Having got to her own wit's end, Betty naturally wished to draw upon the stock of another; and where should she find it in such abundance as with the minister of the parish. Accordingly, Betty put on her best, got her nicest basket, laid a couple of bottles of her choicest brandy in the bottom, and over them a dozen or two of her freshest eggs; and thus freighted, she fidgetted off to the manse, offered her peace-offering, and hinted that she wished to speak with his reverence in "preevat." "What is your will, Betty?" said the minister of Dunse. "An unco uncanny mishap," replied the tapster's wife. "Has Mattie not been behaving?" said the minister. "Like an innocent lamb," quoth Betty Falla. "Then--?" said the minister, lacking the rest of the query. "Anent the yill," said Betty. "The ale!" said the minister; "has any body been drinking and refused to pay?" "Na," said Betty, "they winna drink a drap." "And would you have me to encourage the sin of drunkenness?" asked the minister. "Na, na," said Betty, "far frae that; I only want your kin' han' to get in yill again as they can drink." "I am no brewer, Betty," said the minister gravely. "Gude forfend, Sir," said Betty, "that the like o' you should be evened to the gyle tub. I dinna wish for ony thing o' the kind."--"Then what is the matter?" asked the minister. "It's witched, clean witched; as sure as I'm a born woman," said Betty. "Naebody else will drink it, an' I canna drink it mysel'." "You must not be superstitious, Betty," said the minister. "I'm no ony thing o' the kin'," said Betty, colouring, "an' ye ken it yoursel'; but twa brousts wadna be vinegar for naething." (She lowered her voice.) "Ye mun ken, Sir, that o' a' the leddies frae the Lammermuir, that hae been comin' and gaen, there was an auld rudas wife this fair, an' I'm certie she's witched the yill; and ye mun just look into ye'r buiks, an' tak off the withchin!" "When do you brew, Betty?"--"This blessed day, gin it like you, Sir." "Then, Betty, here is the thing you want, the same malt and water as usual?" --"Nae difference, Sir?" "Then when you have put the water to the malt, go three times round the vat with the sun, and in _pli's_ name put in three shoolfu's of malt; and when you have done that, go three times round the vat, against the sun, and, in the devil's name, take out three bucketfuls of water; and take my word for it, the ale will be better." "Thanks to your reverence; gude mornin."--_Ibid_. * * * * * THE GATHERER. "A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles." SHAKSPEARE. * * * * * SONG. _By Mr. Gay._ The sun was sunk beneath the hills, The western clouds were lin'd with gold, The sky was clear, the winds were still, The flocks were pent within their fold: When from the silence of the grove, Poor Damon thus despair'd of love.