A certain workman, notorious for his sponging proclivities, met a friend one morning, and opened the conversation by saying: 

“Can ye len’ us a match, John?”

John having supplied him with the match, the first speaker began to feel his pockets ostentatiously, and then remarked dolefully, “Man, I seem to have left my tobacco pouch at hame.”

John, however, was equal to the occasion, and holding out his hand, remarked: 

“Aweel, ye’ll no be needin’ that match then.”

A Highlander was summoned to the bedside of his dying father.  When he arrived the old man was fast nearing his end.  For a while he remained unconscious of his son’s presence.  Then at last the old man’s eyes opened, and he began to murmur.  The son bent eagerly to listen.

“Dugald,” whispered the parent, “Luckie Simpson owes me five shilling.”

“Ay, man, ay,” said the son eagerly.

“An” Dugal More owes me seven shillins.”

“Ay,” assented the son.

“An’ Hamish McCraw owes me ten shillins.”

“Sensible tae the last,” muttered the delighted heir.  “Sensible tae the last.”

Once more the voice from the bed took up the tale.

“An’, Dugald, I owe Calum Beg two pounds.”

Dugald shook his head sadly.

“Wanderin’ again, wanderin’ again,” he sighed.  “It’s a peety.”

The canny Scot wandered into the pharmacy.

“I’m wanting threepenn’orth o’ laudanum,” he announced.

“What for?” asked the chemist suspiciously.

“For twopence,” responded the Scot at once.

A Scotsman wishing to know his fate at once, telegraphed a proposal of marriage to the lady of his choice.  After spending the entire day at the telegraph office he was finally rewarded late in the evening by an affirmative answer.

“If I were you,” suggested the operator when he delivered the message, “I’d think twice before I’d marry a girl that kept me waiting all day for my answer.”

“Na, na,” retorted the Scot.  “The lass who waits for the night rates is the lass for me.”

“Well, yes,” said Old Uncle Lazzenberry, who was intimately acquainted with most of the happenstances of the village, “Almira Stang has broken off her engagement with Charles Henry Tootwiler.  They’d be goin’ together for about eight years, durin’ which time she had been inculcatin’ into him, as you might call it, the beauties of economy; but when she discovered, just lately, that he had learnt his lesson so well that he had saved up two hundred and seventeen pairs of socks for her to darn immediately after the wedding, she ’peared to conclude that he had taken her advice a little too literally, and broke off the match.”—­Puck.

They sat each at an extreme end of the horsehair sofa.  They had been courting now for something like two years, but the wide gap between had always been respectfully preserved.