The Devil was sitting in Hades one day, In a very disconsolate sort of a way. One could tell from his vigorous switching of tail, His scratching his horn with the point of his nail, That something had gone with His Majesty wrong, The steam was so thick and the sulphur so strong. He rose from his throne with a gleam in his eye, And beckoning an agate-eyed imp standing by, Commanded forthwith to be sent to him there Old Charon, employed in collecting the fare Of the wicked, who crossed the waters of Styx, And found themselves soon in a deuce of a fix. Old Charon, thus summoned, came soon to his chief, As the Devil was angry, the confab was brief. Says the Devil to Charon, "Now, what shall I do? The world it grows worse and grows wickeder, too; What with Portland, Chicago, Francisco, New York, I get in my mortals too fast for my fork; I haven't the room in these caverns below, St. Peter, above, is rejecting them so. So hie you, my Charon, to earth, far away, Fly over the globe without any delay, And find me a spot, quite secluded and drear, Where I can drill holes from the center in here. I must blast out more space; so survey the spot well, For the project on hand is the enlargement of Hell. "But recollect one thing, Old Charon, when you Can locate the district where I can bore through, There must be conveniences scattered around To carry on business when I'm above ground. An 'ink-pot' must always be ready at hand To write out the names of the parties I strand. There must be a 'punch-bowl,' a 'frying pan,' too, A 'caldron' in which to concoct a 'ragout.' An 'old faithful' sentinel showing my power, Must shoot a salute on the earth every hour, And should any mortal by accident view The spot you have chosen, why, this you must do: Develop a series of pools, green and blue, That while these poor earth bugs may beauties admire, They'll forget that below I'm poking the fire. Now fly away, Charon, be quick as you can, For my place here's so full that I can't roast a man."