“Jeremiah, read those directions and intimations once more; they contain no less than a challenge to my valour. Truly his Black Majesty seems to think that he can toss about the ball of earth for his amusement; and that there is not a tailor who would venture to ‘measure him.’ Ah! Nick, give me a trial.”

Thus spoke Gideon Chiselwig, tailor, in Ormskirk. Unlike the most of his brethren belonging to that honourable profession, he could boast of six feet of perpendicular matter; but conceiving that even that height was too low a tabernacle for his giant soul, he fixed to the one extremity a long red nightcap, whilst he made the other move on tiptoe, much to the mirth of the quizzing old maids, for which that town is noted. He was never seen with that upper garment, commonly called a coat; unless to display one of fashionable cut, which he had just finished; and the absence of this did not take from Gideon’s stature. Some conjectured that he knew this; others had seen Mrs. Gideon, at home, arrayed in what, evidently, had once been a coat; and they jocosely remarked, that she had altogether monopolized the use of her husband’s apparel, for now they had seen her with the coat, and Gideon himself had confessed that she wore the breeches.—He had a vest, but the pockets were only visited by his hands; silver and gold they had never weighed; so that to all intents and purposes—the wife wore the vest also.

Nature, however, had denied him her average allowance of breadth and thickness, so much so, that in a tour to remarkable places, during the honey-moon, having entered a museum in the metropolis, the blushing bride was asked by the keeper, what was the price she fixed upon the piece of anatomy which she brought. Gideon, did, indeed, convince the questioner of his mistake, by a powerful and conclusive argument directed against his head: still people will suspect, even in the face of ample evidence; and the report had been afloat, that there was something altogether strange about him. This only served to give a more singular character to the tailor, and nothing short of the marvellous in adventure could win his attention and occupy his thoughts.

Others hinted, that were Mrs. Gideon not to awake him so early; not to rap his knuckles, when at table he was stretching forth his hand to help himself; nor yet to allow the poker to fall upon his toes and corns, when they ventured within a few yards of the fire; not to compel him to perform the necessary ablutions on a cold morning, a mile from the house, and then allow the sun, the wind, or the frost, to dry him; not to confine him, for bedclothes, to a sheet in winter, and his shirt in summer; nor yet, occasionally, to exercise her hands, and a stick, upon his body; Gideon would soon improve in appearance, and, at length, be a rival to the oily priest. But the old maids (for Mrs. Gideon had formerly been one of the numerous sisterhood residing there) considered such hints as morsels of scandal;—and who can, with more propriety, condemn scandal, than old maids?—and if, in the multitude of councillors there be safety, their view of the matter, certainly, had every assurance of being the correct one—that he was killed by too much fondling and love. Ah! ah! poor Gideon knew better. He had a scar on his face that he was proud to shew, for he had received it in honourable combat with a barber;—but he had others, below the night-cap, and many all over his person, which he was glad to conceal; for these he received from his wife! At first he resisted her encroachment upon the rights of man; but soon his noble spirit disdained to contend with a woman. He had not lost a dram of courage, and he burned for some supernatural achievement.

His brother Jeremiah was made exactly in the antipodean style. He was short and round; yet, as he himself pathetically said, when the doctor, dreading apoplexy, had inquired about his diet, “tears were his daily food, and misfortunes were the vinegar and salt.” His eyes, in fact, seemed to have invisible onions always around them. It was so when he was a babe, and his mother was in the habit of remarking, that Jeremiah would not be troubled with water in the head, because it would never stay there. When he entered upon the profession of a tailor, Gideon had serious doubts that he would but bring disgrace on it, himself, and all his relations; for, as he very wisely reasoned, “How could he use the goose?—however hot it was, in a moment his tears would cool it. And as for his needles—a hundred would become rusty in a day.” However, Jeremiah passed his apprenticeship with distinction, and became a partner in his brother’s shop; where we introduce them, squatted on a large table, to our readers, at the moment that Gideon had finished the sentence which opens the Legend.

Jeremiah had in his hand, an old and tattered book, which seemed to have been read by the feet, and not the eyes. He raised his eyes from it, as his brother spoke, and poured forth a fresh flood of tears. “Ah! brother,” he said, “you’ll still be after what leads to your destruction. I warned you against marriage. On the night previous, did I not strike you sharply on the ankle, and then upon the head, and ask you how you could endure to have it repeated a hundred times, in the whole multiplication table of your life. And now,” here tears impeded his words, “can I not read about Satan’s tricks without your wishing—”

“Resolving you mean; nay, Jeremiah, call it resolving to fight him. I’m sure that he’s in Ormskirk. Yesterday morning, when I came from washing myself, I traced in the snow a strange hoof to this very door. There never was such a nunnery of old maids, in which he was not found wooing them. But—but I’ll make a goose of him—I will!” concluded the magnanimous tailor.

“A goose! a goose!” exclaimed the simple Jeremiah, in horror, “he’ll burn our hands, and the cloth. I cannot use him for a goose. Oh! brother, only say that you will not make him either a needle or a goose, and I’ll read the words over again.”

“Well, well,” returned Gideon, a little pacified, as well as elated, by the thought that there was one who really did think that he was able to turn the devil into a goose, “sweep away your tears. You’ll find the table cloth near you. Use the dirty corner twice, and Nelly wont need to wash it.”

Jeremiah followed his brother’s directions, carefully passed the cloth over his face, and once more fixed his eyes upon the book. Gideon laid aside a pair of gaiters, which he was making for the comfort of his wife. The winter was severe—and the doctor, it seems, had said at the house of some wealthy person that there would be a great mortality that season, should females not keep their feet properly warm, and the report had spread through all the town, and had been pretty well circulated, both by the tailors and shoemakers. In fact, shoes and gaiters had been exhibited under the imposing titles of life-preservers. Towards evening the sexton had been known to look suspiciously upon them, and even openly to condemn the traffic; but the articles were still in great demand.

Mrs. Gideon’s gaiters being, as we have said, thrown aside, the tailor settled himself into the posture which was most becoming the spirit of the reply, which he intended to make to the proposition now to be propounded, and Jeremiah commenced reading—

“About midnight, let him go out into a wood, wherein there be divers kinds of trees; let him stand behind a yew, and clapping his hands together, cry out, come here, James, (such being the endearing name by which he is known to his friends,) come here. He shall then perceive a whisper from the top of the tree. Let him instantly draw around him a magic circle, with the forefinger of his right hand, lest his devilship, being angry, pettish, or mischievous, may enter unawares, and suffocate him with his breath. He must next name the conditions, upon the fulfilment of which, he surrenders himself as a slave, then and for ever. He may ask any thing, and his master is bound to perform it, or break the league, and allow his hoof to be scratched with six pins or needles.”

“I have it!” exclaimed Gideon, “the agreement shall be made this very night,” and he looked terrible things to a portrait of Apollyon, which he had torn out of “Pilgrim’s Progress,” and plastered over the mantel-piece.

But not contented with this manner of defiance, he sprung upon his toes, hastily drew a needle from his waistcoat, and pinked the enemy through and through the breast, in spite of scales and hellish armour. Jeremiah, upon this, could not refrain from weeping, and cried out, “poor dragon! poor dragon!”

“Poor dragon! Poor, indeed!” returned the doughty conqueror. “But see, how fierce he looks! The longer I strike, his eyes become larger, and expand with rage.”

When this announcement was made, Jeremiah quickly drew a circle around him. This caution was unnecessary; for Gideon, seizing the picture, threw it to the door, which Mrs. Chiselwig, at that moment opening, received it full in her face. With a loud shout, the enraged wife flew at her husband—we cannot say like a dove to its mate. Nelly had a singular fancy and propensity for squinting; and her visual organs seemed always, as if chiding nature for the place which she had given them to occupy, and were just upon the eve of taking their departure to some back settlements on the head, as sentinels to guard a large neck-covering, which she wore with some degree of pride. Jeremiah, who had a mixture of shrewdness with all his simplicity, had long been of opinion, after careful observation, comparison, and induction of facts, that squinting was the property of old maids, and very philosophically, as well as categorically, gave the following reasons. First—since they always look back upon age, and, in their own calculations, never become older, but sometimes younger; why should not their eyes be in the posterior of their head? Secondly—female eyes ought always to be in front, when their lips are in danger of being saluted; but as old maids are not exposed to this danger, such a situation is not necessary. But be this as it may, there could be no doubt of the fact, that Mrs. Gideon Chiselwig did squint, and viewed every thing at right angles. Perhaps she wished to avoid the labour of her eyes travelling over a large nose. Still, squinting as she did, she took a tolerably correct aim at the shoulders of her spouse. In vain did he look pale, in vain did he attempt to kiss her, and excuse the deed, by affirming that it was purely accidental: all these circumstances did not stay the uplifted hand, or take away a grain from its weight. She had frequently complained of being very delicate, and when the doctor had been called in to feel her pulse with his finger, poor Gideon wished that he could only feel her fist with his head, as he must then have come to a very different conclusion. She could faint, go vulgarly into hysterics, look as pale as a drooping lily, and speak of consumption:—ah! Gideon knew that she could likewise strike hard. It was not the mere “ego,” tripping on his tongue, which said so: every rib, every bone, every member told the same tale. On this occasion, Nelly did not abate any of her strength.

