Chapter III: Part 3

Emily Morden looked upon her husband, and took their little boy, and folded him closely in her bosom. Not a word was spoken, but many, many thoughts were theirs. Their fears seemed to recognize in the sweet blue eyes, the calm brow, and the golden locks, signs of a dark fate. The little fellow, however, was unconscious of their feelings, and darted forth to the lawn to pursue the shadows, which were now fast settling, and to gambol with his favourite pet lamb. Soon fatigued with his sports, he leaned upon the tame animal, like a beautiful picture with a pure back ground. At that moment an old woman stood before him. He saw not her dark and hideous features, more frightful because she attempted to smile: he only saw the tempting fruit which she held. He heard not the unearthly tones of her voice, he only distinguished the words, “Shall I give you it?” He felt not the touch of her withered, bony hands, as he received it. He cared not, though these hands were placed upon his brow, as he devoured the fruit. He clapped his hands, and shouted, “Good,--good mamma! give little Edwy more,--more!” Oh! it was horrible to see the beautiful boy playing with a foul hag, hand in hand, cheek to cheek, and to hear him address her, as “kind mamma.” The lamb had fled far over the glen, at her approach--but the boy had even kissed her black and shrivelled lips! He was throwing his arms around her neck, amidst the long locks of white hair, which hung like serpents over it, when he was dragged away by his mother, who had rushed forth with her husband, upon beholding the woman’s familiarities. The hand of William Morden was raised, in fury, to strike the hellish crone, whom he knew to be the witch of the cave, when she disappeared to a short distance, where her form dilated against the faint light of the sky, and then she glared with her blood-red eyes, full upon him. She tossed her hands in the air, then approached a little nearer, and pointed to Emily, while she sung in awful notes--

Has early summer fruit for man?--
No, but for spirits:--yet the boy
Has tasted! and the mother ran
Too late!--too late, to shield her joy--
Embrace him! so have I!
Ere the sun sinks, from him you’ll fly,
Nor press a couch where he may die!
His mouth is sweet; beware his fangs!
Kiss him, he bites in maddest pangs!

The still calm all around, allowed every word and tone to be distinctly heard. When she had ended, she gave a shriek of delight, and slowly proceeded in the direction of the cave; at intervals turning round, and raising her arms. All objects around her could not be perceived, still those small malicious eyes sparkled in the gathering twilight, and her voice could be heard muttering.

“Nay, William, follow her not!” exclaimed Emily, as her husband prepared to pursue the witch. But he was now maddened by rage and despair, and he started forward, fully resolved to enter the cave, and brave its unseen and unknown terrors.

She anxiously gazed after him, until his form was altogether lost in the distance. The many tales to which she had listened, of the witch’s power and revenge, were unfolded again, and they seemed scrolls of the future, written with the fate of herself, and all that were dear. She led Edward into the hall, and soon perceived a marvellous change in the boy. At first he was silent, and did not acknowledge the attentions of his mother. He then shrieked in terror, and laughed in joy, alternately. His features were, at times, absolutely hideous, grinning, as if with malice, and then they became more beautiful than a mother’s eye ever beheld.

“Mamma! mamma!” he would exclaim,--and he looked from his mother upon vacancy--“give Edwy more--oh! it is sweet, sweet. Heed not the man, wicked man, who drives you away;--come back to Edwy!”

At length she succeeded in hushing him to rest, and her thoughts were of her husband. Darkness was now over the earth, and she imagined that the hag’s face was gazing in upon her at the casement, but she dared not rise to close it, lest she might disturb the sleeper. Sometimes, too, another form, seen by the moonlight, was there, and the witch dared to embrace the husband, in sight of his trembling wife! Hour after hour passed, and the next would be midnight, and William had not returned. In vain did his faithful servant, whom she had summoned to bear her company, suggest that his master might have refused to leave the cave, until the woman had read the destiny of the family more distinctly.

“Nay, Roger,” she said, “something has befallen your master. Oh! if he should return no more!” and her agony was too deep for tears.

“My lady, fear not. It is said that all those who are bewitched in the cave, have first listened to the love confessions of the old woman’s daughter, and drunk the cup of unearthly beauty. But I will instantly go to the cave.”

