University of Virginia Library

At an old-fashioned inn, with a pendulous sign,
Once graced with the head of the king of the kine,
But innocent now of the slightest “design,”
Save calling low people to spurious wine,—
While the villagers, drinking, and playing “all fours,”
And cracking small jokes, with vociferous roars,
Were talking of horses, and hunting, and—scores
Of similar topics a bar-room adores,
But which rigid morality greatly deplores,
Till as they grew high in their bacchanal revels,
They fell to discoursing of witches and devils,—
A neat single rap,
Just the ghost of a tap,
That would scarcely have wakened a flea from his nap,
Not at all in its sound like your “Rochester Knocking”
(Where asses in herds are diurnally flocking),
But twice as mysterious, and vastly more shocking,
Was heard at the door by the people within,
Who stopped in a moment their clamorous din,
And ceased in a trice from their jokes and their gin:
When who should appear
But an odd-looking stranger somewhat “in the sere”
(He seemed at the least in his sixtieth year),
And he limped in a manner exceedingly queer,
Wore breeches uncommonly wide in the rear,
And his nose was turned up with a comical sneer,
And he had in his eye a most villainous leer,
Quite enough to make any one tremble with fear!
Whence he came,
And what was his name,
And what his purpose in venturing out,
And whether his lameness was “gammon” or gout,
Or merely fatigue from strolling about,
Were questions involved in a great deal of doubt,—
When, taking a chair,
With a sociable air,
Like that which your “Uncle” 's accustomed to wear,
Or a broker determined to sell you a share
In his splendid “New England Goldmining” affair,
He opened his mouth and went on to declare
That he was a devil!—“The devil you are!”
Cried one of the guests assembled there,
With a sudden start, and a frightened stare!
“Nay, don't be alarmed,” the stranger exclaims,
“At the name of the devil,—I'm the Devil of Names!
You'll wonder why
Such a devil as I,
Who ought, you would say, to be devilish shy,
Should venture in here with never a doubt,
And let the best of his secrets out;
But mind you, my boys,
It 's one of the joys
Of the cunningest woman and craftiest man,
To run as quickly as ever they can,
And put a confidante under ban
Not to publish their favorite plan!
And even the de'il
Will sometimes feel
A little of that remarkable zeal,
And (when it 's safe) delights to tell
The very deepest arcana of—well;—
Besides, my favor this company wins,
For I value next to capital sins
Those out-and-outers who revel in inns!
So, not to delay,
I'm going to say,
In the very fullest and frankest way,
All about my honors and claims,
Projects and plans, and objects and aims,
And why I'm called ‘The Devil of Names!’
I cheat by false graces,
And duplicate faces,
And treacherous praises,
And by hiding bad things under plausible phrases!
I'll give you a sample,
By way of example:
Here 's a bottle before me, will suit to a T
For a nice illustration: this liquor, d'ye see,
Is the water of death, though topers agree
To think it, and drink it, as pure ‘eau de vie;’
I know what it is,—that 's sufficient for me!
For the blackest of sins, and crimes, and shames,
I find soft words and innocent names.
The Hells devoted to Satan's games
I christen ‘Saloons’ and ‘Halls,’ and then,
By another contrivance of mine again,
The 're only haunted by ‘sporting men,’—
A phrase which many a gamester begs,
In spite of the saw that ‘eggs is eggs,’
To whiten his nigritudinous legs!

“To debauchees I graciously grant
The favor to be ‘a little gallant,’
And soften vicious vagrancy down,
By civilly speaking of ‘men about town;’
There 's cheating and lying
In selling and buying,
And all sorts of frauds and dishonest exactions
I 've brought to the smallest of moral infractions,
Merely by naming them ‘business transactions’!
There 's swindling, now, is vastly more fine
As ‘Banking,’—a lucky invention of mine,
Worth ten in the old diabolical line!

“In lesser matters it 's all the same,
I gain the thing by yielding the name;
It 's really quite the broadest of jokes,
But, on my honor, there 's plenty of folks
So uncommonly fond of verbal cloaks,
They can't enjoy the dinners they eat,
Court the ‘muse of the twinkling feet,’
Laugh or sing, or do anything meet
For Christian people, without a cheat
To make their happiness quite complete!
The Boston saints
Are fond of these feints;
A theatre rouses the loudest complaints,
Till it 's thoroughly purged from pestilent taints,
By the charm of a name and a pious Te Deum,—
Yet they patronize actors, and handsomely fee 'em!
Keep (shade of ‘the Howards!’) a gay ‘Athenæum,’
And have, above all, a harmless ‘Museum,’
Where folks who love plays may religiously see 'em!

“But leaving a trifle which cost me more trouble
By far than the worth of so flimsy a bubble,
I come to a matter which really claims
The studious care of the Devil of Names.
There 's ‘Charity’ now”—

But the lecture was done,
Like old Goody Morey's when scarcely begun;
The devil's discourse by its serious teaching
Had set 'em a-snoring, like regular preaching!
One look of disdain on the sleepers he threw,
As in bitter contempt of the slumbering crew,
And the devil had vanished without more ado,—
A trick, I suspect, that he seldom plays you!