“Angel of my life!” Gideon cried out, “desist, oh! Nelly desist!”

“You treat me as an angel, eh? Doff your nightcap then, in an angel’s presence, and make your lowest bow of reverence.”

Gideon silently obeyed, and very soon had his head scratched to his wife’s content. We omitted to mention that Nelly’s figure rather came under the definition of dumpy; so that had Gideon only been able to read the classics, and to know that the face of man was made to look towards the skies, or the ceiling, she could not, without the labour of mounting a high stool, have reached him, so as to inflict capital punishment.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah’s eyes were moist enough. We have our suspicion that a wave of Mrs. Chiselwig’s hand deposited a few tears there. Still, as this phenomenon was by no means unusual, the Chronicler leaves the point without any further investigation.

After “wholesome severities” had been administered to Gideon by his wife, she dragged him to a seat beside the fire, where she also seated herself, and began to examine the evidence of an exculpatory nature, which the offender had to produce; and to the furtherance of the ends of justice, called his brother to be jury in the case. Jeremiah, in his own mind, had some doubts as to the equity of this course of proceeding: but he was too wise to allow any private opinion of his to contradict the wish of the judge. He thought, too, that his brother’s heroism was much too pure and exalted, since it led him to be passively submissive to the treatment of his wife, lest he might use his weapons ingloriously, when their edge was to be turned against Satan; and as he rose from the table to occupy the jury-box, he was almost tempted to tell both parties that he would be their mutual second, in a fair combat, and then strength would be both jury and judge, and fists would pronounce guilty or not guilty, and register the doom or acquittal accordingly. But Jeremiah shewed his prudence by being silent. Mrs. Chiselwig motioned him to his seat, when her eyes fell upon the gaiters, lying unfinished on the floor.

“So,” she began, “you thought I should not require gaiters after you had killed me, and had resolved to be thrifty, that you might tempt some other person to be your wife?”

Gideon, in reply, raised his eyes. We have some doubt as to whether this movement was expressive of his calling Heaven to witness that he was innocent of any such design; or of his chiding Heaven, for not having brought accidents to such a desirable issue.

Mrs. Gideon’s head began to incline a little to her left hand, which was opened to support it; her breast was heaving against her right hand; her eyes were rolling in an interesting lack-lustre; and her face, with the exception of the nose, was pale. These were symptoms of hysterics. She seemed about to fall from her seat, and Gideon once thought of helping her to her wish, by removing the chair from under her, but when he thought over the matter twice, the idea was abandoned, for Nelly had been known to recover in a wondrously short time, from her fainting fits. On this occasion she contented herself with bursting into tears.

“Oh! cruel brute, to be yoked to such a delicate little heart! Why did I leave the holy state of single life. I might now have been seated, eating gingerbread as I was when the wretch came with his proposals!”

Gideon gave a sigh, and thought that even Ormskirk gingerbread should not tempt him, were he free, to bear her company.

Mrs. Chiselwig continued,—

“Was not my shop the most frequented of any in the town? Those who could not pay to eat the gingerbread, stood gazing upon it at the window, and feasted their eyes; those who were my friends, were allowed to smell it; and those who ate it, thought that they would never die. Where was the true lover that did not regularly, when about to visit his sweetheart, buy a little of Nelly’s cake, in order that he might have an agreeable and pleasant breath?”

“And did not your own true love,” interrupted Gideon in an appeal overflowing with tenderness, “pay your shop many of such periodical visits, and did he not, in the slyness of the feeling, pretend that he was about to visit such and such a damsel, and then, after swallowing a cake or two, delicately and timidly ask pardon for the liberty he was about to take, in wishing you to decide, by allowing him a salute on your own sweet lips, whether his breath was made agreeable enough? Oh! Nelly, have you altogether forgot those days?”

At this moment, when he was pursuing his reminiscences, he came upon one which he passed over in silence. In “those days” to which he referred, he had his suspicions that Nelly’s decision was not quite disinterested, for after one salute, and frequently two salutes, she was of opinion that Gideon’s breath was not sufficiently flavoured to make it pleasant, and, of course, he was under the necessity of purchasing a few more cakes of gingerbread. Then, however, these suspicions were counterbalanced by others, which whispered, that instead of wishing him to spend his money, she was only anxious that he should spend his kisses. Woman is said to be fickle and changeable: but some hold that man, after marriage, changes his opinion much more than woman, adducing as a proof, the existence of angels on earth in female form, to which every unmarried man swears a hundred times, but which no married man believes. Gideon, accordingly, was not exactly of the same opinion, in reference to Nelly’s motive for the course of conduct described, and he recollected many a squint in the direction of his pocket, confirmatory of the change. This one reminiscence, we have said, Gideon omitted to suggest to Mrs. Chiselwig, and was about to wander over others which might tend to warm her towards him, when Jeremiah waved him to silence, and began,—

“And, madam, you surely have not yet forgot how many times I entered the shop, and made some purchases?”

“No,” sharply returned Mrs. Chiselwig, “twelve times, and out of these, five times you left the shop without leaving your money. One of my reasons for marrying the fool, your brother, was, that I might not lose your account. But, Jeremiah, finish my gaiters, and you shall be quit for the interest due to me. So, Mr. Chiselwig, you thought that I would never use them, but I shall outlive you, and obtain another husband.”

Jeremiah moved uncomfortably on his seat, but resolved in his own mind, that he would never be that husband.

“Another husband!” continued Nelly, after thinking over her last words, “no, no. Why did I leave the virgin state?—oh! why—why?”

Gideon listened eagerly, expecting to hear her assign a reason, the “why,” and the “wherefore,” for when he asked himself the same question, he could invent no answer.

“I was a fool—a fool,” she concluded.

Her spouse thought that the same answer would do for him likewise, and that marriage had coupled them in folly. Mrs. Chiselwig then left the room to retreat to bed, warning Gideon against making his appearance there before morning.

The two brothers drew closer to each other, and, in a short time, our hero was “himself again,” and spoke of undertaking an adventure with Satan that very night. And the first question to be settled was, what should Gideon’s apparel be? Some philosophers, perhaps, will say, that in strict logical arrangement, this ought not to have been the first question, and that the time and place had prior claims upon their notice. But, let it be remembered, that the hero was a tailor.—Jeremiah was decidedly of opinion that Gideon should not take a coat. “The book,” he argued, “gives directions that a circle be drawn round your person. Now, should the slightest movement on your part be made, the skirts of the coat might fly over the circle, and the enemy might seize them, and thus draw you from your strong hold of safety, and carry you away.”

It was, therefore agreed upon, nem. con. that Gideon should not take a coat.

“And as for the night cap,” resumed the same subtle reasoner, “since it is of a red colour, it may remind him of the hot place which he has left, and then setting him to shiver and tremble, may give you, his opponent, some advantage.”

This, likewise, was carried unanimously.

The next series of questions was concerning the place. The book had mentioned a wood, and luckily it occurred to the remembrance of Gideon, that there was a dark wood, at a short distance from Ormskirk. But then, all the trees were of fir, and it was distinctly stated, that the challenger should stand behind a yew. Here seemed to be an insuperable objection.

By agreement they divided themselves into two committees, to deliberate upon the matter; and they placed themselves at opposite sides of the fire, and hid their faces in their hands, lest the other might know of their opinion. Once, indeed, they had started from their posture, as they imagined that they heard Nelly’s foot on the staircase, but as she did not make her appearance, it was resumed: and certainly the expression of their countenance at that moment would not have discovered any opinion about the question in consideration. At length Gideon started from his seat.

“I have it!” he exclaimed, rubbing his brow and scratching his head, “yes: the priest, towards the conclusion of his discourse last Sunday, told us that the yew was a type of death. He said that it was black, and so was death: it grew in the church-yard, and so did death. Then he stated—”

“Go on, go on,” interrupted Jeremiah impatiently,—“proceed, brother. I fell asleep over that point.”

“Then he stated,” continued Gideon, “that as the yew was the emblem of the death of old men, so the cypress, being a much smaller tree, might, with great propriety, be considered as an emblem of the death of young men. Now I am a young man, Jeremiah, and the cypress is, therefore, the tree for me!”

