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a thief she was to swear you there, an’ it wasnae auld Willy Miller the cobler, the ill thief amther minister nor magistrate ever was in it a’. O but, says the other lad, the Temple-bar he means is at London. Yea, yea, lad, an’ ye be com'd frae Lunin ye’re nae muckle worth. London, said he, is but at hame to the place he comes from. A dear man, quo’ she, and where in the world comes he frae? All the way from Italy, where the Pope of Rome dwells, says he. A sweet be wi’ us, quoth she, for the fouks there awa is a’ witches and warlocks, deils, brownies and fairies. Weel I wat that is true, said I, and that thou shalt know, thou hard-hearted wretch, who would have people to starve or provoke them to steal. With that I rose, lifts twa or three long straws, and casting kno’s on them, into the byre I went, and throws a knotted straw on every cow’s stake, saying, thy days will not be long. The wife followed wringing her hands, earnestly praying for herself and all that was hers. I then came out at the door, and lifted a stone and threw it over the house, mutter-
