from his name, he’s evil; tak the E from his name, he’s vil; tak the V from his name he’s il.” Then, shrugging up his shoulders, and lengthening his sanctified snout, he said, with peculiar emphasis, “he’s naething but an il, vil, evil, Devil, ony way ye’ll tak him!”
MARK ME WELL.
A gentleman having missed his way, fortunately overtook a boy going with a pot of tar to mark his master’s sheep, asked the road to Banff, but was directed by so many turnings, right and left, that he agreed to take the boy behind him on the horse, as he was going near to the same place. Finding the boy pert and docile, he gave him some wholesome advice relative to his future conduct, adding occasionally, “Mark me well, my boy.”—“Yes, Sir, I do.” He repeated the injunction so often, that the boy at last cried out, “Sir, I have no more tar!”
SCOTTISH ATMOSPHERE.
An English Gentleman on a tour through Scotland, was unfortunately accompanied by wet weather most of the time. When he set out from Glasgow to Greenock, the morning was very fine; however, before he had proceeded half way, he was overtaken by a heavy shower. “Boy,” (says he to a little fellow herding near the road side) “does it always rain in this country!” “Na,” replied the boy, “it sometimes snaws.”
LIBERTY OF THE PRESS.
A master tailor in Glasgow, lately reading the News-papers to his family, and when expressing the title, Liberty of the Press in France, one of his daughters interrupted him, by asking what the Liberty of the Press meaned? “I’ll soon answer that question,” said he; “you know when your mother goes but, and leaves the key in the cupboard door, where the bread, butter, and sugar lies, then you have access:—That’s the Liberty o’ the Press.”
RESTLESS HAGGIS.
Daft Will Callender, lived with his sister Babie, in Port-Glasgow: Babie kept lodging house for Sailors. On Saturday night Babie was making a Haggis, for Sunday’s dinner, when one of her lodgers put four ounce of quicksilver into the Haggis, unknown to Babie. On Sunday, Will was left at home to cook the dinner; but when the pot began to boil, the Haggis would be out of the pot; Will faithful to his charges held the lid on the pot until his patience was exhausted—at last Will ran off to the church for Babie; she sat on one of the back pews; Will beckoned to her two or three times, Babie as often nodded and winked to Will to be quiet; at last he bawled out, “Babie come hame, for I believe the deil’s got into the Haggis, it’ll no bide in the pat, it’s out dancing on the floor, and if I had not locked the door, I think it would have been at the kirk as soon’s mysel.”