Henry, Duke of Buccleugh, was greatly beloved by his numerous tenantry. One of them yclept Jamie Howie, had a son about four ears of age, who having heard much of a great Duke of Buccleugh, was very anxious to see him. Honest Jamie, in a few days, being honoured with a visit from the Duke, doffed his bonnet, made a profound, reverential bow, and said, “O, my lord, ye maunna be angry wi’ me, but it’s a Heeven’s truth, my lord, there’s a daft wee callant o’ mine that canna rest nor let ithers rest nicht nor day, he has ta’en in his head sic a notion o’ seein’ what like you are, gude sake, my lord; I dinna think he has ony yedeea ye are a man at a’, but some far-awa, outlandish, ower-the-sea creature.” The Duke, mightily tickled with this fancy, desired Jamie to bring the youngster into his presence forthwith. Out comes the juvenile inquisiter with his finger in his mouth, and cautiously reconnoitres the personage before him. At last quoth the urchin, “Can ye soom?” “No, my little fellow,” replied his Grace, “I canna soom.” “Can ye flee?” “No, I canna flee.” “Well, man, for as muckle’s ye’re, I wadna gi’e ane o’ ma fayther’s dukes for ye; for they can baith soom an’ flee!” PARAGRAPH ON PARRITCH. Once upon a time, a worthy tradesman who had his “wonn” in a certain populous city “i’ the wast,” was in the habbit of nightly indulging a predilection for a comfortable lounge in an auction-room, where he managed to procure a fund of ease and amusement sufficient to dissipate the effects of the dry details of the day. On one occasion, while paying a tribute of more than ordinary attention to a string of elaborate eulogia on the merits of some article of sale, delivered by the eloquent lips of him of the hammer, his ears were suddenly assailed by the well known voice of his son, a boy of five years of age, who had been charged with a message of special importance from the guidwife, to the frequenter of the nocturnal howff. “Fayther!” vociferated the unceremonious rascal, “yer parritch is ready!” Honest Thomas looked certain “unutterable things,” as the eyes of a hundred individuals were simultaneously directed first to the quarter whence the salute proceeded, and then to the subject of the address. He cleared the mob in one step--bolted from the threshold in another, and finished a third with a smart application of a weighty tacketted shoe to the astonished retreater’s seat of honour, while he grinned out, “Ye deevil’s Jawcobeet! the next time ye come wi’ sic an eerand, say a Gentleman’s waitin on me.” An opportunity soon occurred for a display of the urchin’s new-acquired politesse;--two evenings afterwards he was observed popping in his antiquated phiz, and magnanimously bawling the intelligence regarding the gentleman in waiting. He was answered with a complaisant “Vera weel,” and a promise of immediate attendance. A new turn in the business of the lounge, banished the circumstance from the