“But is there a cypress in ‘the Rough?’”

“No, no,” was the answer, “remain here for a little, and I will bring one. Satan can have no objection, unless he be a coward, to one standing without roots.”

Still Gideon did not leave the house, and some uncomfortable thoughts were evidently clouding his brow, at least that part of it which the nightcap left uncovered.

“Should Nelly come down, and find that I am out, she would leave me to cool all night, on the wrong side of the door. But covered with glory, from fiendish achievements, could she resist me?”—and elated with the idea, he looked a few inches taller, and braver by as many; strode with a martial air twice across the room, and then strode out. Jeremiah was not fond of adventures: and the truth was, that he had not asked where his brother was going for the cypress, lest he should have been answered by another question, “would he not accompany him?” He himself confessed that he was rather of a sedentary disposition, and must, therefore, have declined to leave his chair.

Meanwhile Gideon was threading his way to the churchyard, which was at a little distance. The priest, it seems, had said, that should any of his hearers have the curiosity to see a cypress, he would, when the service was over, shew them one. A few had remained behind: of whom, some not being very excellent herbists, had expected to find winter apples there; because, as they reasoned, the tree was an emblem of death, and the eating of an apple had brought death into the world. Gideon was not of this class. He was forced to remain behind, because Mrs. Chiselwig had strictly enjoined him never to be nearer her on their way home, than a hundred yards; so that he received the benefit of the priest’s illustration, and knew exactly the situation of the cypress. He entered the churchyard, found the spot, and then ascertained that he had forgot a digging spade. It was dim twilight, but the snow on the ground made objects, otherwise invisible, to be seen, and the tailor recognized a form approaching. He at once concluded that it was the enemy, and took his station, as directed, behind the cypress. He heard a deep groan, and then a shriek. Nothing terrified, Gideon called out, in a ferocious tone, “Come, James, come,” when he received an answer,

“Oh! heaven, save my wits, and my body. Shall I come? No, no; and yet I cannot run. Something holds me fast.”

Gideon was astonished. The enemy had, in his hearing, breathed a prayer;—not a pater-noster, indeed, but still a prayer. Soon, however, his astonishment gave way to his rage, that he would not come. “Fiend! coward!” Gideon cried out, when he instantly heard retreating steps. He pursued in the direction of the sounds, and came up to a form crouching behind a tombstone! The tailor was collared in a moment, and struck to the ground.

“You are the fiend or ghost who terrified me. I took thee for the spirit of the strange gentleman, over whose grave the cypress is planted. Ha! take that, and that,” and as he spoke he made a few presents to Gideon, which seemed very like blows. “Where are your confounded life-preservers now? Are they upon you?” and he struck the tailor’s shins, who, looking up, beheld James Dennis, the sexton of Ormskirk. We have hinted already that the members of these two useful professions, during the winter, were not very amicably disposed towards each other. After Gideon had got upon his legs, the sexton resumed,—

“You have tried to rob me of my trade, and I have half a mind to make you atone for it, by putting you into a grave which I have just dug.”

“Not to night,” interrupted Gideon. “I have a work before me, to be performed, and I shall not be buried happily till it be accomplished. Not to night, good sir, for I fight the devil!”

A fit of shivering came over his companion, who was very superstitious; and it is no comfortable word, that same devil, to be heard with an atmosphere of darkness, and in a churchyard.

“Oh! oh!” groaned the sexton, “mention it not. The snow falls heavily, and I often fancy that such is the garb of light, which we are told he sometimes assumes.”

“Hast thou, friend,” inquired Gideon, “seen the track of his steps here lately? Snow shews them rarely. Here they are—”

“For goodness sake, do not mention the subject,” interrupted the sexton, as he trembled anew. The tailor, however, explained all his warlike intentions to him: stated for what he had come to the church-yard: and finally, received the assistance of the grave spade, to uproot the sickly cypress. He left the spot, bearing it on his shoulders, and the hero of the EneÏd did not stalk with a prouder air, as he raised the heavenly shield which his goddess-mother had induced Vulcan to forge for him, than did Gideon Chiselwig, tailor, in Ormskirk.

The snow continued to fall heavily, and the wind drifted it about in fury, when, a little before midnight, the two tailors (for Jeremiah, from fear of Mrs. Chiselwig’s wrath, had thought it best to accompany his brother) were moving in the direction of the Rough Wood, situated at a short distance from the town. The priest, it will be recollected, had termed the cypress black; but it had now changed colours, and was white enough. Gideon’s nightcap was still red, for, at his request, Jeremiah took it from the head repeatedly, and dashed the snow from it, lest it should lose any of its power, to call up some rather unpleasant sensations in the mind of Satan. Many were the misfortunes which befel them on the way; now wandering from their course, and now stumbling into a deep wreath of snow.

“Gideon’s courage, however, was not to dissolve thereby, and wearied as he was, by carrying the cypress, and dragging Jeremiah, he still persevered, and at length reached the entrance of the wood. They passed on to a convenient station, Jeremiah starting when large flakes of snow fell upon his face, from the trees.

“No more, no more,” said Gideon, making a halt near to some overgrown firs, and his voice sounded so hollow, even to himself, that he almost began to be frightened. “Here is the scene of the horrible enchantment; Jeremiah, brush my nightcap, whilst I elevate the cypress on that huge branch.”

“Aye, aye, brother, raise it high. The book said that he would appear at the top; do not allow him to come too near, for I never relished sulphur much.”

When all things were in readiness, the nightcap adjusted, and the cypress fixed, the brave knight of the needle, in a firm voice, cried out,—

“Come, James, come!”

A flash of lightning gleamed over their heads, and a voice, by no means musical, though merrily attuned, amidst hollow laughter, said,—

“Here, Gideon, here.”

As soon as a circle of safe diameter had been described by their fingers, they looked up. There Jeremiah was fated to behold eyes of a much deeper red than his own, peering down; moreover with a less mournful expression. He fell, but had the good sense to fall within the magic circle, and there he groaned. Gideon was thus left alone to brave the infernal terrors; and whatsoever some may say respecting Beelzebub, certainly on this occasion, he did not appear the handsome and well-favoured gentleman, equipped in boots, shining so beautifully, that everything is reflected, except his hoofs,—and perfumed with spices and ointments, to suppress the strong effluvial sulphur of his person. Nor was he the noble fiend of Milton, shorn of his glory, as the sun in a partial eclipse: for we presume that his devilship has the right of proving the simile false at the hour of midnight. Accordingly, horrible sights were Gideon’s, and they were ever varying. Now the enemy assumed some strange mixture of forms,—rolling heads, contorted legs, and swinging tail: but before a conception could be formed in the tailor’s mind of what they were, he was altogether changed. Light, darkness, and smoke, were around him. The cypress leaves rustled to the movement of his hoofs. Saucer eyes, in the edges of which there lurked such a malicious wink and twinkle; a mouth, occasionally, when it could be seen, as wide and black as the pit whence he came, in which hung a tongue, bright and lurid with a serpent’s poison, breathing out thence visibly a blue air; naked limbs, around which a green light flickered, shewing neither skin, muscle, nor bone, but an indescribable substance: large black hoofs, hanging from small ancles; all these parts changed, and poor Gideon stared, perfectly bewildered at the proportions of his opponent. He soon, however, regained his wonted composure, and broke the silence,—

“Nay, enemy of man, think not thus to confound me, with your childish tricks. Be a man, Nicholas, and not a fool.” In a moment around the circle which had been made, a blue flame flashed. The devil danced on the outside, with the cypress for his stilts. His face was concealed, and he now wore the garb of a scrivener, with paper and pens stuck in his belt. He leapt to the ground, and there he stood, of small stature, but twisting and pliable.

“Gideon Chiselwig,” said the learned clerk, “you are a brave earth-clod. I am an antiquarian in my small way, and should be glad of your autograph on this parchment. In my desk at home, I have the names of great warriors, statesmen, and poets, but am yet denied the honour of that of a tailor. Mine is a rare and a valuable museum. Friend, be so kind as to write me ‘Gideon Chiselwig’ here, in this corner. Now,”—and he unfolded a long roll, and held it out to Gideon. “Nay, nay, your hands are stiff and cold, with the blowing of this storm; give me a shake, and I’ll warm them. Tush! Gideon a coward? Then write me your initials.”

“I came not here,” solemnly returned the tailor, “to sport, but to fight with you. Prepare for combat, or write on the parchment, a coward.”

“What! fight without a challenge? Here are the articles; write your name, and then I must gird myself for battle. Come, the night is cold—cold—and I shiver.”

