ed, "Nay!
Give over, I pray!"--
For his courage began fast to dwindle.

Quoth the lad, "I must on
Till my conjuring's done;
To break off just now would be ruin:
So fetch me the thorns,--
And a devil without horns,
In the copper I soon will be brewing!"--

O the Miller he shook
For fear his strange cook
Should, indeed and in truth, prove successful;
But feeling ashamed
That his pluck should be blamed,
Strove to smother his heart-quake distressful.

So the fuel he brought,
And said he feared nought
Of the Devil being brewed in his copper:
He'd as quickly believe
Nick would sit in his sieve,
Or dance 'mong the wheat in his hopper:--

And yet, lest strange ill,
From such conjuring skill,
Should arise, and their souls be in danger,--
He would have his crab-stick,
And would show my lord Nick
Some tricks to which he was a stranger!

O the lad 'gan to raise
'Neath the caldron a blaze,--
While the Miller, his crab-cudgel grasping,
Stood on watch, for his life!--
But his terrified wife
Her hands--in devotion--was clasping!

When the copper grew warm,
Quoth the lad, "Lest some harm
From the visit of Nick be betiding,--
Set open the door,
And not long on the floor
Will the Goblin of Hell be abiding!"

Quickly so did the host,
And returned to his post,--
Uplifting his cudgel with trembling:--
His strength was soon proved,--
For the copper-lid moved!--
When Grist's fears grew too big for dissembling.

Turning white as the wall,
His staff he let fall,--
While the Devil from the caldron ascended,--
And, all on a heap,--
With a flying leap,
On the fear-stricken Miller descended!

In dread lest his soul,
In the Devil's foul goal,
Should be burnt to a spiritual cinder,--
Grist grabbed the Fiend's throat,
And his grisly eyes smote,--
Till Nick's face seemed a platter of tinder!

Yea, with many a thwack,
Grist battered Nick's back,--
Nor spared Satan's portly abdomen!--
Hot Nick had lain cold
By this time--but his hold
Grist lost, through the screams of his woman!

While up from the floor,
And out, at the door,
Went the Fiend, with the skip of a dancer!
He seemed panic-struck,--
Or, doubted his luck,--
For he neither staid question nor answer!

"Grist!" the beggar-lad cri