ho liked a banter, or to hear a good joke. Three
young students gave him a call in order to have a little amusement at
the elder's expense. On approaching him, one of them saluted him, "Well,
Father Abraham, how are you to-day?" "You are wrong," said the other,
"this is old Father Isaac." "Tuts," said the third, "you are both
mistaken; this is old Father Jacob." David looked at the young men, and
in his own way replied, "I am neither old Father Abraham, nor old Father
Isaac, nor old Father Jacob; but I am Saul the son of Kish, seeking his
father's asses, and lo! I've found three o' them."

For many years the Baptist community of Dunfermline was presided over by
brothers David Dewar and James Inglis, the latter of whom has just
recently gone to his reward. Brother David was a plain, honest,
straightforward man, who never hesitated to express his convictions,
however unpalatable they might be to others. Being elected a member of
the Prison Board, he was called upon to give his vote in the choice of a
chaplain from the licentiates of the Established Kirk. The party who had
gained the confidence of the Board had proved rather an indifferent
preacher in a charge to which he had previously been appointed; and on
David being asked to signify his assent to the choice of the Board, he
said, "Weel, I've no objections to the man, for I understand he has
preached a kirk toom (empty) already, and if he be as successful in the
jail, he'll maybe preach it vawcant as weel."

From Mr. Inglis, clerk of the Court of Session, I have the following
Scottish rejoinder:--

"I recollect my father relating a conversation between a Perthshire
laird and one of his tenants. The laird's eldest son was rather a
simpleton. Laird says, 'I am going to send the young laird abroad,'
'What for?' asks the tenant; answered, 'To see the world;' tenant
replies, 'But, lord-sake, laird, will no the world see _him_?'"

An admirably humorous reply is recorded of a Scotch officer, well known
and esteemed in his day for mirth and humour. Captain Innes of the
Guards (usually called Jock Innes by his contemporaries) was with others
getting ready for Flushing or some of those expeditions of the beginning
of the great war. His commanding officer (Lord Huntly, my correspondent
thinks) remonstrated about the badness of his hat, and recommended a new
one--"Na, na! bide a wee," said Jock; "where we're gain' faith there'll
soon be mair hats nor _heads_."

I recollect be