“That will be a change, friend, I guess,” interrupted Jeremiah, who now venturing to raise his head, saw nothing formidable in the enemy, “I warrant thee, that some of your associates are not shivering at present. I suppose that during summer, there is not much rain in your country, and during winter not much frost or snow.”

No reply was made to the polite address of Jeremiah, but the clerk had already placed the pen in the hand of Gideon.

“Where is the ink?”

“In your veins; prick them with a needle, or be a coward. Blood is the challenge to deadly combat.”

“Do all other inks freeze in your country?” again inquired Jeremiah, and again he received no answer.

Gideon did as he was directed, and wrote his name on the parchment. He observed that the blood dried as soon as it fell from the pen, and became indelible.

“Fool! fool!” exclaimed the fiend, with a loud shriek of joy, “thou art for ever lost. This is a contract that you will be my servant in hell. Two conditions are granted to you; or, rather, two deeds to which you may command me. Next night we meet again, and when morning comes, you are mine. Live a pleasant day to morrow. Ask two things, and here I have pledged to grant them, or you are free. The parchment may not be wiped, and cannot be torn!”

This was spoken in a tone so fiendish and exulting, that Gideon’s heart failed him. He now knew that he was altogether in the power of the enemy, with only one day to live; and then a horrible departure from this world; and in the next world such a revolting service in which he was to be employed. He bent down on his knees, and clasping his hands in extreme agony and terror, looked imploringly upon the fiend, and cried out—

“Oh! spare me! I can be of no use to you.”

“More,” was the reply, “than you are to any one on earth. Ah! Gideon, you’ll make a good member of society there.”

“Nay, nay,” returned Gideon, “I may lie in a hot and black corner of the pit, like an old woman by the fire, who cannot move about. I shall do nothing but retch, and cry for water. I could not go on any errand of yours—could not whisper mischief in any person’s ear. You might torment me, but I should be utterly unable to serve you. Oh! spare me!”

“Spare him,” began Jeremiah with averted face. “Had he been a ruffian, he would have been of essential service in any vacant situation. But, sir, and I speak with great respect, Gideon would be the laziest footman in your employ. He could not travel from your place to Ormskirk in less than a life-time. And then he would have forgot your messages, and lost your letters, unless they were put in his nightcap, and that, you know well, could not hold as many as you require. Gideon Chiselwig an imp of darkness! why a little infant could cheat him of an apple! Perhaps he would then be fonder of a snow ball. Ah! he is too simple to be a man, and how could he be a devil?”

The fiend laughed, and pointing to the name on the parchment, written with blood, bade Gideon recollect that he was his property, by contract and consent.

“Oh!” once more ejaculated Gideon, “spare me! What! must I leave—”

“Nelly, you mean? Fear not. I shall bring her to you in good time. The separation cannot be long.”

“Oh!” resumed the tailor, “must I die,—have my brains dashed out against the wall, as your victims generally are treated?”

“No, no, Gideon, they shall even then be covered with your nightcap—”

“To leave my profession, to—”

“No, no,” was the reply, “you shall then make my pantaloons of many colours. My wages are—but I dare not quote from that Book.—You understand me, Gideon. You need not shriek: spare your lungs, as they will have exercise enough, and yet they will not require sewing and mending. They must last as long as your service, and that is for ever. I shall never dismiss you for bad conduct, Gideon. Eternity is the term of the engagement between us. Oh! eternity!”—and here all the farce and pantomime vanished, as his form changed into one of lofty power, and his voice thrilled with eloquence from the remembrance, and the still more intense anticipation of endless woe. “Oh! Eternity, how vast thou art. No shore, a boundless sea! No bank, nor yet a little island, on which the lost can alight, and, for a moment, quit the gulf, and shake off their pain. The scroll of fate is placed in the hand, written with woe: long and long may it unfold itself, but the last roll never comes. Oh! Eternity! thou hast no resting place for the bright foot of Hope:—yes,” and here Satan assumed the same appearance as before, “Gideon, our engagement expires only with eternity: you shall board with me, and have enough of food—not much ale or water, however, but a great supply of fuel, and that gratis. But before I depart, name two requests which you may wish me to fulfil. Would you enjoy power or beauty? They shall be granted, and the poor tailor may sit on a throne, or at the side of a beautiful empress. Amidst all, think of the coming night, when your appetite is about to pall, and how will it be whetted!—Name two requests.”

Jeremiah started up, so sudden was the advent of the idea in his mind, and no longer miserable, thinking that Gideon would now successfully puzzle Satan. He whispered into his brother’s ear, “Ask for the reformation of Nelly!”

“Well then,” said the tailor addressing the enemy, “the first condition is, that you thoroughly reform my wife: make her to love me; to give me due allowance of food, fuel, sleep, and all necessaries, and not to beat me. She may comb my head, but must not scratch it. She may kiss, but not bite me. The vinegar must be taken from her temper, and honey put in. The poker must only be used for the coals: in short, you have undertaken an impossibility. You may have made her what she is—but you cannot unmake her.”

“Ah! master Nicholas,” chuckled Jeremiah, who was vain of having suggested the above condition, “give it up, and confess that you are an easy simpleton for once. A devil make an angel of a woman! Ridiculous, quite ridiculous, Nick. You may pare her nails, but you cannot keep her from scratching. Say no more, give it up and depart, and carry a globe of snow on your shoulders, to your abode, to cool some of your friends.”

Lightning flashed over Jeremiah’s head as he finished speaking, and effectually withered up his wit, as well as his courage. A long silence ensued, broken by the fiend at last, as he said—

“The condition shall be fulfilled. Your person shall be sacred to your wife, no more to come in contact with poker or fist, nails or teeth. She shall supply your grinders with every thing but her own fingers. As for sleep, you have not much time for that, before I come to claim you as my slave. And as for fuel, Nelly will seat you close by the grate, and you may take warm coals in your hand like boiled potatoes: and do not feel the least anxiety about fuel hereafter, you shall have great abundance then. Nay, nay, Gideon, your wife’s temper shall likewise be reformed. Oh! you are a man of discrimination, and have perceived that it is no easy task which you have assigned me.—Now name your other condition.”

Gideon then trembled, lest the first condition should be fulfilled, and thought over some impossibility which he should ask the devil to perform, as the fulfilment of the second condition.

“Then build me a wall, with stone and mortar, an hour before daybreak to morrow.”

“Provided there be a thaw.”

“No provisions,” boldly replied Gideon,—“no provisions. And lest there should be a thaw occasioned by crowds passing, it must not be built in a thoroughfare, but in a field at some distance from Ormskirk. It must be four hundred yards in length, and five feet in height, and all finished in an hour.”

“Why, Nick,” interrupted Jeremiah, whose courage flowed as well as ebbed, “you will take an hour to bring the sand from the sand-hills. Besides, no honest man will lend you his horse and cart.” No answer was returned, and the enemy walked around the circle once or twice, and then stood full in front of Gideon, while the parchment, with his name, burned brighter, and more bright. But the flame did not conceal the blood by which it had been written, and the form of a heart, weltering amidst the flame, turning in agony, and guarded by the name.

“The conditions,” Satan exclaimed, “shall be performed, and as soon as the wall is built, I shall escort you to your future home. Let this parchment float, till then, before you, in your waking moments and in your dreams. Accustom your mind to the thought of thunder, lightning, sounds of an earthquake, the hissing of fiends, the rolling of a deep unfathomable gulf, and the clutch of this little, little loving hand,” and he switched out a horrible paw, scorched, but not burned; for every joint and muscle moved with inconceivable ease and speed. “Do not think, poor wretch, that you shall see me then as merry as I have been at present, nor will you be merry when limb from limb is torn and mangled? Dream of it,—it must come to pass. A few hours, Gideon, and I meet you: till then, adieu,” and the fiend vanished. A long track of blue light, and dark forms hovering near it, marked the course of his flight over the wood.

As we have been long enough in the cold and bitter storm, and as all fire and brimstone have disappeared, we do not choose to walk side by side with the two tailors, on their way back, amidst the drifting of the snow, which, by this time, had fallen so heavily, that the way was completely blocked up.

