"Your wife's a witch, man; you should nail a horse-shoe on your
chamber-door."--REDGAUNTLET.



[Illustration]


ST. DUNSTAN AND THE DEVIL.


In days of yore, when saints were plenty,
(For each one now, you'd then find twenty,)
In Glaston's fruitful vale,
Saint Dunstan had his dwelling snug,
Warm as that inmate of a rug,
Named in no polished tale.

The holy man, when not employed
At prayers or meals, to work enjoyed
With anvil, forge, and sledge.
These he provided in his cell,
With saintly furniture as well;
So chroniclers allege.

The peaceful mattock, ploughshare, spade,
Sickle, and pruning-hook he made,
Eschewing martial labours.
Thus bees will rather honey bring,
Than hurtfully employ their sting