WitH THE STORY TELLERS

Bill thought my father quite uncivil,
To order him to face the devil;

Which put the good man in a plight,
To keep from laughing at his fright.
Stil] he maintained a serious face,

Told Bill his steps he must retrace;
They might take each a trusty blade,
No need therefore, to be afraid.
Cowards! to stand and whine and snivel
When three to one against the devil.

Bill fearing he would not relent,

With a bad grace gave his consent;
And so they hasten on all three,

In hopes the specter they might see;
But soon their fears did on them gain,
As they heard something drag a chain.

“Keep still” said Bill, now listen, hell!

The devil is there I know full well;

I saw him eating up a tree,

And shake his horns excitedly;

And then he stood upon his head—

Do you suppose the devil is dead?

If so stay here and see what’s in it;

But I am off this blessed minute.

And turning round upon his track,

Lo! Bill was gone nor once looked back,
Too long he waited here;

The others thought ’twould be a shame,

Were they in turn to do the same,
Although not free from fear.

So long and earnestly they gaze

To penetrate the murky haze;

Till there beside the stack of corn,

Thy felt quite sure they saw a horn;

Which caused them to be very civil,

Lest it should prove to be the devil.

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