A Scotchman and an Irishman were sleeping at an inn together. The weather being rather warm, the Scotchman in his sleep put his leg out of the bed. A traveller, in passing the room door, saw him in this situation, and having a mind for a frolic, gently fixed a spur upon Sawney's heel; who drawing his leg into the bed, so disturbed his companion, that he exclaimed, "Arrah, honey, have a care of your great toe, for you have forgot to cut your nails I belaiv." The Scotchman being sound asleep, and sometimes, perhaps, not a little disturbed by other companies, still kept scratching poor Pat, till his patience being quite spent, he succeeded in rousing Sawney, who, not a little surprised at finding the spur on his heel, loudly exclaimed, "De'il tak' the daft chiel of a hostler, he's ta'en my boots aff last night and left on the spur." _Charity._ A person who resides in the ancient town of Kilwinning, was proverbial for his liberality in meat and drink to friends and acquaintances. Strangers, too, seldom passed without experiencing a due share of kindness. Lately while feasting nearly a dozen of random visitors on "Pat Luck," a beggar called at the door soliciting charity, when he very good humouredly called out, "I canna help you the day, I ha'e plenty o' your kin' here already." _Shooting the Devil._ A Scotch parson preaching upon these words, "Resist the devil, and he will fly from you," began thus:--"My beloved, you are all here to-day, but wot ye who is among ye, even the meikle horned devil. You cannot see him, but by the eye of faith I see him. But some of you say, what will we do with him now we have him here? How shall we destroy him? We will hang him. Alas, my beloved, there are not so many tows in the parish as will hang him, he is as light as a feather. Then some of you will say we will drown him. Humph, my beloved, there is owre muckle cork in his leg, he's as souple as an eel, he will not sink. Others of you will say, we will burn him. Na, na, sirs, you may scald yourselves, but you canna burn him, for a' the fire in Hades could never yet singe a hair o' his tail. Now, sirs, ye canna find a way among you all to kill him, but I will find it. What way will this be, sirs? We will even shoot him. Wherewith shall we shoot him? We shall shoot him with the Bible. Now, sirs, I shall shoot him presently." So, presenting the Bible, as soldiers do their muskets, he cries out, "Toot! toot! toot! Now he is shot. There lies the foul thief as dead as a herring." _Long Credit._