OLD SARNIA. 297 



timber and to roast a whole ox. The cow's phick was put in 

 the cauldron and piles of wood placed and set fire to under- 

 neath. The contents were soon heard hissing and grilling in 

 the pot. The heat of the room was terrific and the stench 

 of the burning meat something frightful. In about an hour 

 and a half the contents of the pot were reduced to a cinder. 

 All at once I saw my uncle, armed Avith his ponderous pitch- 

 fork, rush towards the fireplace, exclaiming with a tremendous 

 oath, " There she is, the Avitch !" His weapon buried itself 

 in the back wall of the fireplace. He then withdrew his 

 pitchfork, flourished it around with pride, and showed the 

 marks of the witch's blood upon the prongs. He and his 

 friends had all seen the witch, he declared. So much for the 

 power of imagination when people have worked themselves 

 into a state of frenzy. My uncle and his friends all swore 

 they could see the witch's blood on the prongs of the pitch- 

 fork. As to my father and mother, Avho laughed at such folly, 

 though their eyes were steadily fixed upon the fireplace, they 

 had seen nothing of the old woman, and for their souls could 

 not discern the slightest mark of the witch's blood which my 

 uncle and his friends Avere persistent in maintaining was 

 plainly visible on the prongs. Neither could I. And al- 

 though I had been as keen as the others in keeping watch on 

 the fireplace, 1 declare that I saw nothing, and yet all the 

 others affirmed on their oath they had seen the suspected 

 witch come doAvn the chimney and my uncle drive his pitch- 

 fork through her and pin her to the Avail, Avhen she had 

 vanished like a pufFof smoke ! My uncle Avas now convinced 

 and happy. Pie had draAvn blood from the witch and she 

 could trouble him no longer. 



La Gran' Kerue. 



The folloAving Avas communicated to the Guernsey Bta7' 

 in 1834 by the late Mr. George Metivier : — 



Are we become so immeasurably good that we cannot 

 afford to be merry once a year ? vSome moral Fahrenheits, it 

 is true, very nicely discriminate between cheerfulness and 

 mirth, that is between the curds and sugar of a cheesecake, 

 or the mountain of a Avhipped syllabub. AAvay with these 

 dialectical hair-splitters I If pleasures in themselves innocent 

 owe their tendency to bubble and froth, let us not quarrel 

 with them because it is their property to sparkle and effervesce. 

 Let us quaff them just as they are without making a wry face 

 lest they should settle and grow flat. Surely it is no crime 

 for the sons of toil to fare sumptuously on that memorable 



