On a certain occasion Sydney Smith set off to dine with a neighbouring clergyman. After toiling along a dusty road, he reached the parsonage hungry and weary. Seated in a small hot-room, a stripling opened the door and beckoned our host out of the room. In a short time he returned looking greatly distressed, saying, “The woman assisting in the kitchen had mistaken the soup for dirty water, and had thrown it out, and so we must do without it.” At last, dinner was announced to our great joy, but, oh ye gods, as we entered the dining room what a gale met our nose! the venison was high, the venison was uneatable, and was obliged to follow on the soup with all speed. THE HIGHLANDER AND SIR SYDNEY SMITH. Sir James Mackintosh on one occasion went to sup with Sydney Smith, accompanied by a raw Scotch cousin, an ensign in a Highland regiment. On hearing the name of his host, he nudged Sir James and enquired in an audible whisper, “Is that the great Sir Sydney?” “Yes, yes,” said Sir James, and giving Sydney, the hint, he at once assumed the military character, performed the part of the hero of Acre to perfection, fought all the battles over again, and showed how he had charged the Turk, to the infinite delight of the young Scotsman, who was charmed with the kindness and condescension of the great Sir Sydney. Meanwhile, however, the other guests were suffering severe torture and nearly burst with suppressing laughter. In return for the kindness he had received, nothing would content the young Highlander but that he must set off about twelve o’clock at night to fetch the piper of the regiment to pipe to the “Great Sir Sydney,” who said he had never heard the bagpipes. Before he returned, the company had dispersed. Sir James declaring he would be decapitated if he remained. A few days after this occurrence Sir James and his cousin met Sydney Smith, with his wife leaning on his arm. He introduced her as his wife, upon which the young Highlander whispered to Sir James, and looking at the lady, “I did na ken the great Sir Sydney was married.” “Why, no,” said Sir James, winking at him, “not ex-act-ly married--only an Egyptian slave he brought over with him; Fatima, you know, you understand.” SYDNEY SMITH’S COUNTRY COUSIN. A country cousin used sometimes to visit Sydney Smith--a simple, warm-hearted rustic. It was his custom occasionally to have some of his friends to supper, and on their arrival she would come to him and whisper, “Now Sydney, I know that these are all remarkable men, do tell me who they are?” “Oh, yes,” said he, laughing. “That is Hannibal,” pointing to Mr. Whishaw, “he lost his leg in the Carthagenian war; and that is Socrates,” pointing to Luttrell; “and that is Solon,” pointing to Horner. The girl opened her ears, eyes, and mouth with admiration, yet half believing that Sydney was making fun of her. SCOTTISH METAPHYSICS.