So he went and sat at table by his mother.

When he found every one getting soup and himself omitted, he demanded soup, and repeated, "If I dinna get it, I'll tell thon." Well, soup was given, and various other things yielded to his importunities, to which he always added the usual threat of "telling thon." At last, when it came to wine, his mother stood firm, and positively refused, as "a bad thing for little boys," and so on.

He then became more vociferous than ever about "telling thon;" and as still he was refused, he declared, "Now, I will tell thon," and at last roared out, "_Ma new breeks were made oot o' the auld curtains_!" The Rev.Mr.Agnew has kindly sent me an anecdote which supplies an example of cleverness in a Scottish boy, and which rivals, as he observes, the smartness of the London boy, termed by _Punch_ the "Street boy." It has also a touch of quiet, sly Scottish _humour_.

A gentleman, editor of a Glasgow paper, well known as a bon-vivant and epicure, and by no means a popular character, was returning one day from his office, and met near his own house a boy carrying a splendid salmon.

The gentleman looked at it with longing eyes, and addressed the boy--"Where are you taking that salmon, my boy ?" Boy--"Do you ken gin ae Mr .---- (giving the gentleman's name) lives hereabout ?" Mr .-- -- "Yes, oh yes; his house is here just by." Boy (looking sly)--"Weel, it's no for him." Of this same Scottish _boy cleverness_, the Rev.Mr.M'Lure of Marykirk kindly supplies a capital specimen, in an instance which occurred at what is called the market, at Fettercairn, where there is always a hiring of servants.