We prefer to enter the residence of the parson, and, seated opposite to his rosy countenance, note a few observations as to what was passing there. In a parenthesis, we have already described the worthy man as fat and oily. Indeed, he was singularly consistent, for whilst he preached good living to others, he did not neglect to practice it himself, though, perhaps, he had a private interpretation of the word, and understood it in a different sense. He told his hearers that they would, in the end, feel the advantages resulting from it: and certainly, after fifty years practice, he looked very comfortable himself. This regimen had endowed him with size and colour, flesh and paint. He had been called a light of the church; only, we presume, because his face, in shape, resembled the moon, though scarcely so pale. Yet, withall, Dr. Mauncel was mild and benevolent, and one of his best properties was, that he had a beautiful daughter, who had just reached her nineteenth winter. Many a sigh had been unconsciously breathed as Mary leant upon her father’s arm, on their way to church: and as she knelt in prayer, many a look had been directed towards her, and lovers envied the vicar for the many caresses he must receive from such a fair being, and thought what a sanctuary her presence would make of the very humblest home. The little arch creature knew this, and flung back her ringlets, that her face might be seen, and then contrived to make it so demure and grave, that one might have imagined that a ray of happy, but feverish love, had never brightened over it. When she smiled, it was always so friendly, that a deeper sentiment, it was thought, could not lurk beneath it; and she would extend her hand so frankly, that no one could venture upon retaining and kissing it,—it felt so sisterly. And yet, the sweet rogue was in love with her cousin William, then residing at the Vicarage; and when the good doctor was paying his addresses either to his meals or his sermon, the young pair were toying with each other’s hands, and his reverence had once been startled from his reveries, by a very loud kiss.

We have, strangely enough, omitted to mention that it was Christmas night on which all the transactions we have recorded of the tailors, took place; so that lights were still seen in the vicarage, and a goose, with others of the same genus, was standing on the table very peaceably, if we except the smoke of their anger, which was ascending, and, as the vicar facetiously remarked, much more comfortable where they were, than without, in the fury of the storm.

“Is all in readiness? Now, nephew, you can fence and carve, bisect and dissect; but when you reach my age, you will only be able to devour, decant, or digest. Stay; Mary, bring Rehoboam and Jeroboam, with all their tribes. Rehoboam was the son of Solomon, and there is no reason why a wise man should not be fond of him. Come, haste, Mary, else I shall send William to bring you.”

“Nay, nay, uncle,” said the youth, “to avoid delay, I will go at once, and chide her so, that she must despatch. Now,—dear Mary,” and the happy couple ran out of the room together.

“Sly rogues,” chuckled the old man, who saw how matters stood.

Mary, it seems, had been refractory, for it was not until a considerable length of time had elapsed, that she appeared, carrying a few glasses, whilst her cousin bore two large bottles, Rehoboam and Jeroboam.

“Ah! ah!” cried the vicar. “Fie, fie, whence come these blushes, Mary? Let both of you approach; now kneel; and God bless you, my dear children! Nephew William, take her hand as a Christmas present from her father; you have already obtained her heart from herself.”

“Dear, dear uncle,” exclaimed the delighted youth, as he clasped his relative’s knees with his hands.

“Nay, nay,” the parson interrupted, “put your arms around that blushing neck. I have long watched you. When you read for the old man, William, she sat beside you, gazing upon the same book, and when your locks and cheeks were together, your voice became agitated, and then she looked innocently into your face. You always preferred a large folio, and she slipped her little hand in one side, beneath it, and then you put yours through, to meet hers; and for hours, the happy father has been delighted with your loves. Ah! one other remembrance comes upon me. In our evening walk I was strolling behind you, when a beautiful child left his sister’s hand, and ran to you, Mary, and climbing up, kissed you once and again. I was near enough to hear William say, ‘now, cousin, give me one likewise.’ Ah! rogues, rogues,” and he took them both in his arms, and hugged them together, when a knocking was heard at the gate. The vicar started, but the lovers were so happy in each other, that they had not even heard the noise.

“Some poor traveller seeking shelter from the storm. How the storm blows without. Hark to that awful howl,” and the good man arose from the table. He heard the servant open the door, and instantly a form bounced into the room, all drifted and covered with snow. A single shake served to discover Mrs. Gideon Chiselwig.

“Oh! doctor,” she exclaimed, in a tone altogether foreign to her usual voice, “what a dream I have been visited with. The devil has appeared to me, and shewed my dear husband’s name, affixed to a contract, that he shall be a slave in hell, from to-morrow night, henceforth, and for ever. He is then to come and take him from me. Oh! I have shamefully treated Gideon, and now I love him so much, that I could die for him. ’Twas but this evening, that I struck him with these heavy hands. Oh! doctor, what can I do? Is there no hope?”

Dr. Mauncel was altogether astonished and confounded. The woman now before him had the repute of a termagent; and yet she spoke so affectionately, and bitterly upbraided herself, for her former cruel treatment of her husband. Nor did she appear at all under the influence of strong drink. “Good woman,” he at length inquired, “where is your husband?”

“He has gone and sold himself to the devil, for my conduct towards him. I have made earth miserable, and he would rather live in hell, than dwell with me any longer. Oh! how I could now love him! My heart is changed, but it is too late! Yes, yes, it is too late!” and she wrung her hands in wild agony, tore her hair, and shed more tears than Jeremiah could have done.

“Mrs. Chiselwig,” returned the vicar, “you have, indeed, been anything but a dutiful and affectionate wife to your spouse, but now begin a thorough reformation. It is only a dream of evil with which you have been visited, and Gideon shall, doubtless, be spared to you for many a long year yet.”

“It cannot be! Although the storm rages, he is not in the house; he has gone and sold himself for my shameful conduct. In the afternoon I forbade him to go to bed, until I should have arisen; nay, more, I planted these nails in his face and head, as a tender good night for a dear husband. Ah! wretch that I am, and yet, he patiently submitted, took the hand which had struck him, so affectionately, and was making gaiters for the feet which had kicked him.”

“Ah! Mrs. Chiselwig, you were a sad wife,” chimed in the parson.

“What tempted you,” asked Mary Mauncel, “to be cruel to Gideon? He was always so kind and attentive to you.”

Her cousin William approached, and whispered something which was inaudible to all others, save Mary herself. She smiled so prettily, and with such an affectation of malice, as she tossed her head, and said, “Try me, you are free at present, but have given me the chain. I’ll rule you, and beat you into the sober obedience of a husband. You have told me frequently that you were my slave: I shall shortly prove it.”

“Dear Mary, go on, go on, and tell me what a good little wife you will make.”

Nelly once more appealed to the vicar, with great earnestness. “Oh! sir, have you not a charm to be obtained from all those books, from all your sermons, from all your robes, by which you can break the contract with the devil. Laugh not; he appeared to me, in such a form, and uttering such words, that to my dying day I dare not rehearse them. To-morrow night he comes to claim Gideon! Your profession is to tame and conquer the enemy. Oh! now exert that power!”

“To-morrow night; well then, go home, and I will come at noon, and see what is to be done. Good woman, you have (innocently I grant) spoiled my supper, for who can eat with the smell of brimstone. I declare that that goose now appears to me to have hoofs, instead of claws. Mary, give Mrs. Chiselwig a compliment from Rehoboam, to cheer her on her way home, through the storm. You’ll find Gideon, I hope, there before you, and prove that all your fears have been the baby thoughts of a horrid dream. May you long live for each other,—and, Nelly, you will shew, by your future course of conduct, I trust, that you are willing to atone for all the domestic misery which you confess to have brought upon honest Gideon. Nay, drink it off, Mrs. Chiselwig; it is warmer than snow, eh?”

Nelly, after many thanks to the vicar, emptied the glass, and once more braved the storm.

The walls of the houses were now completely drifted, and not a footstep had left its trace on the snow-covered streets. What a lonely feeling is over the soul, when nothing is heard but the deep gust of the wind, driving the storm before, around, and against us, and when all objects are being wrapped in winter’s white raiment. For us, in youth, there never was a greater luxury, than to wander over the dreary mountain and vale, with the snow pelting on our face, as it was turned upwards, when not a glimpse of the sky could meet it; and then, after having become thoroughly exhausted, to enter some natural cave, or sheepfold, on the waste, and there seated, gaze around upon bush, bank, and hill, cottages, and woods, all thatched with white: and even yet, by night, has the old man taken his staff, and tottered to the hall door, to stand without the threshold, devoutly uncovering his head, white as winter’s after December has smoothed it, and looked up, while the snow fell, sweet and grateful as the kisses of his only child, upon his dim eyes, and feverish forehead,—and as he entered the room, has forbidden Jane to wipe away the flakes, for he wished them gently to weep themselves to death, on his face, in all their virgin sorrow. Rain, we love thee not, even in thy spring showers, and must canopy our head to protect it from thy salutations: but Snow, we uncover it for thy kisses, so pure and soothing. How beautiful art thou, when the messenger of death; and a holier and a whiter bed dost thou afford the poor traveller, than could be smoothed and softened by the hand of his young and beloved wife, in his own happy abode, where, true as her love in difficulty and trial, burns the signal of her expectations, through the small lattice, during the long night, and often trimmed in vain! How gently is he hushed to sleep, amidst the wreathes of thy purity, unconscious of the blast. Not a limb aches, and heaven, likewise, bids thee be thy lover’s shroud and tomb!

