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Precentor.-I wadna say but what he has.

Minister. Did ever ye hear the elders say I amplified, or streetched the pint, or whatever ye like to call it?

Precentor.-I wadna say but what they hae, too.

Minister.-Oh! So the Laird, and the elders, and the whole o' ye, call me a leear, do ye? Haud yer tongue, Sandy, ye've said owre muckle already; it's my turn to speak now. Sandy, although I'm your minister, still I'm perfectly willing to admit that I'm a sinful, erring creature, like any one o' ye; and the only difference between me and the rest o' ye is just this: I've been to colleges and universities and seats o' learnin,' and I've got some sense in my heid; but as for the rest o' ye, ye're a puir, miserable, ignorant set o' creatures, that don't know your right hand frae your left; that's all the difference between us. At the same time, as I said before, I am free to admit that I myself am a human being, Sandyonly a human being-and it's just possible that being obleeged, Sawbbath after Sawbbath, 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 ava— I say it's just possible that 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't, and therefore, Sandy, I call upon you, if ever ye should hear me say another word out o' joint, to pull me up there and then.

Precentor.-Losh! sir; but how could I pull ye up i'

the kirk?

Minister.-Ye can give me some sort o' a signal.
Precentor. A signal i' the kirk?

Minister.-Ay. Ye're sittin' just down aneath me, yɩ

ken; so ye might just put up your heid, and give a bit whustle (whistles) like that.

Precentor.-A whustle!

Minister.-Ay, a whustle! What ails ye?

Precentor.-What; whustle i' the Lord's hoose on the Lord's day? I never heard o' sic a thing in a' my days! Minister.-Ye needna mak such a disturbance about it. I dinna want ye to blaw off a great overpowering whustle, and frighten the folks out o' the kirk, but just a wee bit o' a whustle that naebody but our two selves could hear.

Precentor.-But would it no be an awfu' sin?

Minister.-Hoot's, man; doesna the wind whustle on the Sawbbath?

Precentor.-Ay; I never thocht o' that afore. Yes, the wind whustles.

Minister.—Weel, just a wee bit soughing whustle like the wind (whistles softly).

Precentor.-Weel, if ther's nae harm in't, I'll do my

best.

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

Next Sunday came; the sermon had been rigorously trimmed, and the parson seated himself in the pulpit with a radiant smile as he thought of the prospective discomfiture of Sandy. Sandy sat down as imperturbable as usual, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. Had the minister only stuck to his sermon that day, he would have done very well, and have had the laugh against Sandy which he anticipated at the end of the service. But it was his habit, before the sermon, to read a chapter from the Bible, adding such remarks and

explanations of his own as he thought necessary. He generally selected such passages as contained a number of difficult points, so that his marvelous powers of "eloocidation" might be called into play. On the present occasion he had chosen one that bristled with difficulties. It was that chapter which describes Samson as catching three hundred foxes, tying them tail to tail, setting firebrands in their midst, starting them among the standing corn of the Philistines, and burning it down. As he closed the description, he shut the book, and commenced the “eloocidation" as follows

"My dear friends, 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. It takes a great company of dogs and horses and men to catch a fox, and they do not always catch it then--the cra'ter whiles gets away. 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 gey an' kittle pint. But it's not so kittle 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 his noonday meridian.

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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 in 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 all the better for you. But, although we are told all this, we are not told that he was a great runner. But if he catched those three hundred foxes he must have been a great runner, an awfu' runner-in fact, the greatest runner that ever was born. But, my freends-an' here's the eloocidation o' the matter -ye'll please bear this in mind, that although we are not told that he was the greatest runner that ever lived, still we're not told he wasna; and therefore I contend that we have a perfect right to assume, by all the laws of logic and scientific history, that he was the fastest runner that ever was born; and that was how he catched the three hundred foxes!

"But after we get rid of this difficulty, my freends, another crops up-after he has catched his three hundred foxes, how does he manage to keep them all together?. This looks almost as kittle a pint as the other— to some it might look even kittler; but if you will only bring your common sense to bear on the question, the difficulty will disappear like the morning cloud and the early dew that withereth away. Well, then, please to mind, in the first place, that it was foxes that Samson catched. Now, we do not catch foxes, as a general rule, in the streets of a toun; therefore, it is more than probable that Samson catched them in the country; and if he catched them in the country, it is natural to suppose that he bided in the country; and if he bided in the country, it is not unlikely that he lived at a farm-house. Now, at farm-houses you have stables and barns and other kinds of out-houses, and therefore we may now consider it a settled pint that, as he catched his foxes one by one, he stapped them into a good-sized barn, and steekit the door, and locked it. Here we overcome the second stumbling

block; but no sooner have we done that than a third rock of offense loups up to fickle us. After he has catched his foxes—after he has got them all snug in the barn under lock and key-how in the world did he tie their tails together? There's a fickler! You or me couldna tie two of their tails together, let alone three hundred of them; for, not to speak about the beasts girnin' and biting us all the time we were tying them, the tails themselves are not long enough. How, then, was Samson able to tie them all? Ah! that's the question; and it's about the kittlest 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 Metapheesics; no more is Natural Philosophy or Moral Philosophy; no more is Rhetoric or Belles Lettres even—and I've studied them all myself. But it is a great thing for poor ignorant folk like you that there's been great and learned men that have been to colleges and universities and seats o' learnin'-the same as mysel', ,ye ken-and 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. And they have written books o' their travels, and we can read their books. Now, among other places, some o' those learned men have traveled into Canaan, and some into Palestine, and some few into the Holy Land, and these last-mentioned travelers tell us that, in these Eastern or Oriental climes, the foxes there are a total different breed o' cattle altogether from our foxes-that they are great big beasts; and what's the more astonishing thing about them, and what helps to explain this wonderful feat of Samson's, is that they have all got most extraordinary long tails; in fact, these Eastern travelers tell

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