“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.