But whate'er I think or say,
I'm an April fool to-day,
_London Magazine_.

* * * * *


"WATER BEWITCHED."


A widow of the name of Betty Falla kept an alehouse in one of the
market-towns frequented by the Lammermuir ladies, (Dunse, we believe,)
and a number of them used to lodge at her house during the fair. One year
Betty's ale turned sour soon after the fair; there had been a
thunder-storm in the interim, and Betty's ale was, as they say in that
country, "strongest in the water." Betty did not understand the first of
these causes, and she did not wish to understand the latter. The ale was
not palatable; and Betty brewed again to the same strength of water.
Again it thundered, and again the swipes became vinegar. Betty was at her
wit's end,--no long journey; but she was breathless.

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