frae them, sir, to you,
Hoping your help to gie the deil his due.
I'm sure my heart will ne'er gie o'er to dunt,
Till in a fat tar-barrel Mause be burnt!

* * * * *

SIR WILLIAM.
Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than hurt;
The witch and ghaist have made themselves good sport.
What silly notions crowd the clouded mind,
That is through want of education blind!

SYMON.
But does your honour think there's nae sic thing
As witches raising deils up through a ring?
Syne playing tricks--a thousand I could tell--
Cou'd ne'er be contriv'd on this side hell.

SIR WILLIAM.
Such as the devil's dancing in a moor,
Amongst a few old women craz'd and poor,
Who were rejoiced to see him frisk and lowp
O'er braes and bogs with candles in * * *
Appearing sometimes like a black-horn'd cow,
Aft-times like Bawty, Badrans, or a sow;
Then with his train through airy paths to glide,
While they on carts, or clowns, or broomstaffs ride;
Or in an egg-shell skim out o'er the main,
To drink their leader's health in France or Spain;
Then aft by night bumbaze hare-hearted fools,
By tumbling down their cupboards, chairs, and stools.
Whate'er's in spells, or if there witches be,
Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me."

To glean from Cowper, Wordsworth, Tennyson, and the many other poets
who have contributed to superstitious lore, would swell this portion
of our work (_The Poets and Superstition_) to an undue proportion; and
therefore we take leave of the poets, after giving extracts from
Longfellow, whose talented effusions are not only read and appreciated
in America and England, but over the whole world.

FROM "THE GOLDEN LEGEND."

LUCIFER.
"Hasten! hasten!
O ye spirits!
From its station drag the ponderous
Cross of iron, that to mock us
Is uplifted high in air!

VOICES.
O, we cannot!
For around it
All the saints and guardian angels
Throng in legions to protect it;
They defeat us everywhere!

THE BELLS.
Laudo Deum verum!
Plebem voco!
Congrego clerum!

LUCIFER.
Lower! lower!
Hover downw