Had Mrs. Chiselwig, however, been disposed to apostrophize the snow, it would have been in very different language; and, perhaps, the good woman had reason, as she arrived, almost blinded and senseless, at the door, where stood two figures, whom she instantly recognized as Gideon and Jeremiah.

“Dear, dear husband!” she exclaimed in raptures, and flung her arms fondly around his neck, for the first time since marriage, and then she sobbed. Gideon had started back instinctively, when he beheld the arms raised, but now he was convinced of Nelly’s affection, and joined her sobbing. It may be superfluous to add, that Jeremiah’s sympathetic sluices were not closed on this occasion, and that they threatened to deluge his person.

“Oh! Gideon, you shudder in my embrace.”

“Aye, aye, I am a lost man, yet now, I feel so happy in your love, dear Nelly. But I am very, very cold.”

The door was opened, and after entering the house, Nelly was informed of the exploit in the Rough Wood. She upbraided not, she only kissed her husband, wept, and looked heart-broken. Gideon conjured her not to be changed in temper for one day at least, and still to treat him harshly.

“I could not,” was the affecting reply, “though such conduct were to save your life. Oh! I feel ashamed of myself. You must, if you wish me to be happy hereafter, give me as many scratches, kicks, and angry words, as I have ever given you. Promise me, Gideon.”

Gideon did promise, and as the first-fruits of the vow, kissed her. They retired not to rest, for, as the husband piteously remarked—

“Dear wife, I cannot, and I should not sleep. I must gaze upon you as long as I am permitted. I must speak with you as long as my language is of earth. I must embrace you as long as I am not called upon to embrace clods, dust, and worms. Ha!” he cried in a frantic voice, “not that! not that! I am denied burial, and must go, body and soul, to the dark pit! I shall be mangled, and Jeremiah will not be allowed to sew me together, into a decent corpse. Oh! oh!”

At length, punctual to his appointment, the vicar came, attended by his nephew. What was the astonishment of the worthy man, when he learned that Gideon had fulfilled verbatim his wife’s dream, and actually sold himself, for better, for worse, to the devil! He gravely shook his head, and the motion was also communicated to his paunch, as he remarked—

“I am afraid that the present is a case far beyond my poor skill. I once, indeed, had the honour of casting out a devil, but he was a blue devil, and I put his victim into a room by himself, for a month, and removed a large bottle, after which the man was never tormented with him again. But this—”

“And you a doctor of the church,” interrupted Jeremiah—“humph!—with a black coat, professing that you are able and inclined to fight the devil in his own colours. Now, if you could fight a blue devil, in a black coat, would you not have a greater chance of success in fighting a black devil? Had I as many prayers, homilies, and sermons, Dr. Mauncel, I would instantly take and pull him by the nose, very much to the lengthening of his proboscis. Oh! doctor, accompany us to the place of the awful meeting, and I will carry the Book as your weapon!”

“Yes, yes,” added Mrs. Chiselwig with great earnestness and simplicity, “and I will carry—what was the name, sir?—Yes, Rehoboam. I’ll carry Rehoboam for you.”

“He is a dear child, and I could scarcely trust him out of my own hands.”

But we cannot detail the conversation, many episodes of which were long prayers, and spiritual maxims, calculated to do anything or everything, save to overturn and reverse the horrid destiny of Gideon—the doomed of Satan. None gave consolation, until the parson’s nephew suggested that it was quite possible, indeed extremely probable, that the devil would find the building of the wall a task, by no means easy; and that, for his part, he would be most willing to take his uncle’s post, and accompany poor Gideon to the place of rendezvous, and see the wall to be, in mason’s terms, sufficient and proper, before the Devil could claim a hair of the tailor’s head. Still, this was not altogether satisfactory, for the first condition, and that which appeared the most difficult, had been strictly fulfilled.

As the clock struck every hour, Gideon seemed to hear the fiend exclaim, “prepare.” His heart vibrated so much, that had it been skilfully placed in the mechanism, it would have regularly and accurately moved the pendulum. He counted every shade darkening on the sky, until night came on; and melancholy, if not poetical, was his farewell to the glorious sun. He was not altogether ignorant of figure and trope, to eke out his pathos, as will be seen.

“There thou art, about to disappear for ever from these delighted eyes, with thy beautiful chariot! That dark cloud is thy coachman, with a pink-coloured vest. He is now mounting, and in a moment will be ready to drive thee into the ocean, and wet thy garments, making them truly uncomfortable for thy tailor, whoever he be, to repair. He has lighted his pipe of tobacco, and puffs out the smoke to keep away the sea sickness. His drab great coat is now over him, and he is exclaiming, ‘all’s right, all’s right.’ ’Tis false, charioteer, all’s wrong, wrong. Farewell, thou orb of day. I go, where time is not measured by day—the tailor; and clad by night—his journeyman. Yet just one other peep; yes, here is thy ray upon my hand. Oh! Nelly, hast thou a glove to put over my hand, and thus confine the light for ever to be my hope. Farewell! To-morrow thou again appearest, but not for me. Perchance, as thou arisest over the finished wall, thou mayest observe my head as the cope stone. At morn, how anxiously have I removed the nightcap from my eye to behold thy charms, O sun! How beautifully dost thou gleam into the soup, and kindly reveal all the peas and beans which slily lie at the bottom of the dish. How fondly hast thou loved my needle, and even danced, with thy hundred feet, upon the point! Farewell!” and he closed the window and wept.

The speech may contain a little of the ludicrous; not so the feelings. In vain did Nelly, who had been a little consoled by the remarks of the parson’s nephew, and who had, therefore, been able to attend to cookery, set before him food the most savoury, to tempt his appetite, with what one of the signs elegantly terms “the real-original-genuine-best Ormskirk gingerbread.” As her hands spread them on the table, Gideon’s sorrow was renewed, for the thought struck him, that they would move before him no more. It was no easy matter for the good man to be resigned to the loss of his wife, just when she had become so agreeable and affectionate.

Soon Mary Mauncel entered, leaning on the arm of her cousin. She had tried all her arts to dissuade him from the expedition, and had even threatened never to speak to him again. And yet, out of pure love and care for him, and of her own accord, she had come along with him to Gideon’s house. And never had she spoken so much and so tenderly, as she did now, cautioning William, for her sake, not to be rash. Jeremiah shewed them to seats, and because there was a scarcity of chairs, mounted the table himself. Gideon had watched the motion.

“Ah! Jeremiah, I have sat there for the last time. Orders shall be sent, good broad cloth shall be spread out, but no Gideon shall be there to cut, sew, and mend.”

“Reverse the picture,” added his brother, “and change the scene. A horrible pit, at the bottom of which—”

“Nay, Jeremiah; do not make me to anticipate it. Young gentleman, how are your nerves braced for the work? Give me your hand.”

At that moment, however, the lover felt his hand touched, and detained gently by Mary, so he held out the sinister one to the tailor.

“Ready, quite ready, Gideon. I shall return with you safe again. Fear not; you shall not lose Mrs. Chiselwig, nor,” he added in a whisper to his beautiful companion, “shall I lose Mary Mauncel.”

“Is the night calm?” meekly inquired Nelly, who had some thoughts of accompanying her husband.

“Beautiful and clear,” was the reply. “The snow is glistening in the moon’s rays, and not a breath of wind awakes it.”

“Beautiful it is,” added Mary, in a low voice to William, “but for ghosts, devils, and your folly. How much happier should we have been together, in the garden.”

Jeremiah’s very acute ear had distinguished these words. “Ah! my young lady, the open field, where we are to meet the enemy, is much more romantic than a garden; and you must be happier there, as the shelter is better. The devil had fled without a place of meeting being definitely assigned, but I had courage enough to recall him, and then we agreed upon a spot of ground to the right of Aughton Moss, and in the direction of Cleives Hills. Garden? No, no, for were I concealed behind a bush, even in the presence of your father, the enemy might ask him to bestow the little bird that was in such a bush, and his reverence, not knowing, might comply, and I should then be caged. All must be open and exposed.”

“No more,” exclaimed Gideon in agony, after he had returned from the door, where, for the last minute he had been gazing upon the moon, “no more must I see thy light, after a few short hours. Ha! and the candle too. But let me try how I can do without it,” and he immediately extinguished it. “Horrible darkness; and then I must for ever put on and take off my clothes, and shave and wash myself with liquid fire, and eat without a light; yes, eat brimstone and tempest, without having a candle to shew the mouth. Hush, hush, I hear some fiend eating. His lips smack.”