Emily was about to urge him to make all possible haste, when he shrieked out, and pointed to her breast; and there her boy was gradually raising up his head, like a serpent, to her face, whilst his eyes gleamed with the most fiendish expression, and his mouth was grinning and distended. For a moment she was silent as the dead, and gazed in horror; but she could not trace a touch of kindness on the young features. All love and beauty, in a moment, had been dashed from them. The boy’s eye never moved from hers, or changed its emotion;--it was slowly meeting hers, in malice. His breath was now close to her cheek!

“Kiss me, kiss me,” were the first words he uttered; but the tones were unknown, and seemed those of a young fiend. With a loud shriek he prepared to dart upon her face. She started from her seat, and threw him on the floor, and there the little monster rolled--gnashing his teeth, and tearing with his hands, in frantic fury. His eyes were of a glassy brightness, and coldness; and foam was on his little black lips. His struggles soon became fainter, and he lay motionless, and apparently lifeless. He then regained his own beauty, but was pale and trembling, as if from an infant dream of evil. His eyes were raised to his mother, and again they were affectionate, as of old.

“Mamma! mamma!” he cried, “take me to your arms, cover me up in your bosom; you wont kill me, mamma? Oh! leave me not here to die!”

There was a mournful upbraiding in the boy’s accents, and his mother burst into tears, and rushed forward to raise him, when, all at once, he sprang from the ground. Again he was changed; his hair stood erect, his mouth was stretched to an unnatural width, and he ran to her, howling like a dog. In a moment the servant struck him down. Bitterly did the mother weep to see her child bleeding on the floor, and yet, she dared not touch him. “He is possessed!” she exclaimed, “aye, that is the fate which the witch foretold!”

“My lady,” said Roger, “pardon me for what I am about to mention. He has been bewitched into a disease which must be fatal to himself, and to all whom he bites. Your security, and that of my master, lies only in his destruction.”

“Never!” was the indignant, but sorrowful reply.

The boy once more regained his own appearance, and called piteously for his mother. He put his little hands to his mouth, and when he gazed upon them, they were all suffused with blood! He burst into tears.

“Mamma, kiss the blood away from my lips. Wipe this love ringlet, or papa wont play with it. Oh! cool my lips. Take the fire out of them. Mamma, mamma! must I die? Who took me out of your bosom, to lie here?”

Every word fell, like a child’s curse, upon the ear of Emily.

“Oh Roger! good Roger,” implored the lady,--“what can be done?”

The boy attempted to rise, but his strength seemed gone, and his head dashed itself violently upon the floor. His mother fell down senseless. Roger rushed from the room, to bring water to sprinkle upon her face. In a moment he returned,--and there a scene was presented to his eyes, which nothing in after-life could curtain from his mind. Both lay lifeless. The countenance of the mother was mangled and bloody, and her boy’s teeth were in her cheek. As soon as she had fallen, the boy had crept to her, under the same infernal influence as before, and, fortunately, she never awoke from insensibility.

Meanwhile let us leave the dead, and follow the living. The reader is not asked to dry his tears after the mournful spectacle, and put off his sackcloth, and don singing robes and smiles, for soon the curtain may be raised from the same scene, to exhibit on the same stage, another victim.

William Morden, when out of the sight of his wife, came in view of the object of his pursuit. Unlike the aged, the hag avoided not the many elevations of sharp rock, on her path. After passing them, for a moment she would linger, and looking back, and howling, motion him, with a wild plunge of her arm, to follow. The scenery became more bleak and desolate, as if nothing in animal or vegetable life could flourish near her abode. Not a sound was heard; her steps were hurried, but silent. They were approaching the cave, which was formed in the old channel of the brook, and which was supposed to be the outlet of a subterraneous passage leading from the abbey into a deep wood, which skirted and concealed the bank. Amidst the trees strange lights seemed to move, and the witch, by their flash, was enabled to expose her malignant and hellish countenance to the gaze of Morden. She stood still and he advanced. From the folds of the cloak in which she was wrapped, she drew her hand, and pointed to a deep ravine, at a short distance from the cave. She muttered some incantations, raised her eyes, as if to invisible agents in the air, and exclaimed, “Slaves! ye know my power! Shew him--shew him what a word, escaping from my lips, has done. Now, fool!” and she grasped his hands for a moment, “gaze there--and tremble.”

