There, there, there! I'll no say anither word! All I meant to say was that ye jeest stretched the pint a wee bit! Stretched the pint! D'ye mean to say, sir, that I tell lees?

Well-a-but I didna gang sae far as that.

Did ever ye hear the elders say that I exaggerated, or stretched the pint?

I wadna say but what they hae, too.

Oh! So the elders and the whole of ye call me a leer, do ye? Hau'd yer tongue, Sandy, it's my turn to speak now. Although I'm your minister, still I'm perfectly willing to admit that I'm a sinful, erring creature, like any one o' ye; but I've been to colleges and seats of learning, and I've got some sense in my head! At the same time, Sandy, I am free to admit that I'm only a human being, and it's just possible that being obleedged, Sawbath after Sawbath to expound the word to sic a doited set o' naturals,—for if I wasna to mak ilka thing as big as a "barn door" ye wadna see it at a,-I say it's just possible I may have slippit into a kind o' habit o' magnifying things; and it's a bad habit to get into, Sandy, and it's a waur thing to be accused o' it: and therefore, Sandy I call upon you, if ever you should hear me say another word out o' joint, to pull me up then and there. Losh, sir, but how could I pull ye up i' the kirk?

Ye could make some kind o' noise.

A noise i' the kirk?

Ay! y'ere sitting down beneath me, so ye might put up yer head and give a bit whustle (whistles) like that.

A whustle? What! whustle i' the Lord's hoose o' the Lord's day?

Ye needna make such a disturbance about it. I dinna want ye to frighten the folk, but just a wee whustle, that nacbody but our two selves could hear.

But would it no be an awful sin?

Hoots man, does na the wind whustle on the Sawbath? Weel, if there's no harm in't I'll do my best.

So it was agreed between the two, that the first word of exaggeration from the pulpit was to elicit the signal from the desk below.

Next Sunday came; and had the minister only stuck to his sermon he would have had the laugh on Sandy. But it was his habit always before the sermon to read a chapter from the Bible, adding such remarks and expla nations as he thought necessary. He generally selected such chapters as contained a number of ticklish points so that his marvelous powers of eloocidation might be brought into play. On this occasion he had chosen one that fairly bristled with difficulties. It was the chapter describing Samson as catching three hundred foxes, tying them tail to tail, setting fire brands in their midst and starting them among the standing corn of the Philistines. As he closed the description he shut the book and commenced to eloocidate as follows.

"My dear freends, I dare say you have been wondering in your minds how it was possible that Samson could catch three hundred foxes. You or me couldna catch one fox, let alone three hundred,—the beasts run so fast. But lo! and behold! here we have one single man all by himself, catching three hundred of them! Now how did he do it? That's the pint; and at first sight it looks a very ticklish pint; but it's not so ticklish as it looks, my freends; and if you give me your undivided attention for a few minutes, I'll clear away the whole difficulty and make what now seems dark and incomprehensible to your uninstructed minds, as clear as the sun in its noon-day meridian.

"Well, then, we are told in the Scriptures that Samson was the strongest man that ever lived; and furthermore, we are told in the chapter next after the one we have been reading, that he was a very polite man; for when he was at the house of Dagon, he bowed with all his might, and if some of you, my freends, would only bow with half your might, it would be better for you. But although

we are told all this, we are not told that he was a great runner. But if he catched three hundred foxes, he must have been a great runner. But my dear freends, here's the eloocidation o' the matter. Ye'll please bear this in mind, that although we are not told he was the greatest runner, still, we're not told he was'na, and, therefore, I contend that we have a perfect right to assume, by all the logic and scientific history, that he was the fastest runner that ever was born; and this was how he catched the three hundred foxes.

"But after we get rid of this difficulty, my freends, another crops up,-how in the world did he tie their tails together? We all know that foxes' tails are not long enough for this operation; how, then, was Samson able to tie them all? Ah! that's the question; and it's the most ticklish pint you or me has ever had to eloocidate. Common sense is no good till't; no more is Latin, or Greek, or Hebrew either; no more is logic or moral philosophy; and I've studied them all. But it's a great thing for poor, ignorant folk, like you, that there's been great and learned men, like myself ye ken, that instead of going into the kirk, like me, or into pheesic, like the doctor, or into law, like the lawyer, they have gone traveling into foreign parts.

Now, among other places, some of these learned men have traveled into Canaan, some into Palestine, and some few into the Holy Land; and these last-mentioned travelers tell us that in these oriental climes the foxes there are a different breed o' cattle altogether from our foxes -that they're great big beasts; and what's the more astonishing about them, and what helps explain the wonderful feat of Samson, is that they have all got most extraordinary long tails; in fact, these travelers tell us that these foxes' tails are actually forty feet long (Sandy whistles); at the same time I ought to mention that other travelers, and later ones than the ones I've just been speaking about, say that this statement is rather an exag

geration on the whole and that their tails are never more than twenty feet long. (Sandy whistles.)

"Before I leave this subject altogether, my freends, I may just add that there's been a considerable diversity o' opeenion about the length o' these animals' tails, so' that the question has come to be regarded as a 'sair pint.' One man ye see says one thing and another another, and I've spent a good lot o' learned research in the matter myself, and after examining one authority and another, and putting one against the other, I have come to the conclusion that these foxes tails on an average are seldom more than ten feet long! (Sandy whistles.)

"Sandy Macdonald! I'll no tak' another inch off thae foxes tails, even gin ye should whustle every tooth out o' your heid!"

LITTLE BESSIE.

Hug me closer, closer, mother,
Put your arms around me tight;
I am cold and tired, mother,
And I feel so strange to-night;
Something hurts me here, dear mother,
Like a stone upon my breast;
Oh! I wonder, wonder, mother,
Why it is I cannot rest.

All the day, while you were working,
As I lay upon my bed,

I was trying to be patient,

And to think of what you said:
How the kind and blessed Jesus
Loves his lambs to watch and keep;
And I wished he'd come and take me
In his arms, that I might sleep.
Just before the lamp was lighted,

Just before the children came,
While the room was very quiet,

I heard some one call my name.
All at once the window opened-
In a field were lambs and sheep:

Some from out a brook were drinking,
Some were lying fast asleep.

But I could not see the Savior,
Though I strained my eyes to see,
And I wondered, if he saw me,
If he'd speak to such as me.
In a moment I was looking
On a world so bright and fair,
Which was full of little children,
And they seemed so happy there.
They were singing, Oh, how sweetly!
Sweeter songs I never heard;
They were singing sweeter, mother,
Than can sing our yellow-bird.
And while I my breath was holding,
One so bright upon me smiled;
And I knew it must be Jesus,

When he said, "Come here, my child.

"Come up here, my little Bessie,
Come up here and live with me,
Where the children never suffer,
But are happier than you see."
Then I thought of all you told me
Of that bright and happy land;"
I was going when you called me,—
When you came and kissed my hand.
And at first I felt so sorry

You had called me; I would go-
Oh! to sleep, and never suffer-
Mother, don't be crying so!
Hug me closer, closer, mother,
Put your arms around me tight;
Ch, how much I love you, mother,
But I feel so strange to-night!
And the mother pressed her closer
To her overburdened breast;
On the heart so near to breaking,
Lay the heart so near its rest.
In the solemn hour of midnight,
In the darkness calm and deep,
Lying on her mother's bosom,
Little Bessie fell asleep!