Gideon was not wrong in one part of his conjectures, for Mary’s lover, taking advantage of the light being extinguished, was attempting to console and pacify her by whispers and kisses. The clock now struck the hour of eleven, and Nelly lighted the candle, to prepare the last supper for her husband. Not a word was spoken. Every countenance was fixed upon the miserable pair. Every little noise startled them, and then again they were immovable, as gloomy pictures. The candle flame turned blue. The chimney looked darker and darker. Shadows flitted upon the wall, in formidable guise. At length the parson’s nephew proposed that Miss Mauncel, rather than return to her father, should keep poor Nelly company in their absence.

“Come, Gideon, come; it is the hour.” What terror these words inspired in all, save the speaker, who laughed at superstition, and even at the devil! The tailor’s limbs trembled,—he looked up, and then hid his face in his hands. Jeremiah brought a long cloak, to wrap his brother from the cold. All things were adjusted, as for a criminal on the drop. He was at the door. Nelly gave a shriek;—her husband heard it not. She embraced and hugged him,—he was passive in her arms.

“Oh!—he is dead already!” she exclaimed, “he is,—yes!”

But they observed, by the rolling of his eyes, that although his reason might have fled, his spirit was still in its tabernacle. Jeremiah shook him, but Gideon responded not. He was dragged forth, as the hour had already passed, and yet, no farewell was uttered by him. Nelly’s farewell was a loud, a long, a piercing shriek, as he was moved over the threshold, and then a longer fainting fit.

The snow crisped beneath their feet, a slight breeze passed over their heads, and these were the only sounds heard. The hour of twelve was striking in the town, as they reached the spot assigned.

Gideon now seemed to awake from his insensibility. He attempted to speak, but words and utterance altogether failed him. The magic circle was drawn around, and he looked up to summon the enemy of mankind to fulfil his engagements, when a violent fit of shuddering seized his limbs, and some thing not less gentle passed over his soul. The stars above were fiery, and gleaming with malignant aspect and influence over a mortal’s fate, and around them was a dull haze, which was interpreted into a shroud. Not that the tailor was an astrologer, in faith or practice: but there are moments and circumstances when the orbs of heaven appear as the types of earth’s history,—as the eyes of fate turned upon individuals, likewise, with their revelations. He then gazed around. Not a tree or fence stood near, for a covert; but a desert heath, still more desolate in its appearance from its snowy covering. The ground, with its winter’s carpet, was prevented from echoing to footsteps: and the air seemed, too, as if it were bound up from the vibrations of sound,—for over all was a dead silence.

William Mauncel was the first who spoke. “Gideon, thou tremblest; I will take thy duty. Give me the charm by which thou renderest the devil obedient to thy call. Eh? does he stand upon ceremony? My good uncle assures us that he frequently pays us a visit when he is not invited, and that he makes himself such a pleasant fellow, that we are loth to give him a hint that it is not agreeable for the time to have his company, much less to shew him to the door. Ah! ah! Gideon, you were too polite, you gave him your card, with name and residence, last night. That will make him troublesome. He is a punctual keeper of his appointments. Now, pray, give me the signal. Nay, then,” as Gideon’s voice could not be heard, “Jeremiah will oblige me.”

The substance of the directions was repeated from the old book, where they had, at first, stimulated the tailor’s courage, to make him more than a mortal hero. William laughed at the affectionate terms in which he was to invite the enemy; and began, in as low and gentle a tone, to say, “Come, James, come,” as he had ever employed when he had tapped at the window of his uncle’s study, where his beautiful cousin was, whispering, “come, Mary, come,” in order that she should trip out and enjoy a moonlight scene, seated along with him in the arbour. Still the devil was not pleased most graciously to appear, and William laughed and shouted in full merriment. He, indeed, believed in the devil’s journeyings to and fro, over the earth, and in his exertions and plans to obtain victims by false and almost involuntary contracts; but then he was not frightened, for as he firmly believed that human skill, stratagem, and valour might baffle him. Where was the necessity, he reasoned, of mistaking his black majesty for a gentleman in black; of using blood instead of ink; of receiving slate stones instead of golden coins? He also held as a part of his superstitious creed, the existence of certain old ladies, on whose chins the Lancashire rains have fallen with such a fructifying influence, as to beard them “like the pard;” with hands dark and sickly, from the deadly drugs which they mix over the light of the cauldron, in their cave, and with decrepid and corrupted forms, as if they were spirits of another world, and had come to the charnel house, and there clothed themselves in a body which had begun to be the prey of worms; and with souls, whose every idea was familiar with the dark fates in store for earth, and rejoiced in those which were to blast the happy, and destroy the beautiful. But then, he as firmly held that their spells might be made to fall impotent upon man. He laughed at them, and was prepared to scratch them, in their only vulnerable part,—above the breath. In travelling, he cared not though he should have the company of a ghost, provided it only spoke, and recounted some horrible deed, as the avenger of which it walked the earth,—for he hated silence. At home, he would have shook the devil very frankly and cordially by the hand, had he ever paid him a visit, and he would have smoked a pipe, or drunk a cup of tea (had tea then been known) with any witch, in her own abode. Thus William Mauncel was exceedingly merry in prospect of beholding the devil, whom he imagined that he could so easily thwart. In a loud voice, he again exclaimed, “come, James, come,” and instantly a little man, with the tools of a mason-builder, stood opposite to Gideon.

“Gideon Chiselwig, give me the dimensions of the wall which I have contracted to build. You know that it is now an hour from my day break, and I must finish it, and then claim you. You know me?—or shall I disclose my features? and assume some of my former tones, and thus convince you that I am—the devil?”

Gideon trembled still more, and feebly ejaculated, “No, no. I believe in very deed that thou art my enemy, and, I beseech thee, give me no further proof.”

“Until,” was the return, “your very existence and employment, as well as habitation, shall prove it.”

“And that shall never be,” interrupted the vicar’s nephew. “Shew thyself to us, belch fire and smoke, if you do not wish to pass for an unskilful conjuror.”

“That would do him good,” remarked Jeremiah, “a good and powerful vomit would be of essential service. Whenever I have compelled my food to march too quickly down into my stomach, I am not well until it has made a hasty retreat back again to head quarters. It is exactly the same when too much goes at once. Now, I suppose that you have rather more of fire and smoke than you could wish. In fact, your throat is said to be worse than a chimney. Would it not, therefore, be prudent to vomit a little?”

“To be sure it would,” answered young Mauncel, trying to restrain his laughter, “yet, Jeremiah, he has enough of brimstone to physic him.”

The earth instantly shook; beneath and around them, they heard the elements as if contending in the bowels of the earth; fire blazing, rivers dashing and rolling, and thunder reverberating. Jeremiah fell down, but very quietly, and lay with his face close to the ground, if we except his hands, which, somehow or other, intervened between the snow and his watery countenance. Gideon groaned and shrieked alternately; and their companion, now, was startled into silence and paleness, so awful were the signs of the devil’s presence and power. A low, but deep voice, now came from the mason, as he approached to the circle.

“Give me your directions, Gideon, as to the place where I shall commence to raise the wall, and they shall be obeyed. For a time I am your servant, and am content to be so, for through eternity I shall be your master: men value every thing by time—devils value every thing by eternity. And who would not be a servant for such hire?—an hour’s labour,—and as a compensation for it, a soul to torment through all eternity! Come, haste, give me the dimensions of the wall. Eh? have I not reformed Nelly?”

Gideon tremulously answered, that he had given the dimensions last night.

“True, true,” was the reply, “you did. Gaze, and soon you shall behold the wall arising, and as the last stone is placed, be ready to meet your fate; yet,” he soliloquized, as he moved round the circle, “what have I, in which to carry the sand for the mortar! I can tear up stones, but I cannot dig for sand, and what can I procure to convey it from the sand hills! Oh! I see it.”

Jeremiah’s apron had been more valorous than its master, and boldly, though very unwisely, had ventured to lie down without the circle, and, in a moment, was seized upon by Satan, who disappeared with his spoil to a little distance. Then commenced the tearing up of the stones; and so speedily was this part of the engagement finished, that Jeremiah remarked, with much warmth in his approbation, “that the devil would make an excellent quarryman, and that he must have been employed in digging and building his own pit.” All the fiends of hell seemed to be let loose, so loud was the noise, and so wide and deep the shaking. Whenever the stones were heaved up too large, lightning leapt upon them, and they were broken into smaller sizes. But what was still more surprising, a deep smoke arose, and every object, for a short space, was imperceptible, until it was rolled away by a vivid flash of fire, furious as a tempest. The ground was no more covered with snow, and Jeremiah found himself squatted on the mud. The enemy could not be seen, but all the stones were placed ready for the builder.

“He is gone over the moss,” exclaimed Gideon, “to the sand hills. Ha! dost thou not, Jeremiah, perceive those wings of fire fluttering in the distance, away towards the sea? And soon he will return to finish his undertaking. I have no hopes.”