Morden started, as lurid lights gleamed in a mass, over him. He stumbled down the declivity, and fell, his head striking against his lifeless steed! Unearthly shrieks of laughter saluted him, and as he sprung to his feet, the witch, surrounded by flames, was waving her arms in fiendish joy. He once more found himself on the path close beside her. All again was darkness, and now he heard the witch enter the cave. He prepared to follow her. The entrance was small, and could only admit him by crawling through. His face came in contact with the jutting rocks, and he imagined that around his neck the hag had placed her hands, to strangle him. He crept in, but saw nothing. No object could be distinguished, until, on a floor far below him, he beheld a few embers burning on the hearth, and a form walking around, and by its shadow intercepting the light. The ground was damp beneath his hands, and the very worms were crawling over them, and thus early claiming connexion, by twining around them the marriage ring of the grave. He knew not how to let himself down into the interior. The light from the embers, meanwhile, was gradually increasing; and at length he recognized the witch rubbing her hands over them. Her head was uncovered, and her long grey locks were flung back from a brow black and wrinkled. He could not remove his eyes from her, and every moment he expected that she would arise, and curse him with her arts. She lighted a taper, and placed it upon a small coffin, and sung a death dirge; at every interval, when she paused for breath, making the most unnatural mirth. The lid of the coffin slowly arose, as she removed the taper, and a beautiful boy raised his face, so pale and deadly, over which golden locks curled, like young spirits. His sweet blue eyes met those of Morden; his little hands were pressed together, and his lisping voice said, mournfully,--“Father!”

Morden sprang down, when, with a wild shriek, the witch turned upon him, and attempted to mimic the tones in which the fond word “father” had been breathed. He prepared to rush upon her, when every limb was powerless. He could not move, and yet all his senses were intensely active and awake. He beheld the coffin again closed, and glad now would he have been, could he have returned to his home, to assure himself of his child’s safety. The witch began some awful and unholy rites, as she lowered the coffin into a hole dug beside the embers, and then over the spot, after her incantations had been muttered, sprung up a mossy tomb-stone, with this inscription,--

Edward Morden,
AGED
FIVE YEARS.
1643.

She kindled another taper, when a larger coffin seemed to be placed before her by invisible hands. The lid was raised; and there Morden beheld his Emily, as beautiful now, amidst all the horrors of witchery and death, as when that face was revealed in the moonlight, on their nuptial night, slumbering so happily, to gaze upon which he had kept himself awake. But soon the features became clouded and black; aye, and blood--blood was seen upon them, and horrible gashes.

“Embrace her!” exclaimed the witch, “embrace her. How beautiful! What a sweet crimson! Fool! thy wife blushes! fly to her!”

He started forward, and fell upon the coffin, but the lid was closed. A long fit of insensibility was over him. Dreams still more revolting than the realities he had now beheld, kept him bound.

He awoke--but far different was the scene. A sigh which had been nursed in the dream, now found expression, and instantly a movement was heard, in a distant part of the cave; and a female bent over him, and perfumed his burning brow. Wild was the beauty beaming from her eyes; but soft and earthly was the hand which took his. He gazed silently upon her. She seemed scarcely to have entered upon girlhood, and yet Morden thought that she never could have been younger, and never, for the future, could be older. She spoke not; but her lips uttered strange sounds of the most thrilling music. She gently raised and led him to a couch, as soft as dreams. The air around breathed fragrance, and vibrated song. Invisible roses seemed to fall upon his brow and hands. So brilliant, and yet shadowy, was the light, that he could not gaze far around. Light seemed to be a boundary to itself, and no walls intercepted the vision.

“Who art thou?” was the exclamation of Morden, “and where am I? How have I been brought here? This is not the cave to which I came;--and where is the foul witch who so tormented me with her dark spells?”

“There cometh light after darkness,” replied his beautiful companion, “and joy after sorrow. What makes the love of one being so pleasant? Because it is nursed amidst the storms of hate. Love cares not for a palace; to sit, travel, and sleep, amidst gold and diamonds. The tomb is the home where it is most beautiful; and were two mortals, who cling to each other, to dwell there, it would be love’s paradise. As they sat beneath the shade of the cypress, how rapturous would their thoughts and words be; and oh! how true! At eve, as they walked together over graves, how confiding would they be! And at the midnight hour, when the wind howled, and ghosts flitted around them, how sweet the sleep of the two lovers, with a tomb-stone for their pillow!”

Each word thrilled through the soul of Morden.

“Mysterious angel!” he cried, “tell me thy name and abode!”

