In the west of Scotland, some time ago, there happened to be an auction of books. A book-buyer who attended the sale, was summoned by his son to supper, according to the directions of his mother. The boy flurried by the presence of the audience, and in his attempt to be as explicit as possible, thus cried out, "Fayther, yer parritch is ready." "Very well, my dear," said the father, and at the door gave him a salute _a posteriori_, which was repeated with the following injunction--"Recollect rascal, when you come again, to say _a gentleman_ wants me." Next evening up comes the boy according to direction. "Is my Fayther here?" "Yes," said the father. "_A gentleman_ wants ye." "Very well, my man," was repeated by the boy's parent; but little time elapsed when the boy returned; "What now, my man," said the old book worm. "Oh naething," said his son, "but gin ye dinna rin fast _the gentleman_ will be quite cauld." _Dougal Graham._ Dougal Graham, author of the well-known metrical history of the rebellion in 1745, being candidate for the place of town bellman in the City of Glasgow, was desired to call "Gude fresh herrings new come in at the Broomielaw." It not being the season for herrings, Dougal added, "But, indeed, my friends, it's a blaeflum, "For the herrings no catch'd, and the boats no come," which procured for Dougal the situation. Dougal was a kind of Scotch Æsop, he had a large humph on one of his shoulders, and like his patrotype had wit. Calling in the street of the Gallowgate, opposite the Saracen's Head Inn, where several officers of the gallant 42d regiment were dining, at the close of the American war, some of whom knew Dougal before they went abroad, opening the window, called out, "What's that you've got on your back, Dougal?" Knowing what the regiment suffered at Bunker's Hill, Dougal replied, "It's _Bunker's Hill_; do you choose to mount?" _A New Way to Wauken Sleepers in Church._ Mr. Ogilvie, minister of the parish of Lunan in the county of Forfar, had a great deal of eccentricity in his composition. One Sunday an old woman, who kept a public-house in the parish, with whom Mr. Ogilvie was well acquainted, fell asleep in the church during sermon--not an uncommon occurrence. Her neighbour kept jogging in order to awake her. Mr. Ogilvie observing this, cried out, "Let her alane, I'll wauken her mysel', I'll warrant ye." "Phew! Phew! (_whistling_) a bottle o' ale and a dram, Janet." "Comin', sir," was instantly replied. "There now," says the minister, "I tald ye it wadna be lang afore I waken'd her." _Sage Instruction._