“Would that his hoofs sunk in the moss,” ejaculated his brother, “for many a better fellow than he, has met with his fate there. Oh, brother, sustain your spirits, and your body likewise.”

There was great propriety in the latter admonition of Jeremiah, for Gideon’s body seemed a little off the perpendicular; and accordingly he was assisted in removing himself to a tree, which the sudden thawing of the snow had revealed, and there he was stationed, leaning against its trunk, while the same precautions for their safety were adopted as before. Minute after minute passed on, and still the enemy came not. The stones lay exactly in the same position. The doomed tailor could now listen, with a slight portion of faith and hope, to the consolation which young Mauncel gave; when a slight rustling was heard in the branches of the tree, and something of a red colour was perceived. All strained their eyes, but nothing more of shape, colour, size, or essence, could be learned.

“Ah!” Jeremiah began, “he is fond of trees. How he coiled himself, as Dr. Mauncel observed, in the tree of knowledge of good and evil, pointing to the apples, and smacking his own lips! But let him stay there at present, and hatch a blackbird’s nest, if he be so inclined. Gideon, you are now safe.”

Scarcely had he finished these words, when a fiery cloud was seen coming from the direction of the sand hills, and soon Satan stood before his heap of sand, with a large trowel in his hand, ready to build the wall. But first he looked around, and descrying the altered station of the party, walked up to the circle, while his mouth belched forth fire and smoke.

“Think not,” he exclaimed in a horrible tone, “think not that you shall escape, although, by your wiles, I have been detained; and heavier shall be your punishment, for the trouble you have given me.”

“Do you sweat much?” kindly inquired William Mauncel; “then stand a little to cool yourself. You have time enough to finish the wall. Why have you returned so soon? Pray, let us have a friendly chat.”

“Gideon Chiselwig,” continued the fiend, without noticing the words by which he had been interrupted, “I tell thee that thy doom shall be much more severe. Rejoice at my momentary disappointment, as I detail it to you, and then think how much more I shall rejoice over the torments which it shall cause you, as my subject, for ever. I placed the first load of sand in your brother’s apron, and flew away with it—(Gideon, you shall have wings too, in a little,)—but when passing the moss, the cursed string broke,—”

“Honesty is the best policy, friend,” cooly remarked Jeremiah. “You are well served for a rogue. You stole away my apron, and you have received a just recompense. Learn, Nick, to be more honest for the future, at least on earth. You may escape the clutch of a magistrate, as you and his worship seem to be on very intimate terms, but believe me, that sooner or later, vice will be punished. You know the proverb, I presume, ‘that those who begin with a pin, may end with an ox,’ and I cannot exactly say, but that this apron stealing might have brought you into very serious danger. Let it be an example, Nicholas.”

“Rejoice at present,” was the reply. “Mock me, Gideon, as well as your brother does, and listen. The strings of the apron broke,—”

“Bad thread, bad thread, Gideon,” again interrupted Jeremiah, “I told you so when it came. It must not be used for the collar of a coat.”

“The strings of the apron broke,” patiently resumed the enemy, “and all the sand fell into the moss, and there it lies, a large heap and mountain. But, Gideon, beneath as heavy a mountain of my wrath you shall lie, for ever and ever:” and he instantly departed to commence his work.

Soon the wall arose a foot or two from the ground, and Gideon’s fears once more attacked him. A loud laugh was raised, at intervals, by the infernal builder, and it seemed echoed by millions and millions of the lost spirits. He skipped upon the wall, and, revealing his awful proportions, gazed upon Gideon, with eyes of such fiendish malice and revenge, that even the reckless Mauncel shuddered, and covered his face to banish the sight. And now the wall was nearly finished, the earth was shaking all around, the hissing of serpents was heard, and strange forms were seen moving beside the enemy.

“Claim him! claim him!” shrieked forth innumerable voices. The air seemed on fire, and dark masses were hastening through it, to the hellish scene. Deep gulfs were sounding and lashing their fury beneath the ground; and thunder seemed to bow the very poles of heaven, and make them totter. A long and wide circle of fiends was now made, dancing, and all pointing to Gideon with their black paws.

“Hell claims him. Which part shall we seize? Yours, noble leader, is the head. Give me the hand,—how fondly I shall shake it. Give me the breast,—how fondly I shall lie upon it. Give me the arm,—how confidently he shall lean upon mine. Let me kiss him,—how he shall love my sweet lips. Let me wash his feet,—how gently shall the fire dry them. Let me perfume his body. Ha—ha—ha!”

Their leader now raised two stones in his hands, and thundered forth, with an awful voice—

“Friends, these are the two last—and the wall is finished! Wretch, who art called Gideon Chiselwig—dost thou behold them? the two last! the two last!” and the whole infernal host raised a laugh of exultation, and poor Gideon fell to the ground. “Stay one little moment, Gideon,” the enemy exclaimed, “and you shall be supported in these loving arms. Stay—”

At that very moment a deep silence pervaded the place, and a loud crowing was raised by a cock, as it announced the devil’s day break, who must, therefore, depart, without being allowed to finish the wall. He stamped in fury, and all his infernal agents, disappointed of their prey, shrieked, and fled away. Jeremiah and young Mauncel comprehended the cause, and they shouted in joy, and taunted the fiend, until they beheld him approaching. In his hands he bore a large stone:—but his eyes glared not upon them, nor yet on the prostrate Gideon. They were fixed upon some object, which the branches of the tree seemed to conceal. Jeremiah, as he regained courage, addressed him,—

“So, Nicholas—dost thou see an apple which courts that hungry eye?”

There was no answer made, but a motion of the devil’s arm heaved up the stone, and instantly a cock fell down dead at Jeremiah’s feet, who, raising it, thus apostrophized it,—

“And thou hast saved my brother’s life, by losing thine own! But, unless thou has contracted thyself to the enemy, he shall not get thee, provided he does not invite himself along with us to dinner some day soon. No, Nick, begone. A fortnight ago, that church-yard clod, the sexton, told me that I was a brawny stripling, for I could mount my grandmother’s cat with a stepping stone. Oh! the fiend is gone! Well, poor bird, thou art a martyr, yet I shall commit thy sacred remains to my stomach, begging your young reverence’s pardon, in hopes of a safe and certain resurrection.”

They succeeded in raising Gideon from the ground, and when he was sufficiently recovered to listen to his escape, and the death of his preserver, the sadness of the latter news did not much take away from the joy of the former; and he was altogether cured of his mania for supernatural achievements.

And here, as the devil left his work unfinished, we leave ours; with the exception of satisfying a few longings, which the antiquary, the lover, and the unfortunate husband of a termagant wife, may feel.

The first may yet see the heap of sand which the breaking of the devil’s apron strings deposited in the moss. It is now called “Shirley Hill;” and thus observation confirms tradition, for how could a mountain of sand be native to a moss? He indeed cannot be gratified with a sight of the apron; for Jeremiah on the following day, escorted it home, and subsequently, exhibited it so often to the good folks of Ormskirk, that the strings again broke, one dark night as he was making his way through a lane; and he had his suspicions that the hands of some old maid, and not the thread were culpable.

The Devil’s Wall still stands, but the acute Jeremiah had observed that the infernal builder, could not, with any portion of justice, have claimed Gideon, because the conditions of the contract, were not fulfilled, as the wall had only been built with sand. The large stone, some thirty years ago, could be seen firmly clasped between the boughs of the tree, where the cock fell—a martyr to his love of truth.

And now, fair reader, what is the question which you wish to ask the old man? Ah! concerning William and Mary Mauncel! A few weeks after the adventure, the worthy Doctor joined their hands, and as much happiness as thy own beautiful and romantic fancy can imagine in future for thyself, fell to their lot. On the occasion, Rehoboam and Jeroboam, with all their tribes, did not fail to appear:—and for their loyalty towards the fortunes of the family, they received marked attentions from the Reverend head; whose lips, in an appropriate manner, confessed an attachment, by no means slight. Jeremiah, in the course of the nuptial evening, stepped in, to cry over the happiness of the young wedded pair, and, with his accustomed propriety, wished that the bands of love might never be broken, like his apron strings; however fortunate the last circumstance had, most undoubtedly been. Years passed on, and sweet laughing voices came upon the ear of the old vicar, as he sat in his study; and rushing in, a band of beautiful grand-children began, in innocent mischief, to sport at his knees.

The unhappy husband is informed, that Gideon and Nelly Chiselwig, were happy in each other: and that their only weapons of attack and defence were sweet words, and fond caresses.

Some represent the devil as having horns: if so, he must have taken them from the head of Gideon Chiselwig.