The Rev. Mr. Shirra, burgher minister in Kirkcaldy, once gave the following curious definition of the devil:--"The devil, my brethren, 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!" _Mark me Well._ A gentleman having missed his way, fortunately met a boy going with a pot of tar to mark his master's sheep, asked the road to Banff, but was directing 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!" _Death of a Watch._ After the battle of Falkirk, in 1746, a Highlandman was observed extracting a gold watch from the fob of an English officer, who had been killed. His comrade viewed him with a greedy eye, which the man taking notice of said to him, "Tamn you gapin' greedy bitch, gang and shoot a shentleman for hersel', an' no envie me o' my pit watch." Next morning finding his watch motionless, and meeting his comrade, says to him, "Och! she no be care muckle about a watch, an' you be like mine, what will ye gi'e me for her?" The other replied, "I be venture a kinny." "Weel then," said the other, "Shust tak her, an' welcome, for she be die yester night." _Our Lawful Sovereign._ An English Officer Dining With Lord Saltoon Some Years After the Battle of Culloden, his Lordship was adverting to the strong attachment manifested by the generality of Buchan to the unfortunate house of Stuart, and particularly remarked the devoted loyalty of his gardener, whom no bribe or entreaty could in the smallest degree influence. "I'll bet 50 guineas," said the Englishman, "that I shall make him drink the health of King George." "Done!" replied his Lordship. The honest gardener was called in. The officer began by praising his fidelity and loyalty to his prince; pressed him to drink some glasses of wine; and when he thought him a little off his guard from the effects of the generous liquor, he began thus:--"Now, my friend, I know you are a good Christian and wish well to every human being; you can certainly have no objection to drink the health of King George? Come, my worthy fellow, a bumper to the health of his Majesty." "Here's to the health of our _lawful_ Sovereign," said the gardener. "Bless you, sir," cried the officer, "That's not King George?" "I am very much of your opinion," replied the man, making a profound bow and retiring. _Down the Rotten Row._