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 heart,’ exclaimed the negro, ‘me d—n glad see you burn your foot.’

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!”

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!”