On another occasion, however, he was not so fortunate. Lockey was exchanging his breeks wi' a callant he didna ken; the callant's breeks Lockey thought a guid deal better than his ain; but the bargain was made, and the stranger away, Lockey recollected that there was a bank note in ain o' the pouches o' the breeks he had gien awa'; but Lockey said it was nae lost for a' that, for it was insight o' business.

GRACE ONLY SAID TO MEAT.

A clergyman in the course of his visitation to a remote part of his parish, entered a hut, the only inmate of which at the time was a boy, whose appearance resembled one who had been a native of a less polished country than Scotia; his hair bespoke the want of both scissors and comb; and his .costume appeared to be a century older than its wearer. The reverend gentleman being a little fatigued with climbing the hill, sat down upon a stool, and entered into conversation with the boy. Minister. Where is your father an' mother, my man?

Boy. They're no in, what do ye want wi' them, mun?

Minister. Since they are not in, I'll speer you some questions. Can you read ony? Boy.-Aye can I, can you mun? Minister. Can ye pray ony?

Boy.Aye can I, can you mun?

Minister. Can you say a grace when ye tak your meat?

Boy.-Aye can I, can ye do that, mun?

Minister. Aye I do. But let me hear you say a grace?

Boy.-Gie me meat then, for I ne'er say a grace but when I hae meat to tak?

GREAT MORTIFICATION.

"We have lately got a mortification here," said a northern burgess to a gentleman from England. "I am very sorry for it," said the Englishmau. The other stared, and added, "Yes, a very considerable mortification: an old miser died the other day, and left us ten thousand pounds to build an hospital."" And call you that a mortification?" said the stranger. "Yes," replied the Scotchman, "And we think it a very great one.”

SPINNING A TEXT.

A clergyman in Banffshire, more celebrated for his eloquence than prudence, being solicited to officiate one Sabbath-day for a brother of the same profession who was indisposed, was so obliging as to comply with the request. When the exercises of the day were ended, he thought proper to indulge in a hearty refreshment, in order to renovate his exhausted spirits. Going home at night, he met a

gentleman of his acquaintance, who enquired how he was, and where he had been? To which he answered, "He had been spinning out a text.""Yes," says the gentleman," And you are now reeling it home."

BALANCING OF BOOKS.

About the time when flax spinning by machinery was first introduced into Scotland, an industrious and sober, but enterprising man, erected a small mill of five or six frames.-After the work had been employed something more than a year, he made up a state of affairs, that he might see whether his speculation had been prosperous or adverse.Having ascertained the result, when he came home at night, he addressed his wife thus:"Put on the kettle, Eppie, an' gar a drap broo seethe." When the kettle was boiling, his spouse called, “The kettle's seething now, Johnny."-" Very weel, Eppie, hand me in bye the bottle, an' I'll mak a jug o' toddy, an' ye'll come an' sit down beside me, Eppie, and we'll tak our glass and be happy; and dinna forget to be thankfu' to Providence, for it has prospered the labour of our hands.-The callant and me hae been making up the mill accounts, and how dye think they stand ?"-" I coudna say, Johnny."" Weel, Eppie, the whurlies hae only run about a towmont, and she has fairly cleared a' the outlay, aye, an' something mair." "That's very weel indeed, Johnny, an' I'm unco happy to hear't.

"Aye, Eppie, we've toiled sair, and lived canny; --but we'll now eat our white bread in our auld days!" The toddy and the good news had procured for Eppie sound sleep and pleasant dreams;— and next night, when Johnny came in, she said, "I'll put on the kettle, Johnny.”—“ Na, na, ye needna be at the fash,-nae mair kettling here,-an' I'll tell you mair, Eppie, ye needna be mocking Providence wi' your thanks!"-Looking in her husband's face, she saw that the curves at the corners of his mouth had taken a contrary direction to that which they had held on the preceding night. Anxious to know the cause, she said, "What's the matter, what's wrang now, Johnny ?" John shrugging his shoulders, replied, "Ah, that rackless stupid laddie, Jamie, no half tenty, when he was summing up the pounds o' the mill yesterday, he alded in the year o' God wi' them.”

HINT TO MONEY LENDERS.

The following curious conversation actually occurred a few days ago, in a garden attached to a lunatic asylum near Dumfries. The interlocutors were the keeper, a very respectable man, and one of the most manageable of his patients. Tak it easy, tak it easy, Jamie,-ye're no working against time, man-and whan you come near the border, be sure and keep your feet aff the flowers."

"The flowers, hurt the bonnie sweet flowers!" said Jamie, "Na, na, I'm no sae daft as that comes

to, neither; I wad as soon chap aff my ain fingers as crush ane o' them. There's the simmer snawdrap already keeking through its green sheath; as weel as daises an' primroses, an' the thing they ca' rocket, although it wad mak but a puir cracker on the King's birth-day-He! he! he! Ay, there's heartsease and rowantree, sprigs o' which I aye wear next my skin-the tane to fley awa' the witches, an' the tither to keep my heart frae beating. An' there's the genty wee flower that I gied a bit o' to Tibby Dalrymple, wha tint her wits for love, an' wha said sae muckle to me through the grating o' her cell, about the gude that the smell o' a flower wad do her, that I coudna find i' my heart to deny her, puir thing."-" Very weel, Jamie,” replied the keeper, "Be a guid lad, an' continue to dress that little corner until I come back frae the sands.". "Ou ay!" rejoined Jamie, "This is Wednesday, an' you'll be gaun down to meet wi' some o' your country friends. It's changed times wi' them, I jea louse, whaur the public-house folk used to sell a gallon o' whisky, they dinna sell a muchkin now, I hear; but that's naething, their customers will get sooner hame to their families, an' then they'll be fewer banes broken riding fool-races. But tak care o' yoursel', Mr · tak care that some o' them dinna come Yorkshire owre you. They'll be inveeting you in to tak a dram, nae doubt, an' makin' a puir mouth about the badness o' times, trying to borrow a little siller frae you. But if I waur you, I'll tell ye what I wad do-I wad get twa purses made, and ca' ane o' them Somebody, and