Doctor. "Well, Matthew, did you take those pills I sent you yesterday?"
Patient. "Yes, doctor; but couldn't 'e do 'em up in something different? They little boxes be terrible hard to swallow!"
On the way to the Manse.—Deacon MacTavish (to Deacon MacBrose, after visiting several hospitable houses on their way). Hoot, mon Donald, yonder's the Meenister! Noo, I'll joost tek a few paces afore ye, in that ye may say gin my puir tired legs don't tremble.
Deacon MacBrose. Gae forrard, Sandy, gae forrard!
Deacon MacTavish (after stumbling ahead for several yards). Weel, Donald, hoo gae they?
Deacon MacBrose. Richt bonnily, Sandy, richt bonnily. But wha's the mon that's walking beside ye?