"I say, and will vouch for 't, that all thy promises are lying cheats, and that thou couldst not give me a beggarly bodle, if thou wert to lay down thy two horns for it; so I demand my bond, according to thy pledge." "To show thee that I can keep this bond, even conformably to the terms of my own offer just now, and thy pitiful carcase to boot, I'll e'en grant thee another wish, that thou mayest be satisfied thou art past all hope of redemption. Said I not, that if I could not fulfil any wish of thine, even to the compass of all possible things, and the riches of this great globe itself, I would release thee from this bond?" "Yea," said Michael, with an eager assent. "Then wish once more; and mind that it be no beggarly desire. Wish to the very summit of wealth, or the topmost pinnacle of thy ambition, for it shall be given thee." "Then," said the tailor hastily, as though fearful the word would not come forth quick enough from his lips, "I wish thou wert riding back again to thy quarters on yonder dun horse, and never be able to plague me again, or any other poor wretch whom thou hast gotten into thy clutches." The demon gave a roar loud enough to be heard to the very antipodes, and away went he, riveted to the back of this very dun horse, which Michael had seen through the window grazing quietly in the lane, little suspecting the sort of jockey that was destined to bestride him. The tailor ran to the door to watch his departure, almost beside himself for joy at this happy riddance. Dancing and capering into the kitchen, where his wife was almost dying through terror, he related, as soon as he was able, the marvellous story of his deliverance. He relapsed not into his former courses, but lived happily to a good old age, leaving behind him at his death good store of this world's gear, which, as he had no children, was divided amongst his poorer relatives. One of them having purchased the house where the tailor dwelt, set up the trade of a tapster therein, having for his sign "_The Dule upo' Dun_;" which to this day attests the truth of our tradition, and the excellence of "mine host's" cheer. WINDLESHAW ABBEY. "Adieu, fond love; farewell, you wanton powers; I'm free again. Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours, Bewitching pain, Fly to fools that sigh away their time: My nobler love to heaven doth climb; And there behold beauty still young, That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy; Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung, And honoured by eternity and joy: There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire; Fond loves decline, this heavenly love grows higher." --BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.