The young being dismissed the melancholy which, whilst she spoke, had rested on her countenance, and smiled. Her deep blue eyes gazed upon him, and, in the intoxication of the moment, he recollected not his own inquiry. But soon, thoughts of home and Emily, came into his mind, and checked others which were rising. He turned away from her, when she asked,--

“Would’st thou see the past?”

“Yes,” eagerly returned Morden. “Oh! could I once more behold her whom an untimely fate bore from me!”

She took from the table a golden cup, encircled with flowers, and throwing a liquid drop, which she had poured out on her hand, away in the distance; instantly, amidst music, with the bass of a profound calm, there arose before his eyes a strange scene. There were the haunts of his boyhood, the bower in the garden, and even the ivy-covered seat, on which was the plumed cap his mother’s hands had made; the gentle stream, with his book and fishing-rod lying on the bank; and last of all was himself, smiling, the actor in each. A pure mist arose before him, as in the bower he was placing the cap over his shining curls; bright eyes gleamed in it, and as it vanished, there stood his only sister! She appeared to be the gentler type of himself, and sweet was her beauty, though it was the beauty of Genius and Power. The mist descended, and hovered over them, as they were singing the lays of their own happiness, and shrouded both. It once more rolled away. There was seen a mourner, near a rose-scattered grave! The mourner was known to Morden long before he raised his features from the earth:--it was himself, at the grave of his sister!

He started up from the couch, and fell at the feet of his mysterious companion, exclaiming,--

“Perpetuate the scene! Give me boyhood again; give me the lost and the beloved, and I’ll adore you,--aye, love you!”

He arose calmly, after her lips had been pressed to his.

“Drink,” was the reply. “Drink from this cup, Morden, and death shall not separate the brother from the sister. Beautiful she was a month before her sudden end, and that month shall never be enrolled in your existence. Drink,--and the past is written over with every drop of this liquid, on the tablet of your mind, and on the objects of your external senses. Could inanimate things feel its influence--and shall not the mind? Drink!” and the scene again arose, in more thrilling beauty and truth. Sweet and long was the draught, and he returned the cup, empty. Strange sensations shot through his frame, and as strange feelings passed in his mind. Emily, in a moment, was forgotten, and his arms were around his companion, when a shriek was heard, and in place of the fading form of his sister, stood the withered Weird of the Cave! Her daughter, (for such the beautiful witch was,) now coldly repulsed him, and shrunk from his embrace. As soon as he could move his eyes from the hag, he turned round to chide his companion, when he found that she had disappeared. A loud laugh was raised by the old witch, and he pursued her. Darkness fell over the scene, and once more he was near to the dying embers.

“Go home!” exclaimed the hag,--“go home, and die there along with your dead wife and child! It is long past midnight. It is, therefore, meet time that you should go to sleep with them. Home--fool!”

Her words drove Morden almost to madness. He climbed up to the entrance, and as he left the cave, he heard the laugh of the two witches. He rushed along the path. He saw not the lurid lights that flashed around him, from the dark abode which he had left. Terror, shame, and despair, were driving their victim to what he considered as a sanctuary from evil. He was heedless of his steps, and as he stumbled, it but increased his fury; when he felt himself suddenly grasped, and on looking up, recognized his servant Roger.

“Is all well,--is all well, Roger, with your mistress? Speak, man,--speak!”

The servant hesitated, and then replied, “Yes, master!”

“Kind, dear Emily!” exclaimed Morden, “she has sent you to search for me. Nay, Roger, I will outstrip you; and I can delay no longer.--How anxious she will be! Death! no--no--it was but a horrible dream! Yet, Roger,--am I agitated? would my looks frighten Emily? Frighten--oh! no. Not a moment is to be lost,” and he darted forward, and soon, all breathless, reached his abode. He trode up the lawn with as heavy a pace as possible, in order that suspense might be ended, and that she might know of his return, before he appeared. A dim light was in the hall when he entered.

* * * * *

The faithful servant, when he arrived, heard no noise, and although he felt keenly for the woes of his master, did not venture into the hall before morning,--and there was his master lying, with his arms around his wife. He spoke to him;--but he spoke to the dead!

* * * * *

A distant relation laid claim to the dwelling, with the land attached to it; but from the awful scenes in the former, which we have related, it became uninhabited, and was soon an entire ruin; finally even without a wreck.

THE DEVIL’S WALL.

“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.