"You'll do what, sir?"

"I'll grant you any three things-riches, wealth, possessions, or anything else."

"And for these benefits, what do you require from me?"

"All I require, Mr. Nat, is that, at the expiration of seven years, you will acknowledge me as your master."

"Indeed, sir,-that is, I don't know what to say to your proposal. Now I'm a free man, and I'd rather be my own master than be the slave of another."

"But, friend, when you have plenty of money you will be your own master, and besides, with a full pocket you can drink as much as you like of Will's best beer. I shall guarantee in the bond your pockets shall be always full."

"To-morrow night, if you will meet me, I will give you an answer."

"To-morrow, friend, it will be too late. Your decision must be now or never. If you desire a merry and a jolly life, having a full pocket and plenty of good ale, sign this bond, which read for yourself."

Nat took the doc.u.ment from the hand of the stranger, which he carefully read twice over. When completing its second perusal, he remarked that it appeared all right, though not wholly satisfactory as it contained no sentence _securing the blessings_ for which he had to wish _during the seven years_.

"Will it be satisfactory to you then, friend, if words to that effect are added?"

"Yes, sir," replied Nat.

The stranger then wrote upon the bond the words Nat desired should be added, and presenting it to the smith, he at once signed the doc.u.ment, when, on its being done, the stranger vanished out of his sight, leaving Nat there in darkness and alone. However, he ultimately found the door of his cottage, and, on entering, went at once to bed.

It was noon on the succeeding morning before Nat awoke. He had, like all beer and spirit drinkers, slept himself sober. When he was aroused from his slumbers, he began to think over the previous night's scene, and, step by step, he was at last able to trace the whole of his doings from the time he left home until his return, and then he fully realized his present position. The sad fact that he had sold himself body and soul to the arch-fiend was now a terrible reality. "I have been a fool, and no mistake," said he to himself; "but what's done can't be helped. Here is the bond, the conditions of which I'm bound to carry out." He then got up, and dressed himself, and going downstairs, he found his dinner, which consisted of potatoes and milk, on the table. After partaking of a portion of the dinner his too-indulgent wife had prepared for him, addressing his faithful Betsy he unconsciously exclaimed:

"I wish, old girl, we had fried bacon with the potatoes."

No sooner had the words escaped his lips than there appeared before him on the little round table a plateful of savoury bacon, on which he was so enraged with his own want of prudence, that he wished it and its contents under the grate, when it was removed thither by some invisible hand.

Nat, on witnessing this, foamed with pa.s.sion, and danced and cursed and swore like one possessed with the evil one. He carried on his ravings for some time to the astonishment of his wife, as she could not divine the cause of his strange conduct; and amid one of his fits of rage he exclaimed, "Oh, that I had a jug of Will's best beer, for my mouth and my tongue are on fire!" In a moment the foaming ale was placed on the table, and Nat swallowed it at a single draught. When he placed the empty jug on the table, he said, addressing his wife:

"O Betsy! what a fool I've been. I was promised riches, possessions, and honours, if I'd do a particular thing, but my only reward is a jug of ale."

From that day Nat was an altered man. He ceased his visits to the Jolly Fiddler. Occasionally he was to be found in his shop, but more frequently he might be seen walking up and down the mountain-side alone, with an air of pensive sadness on his brow. As years rolled on he became more dejected and depressed in spirits, the cause of which was known to no mortal. He did not even tell his wife the terrible secret of his unhappiness. Years and years pa.s.sed on with this heavy load on his heart. At last it came to the very day but one when he had to fulfil the condition of the bond. Why or wherefore I do not know, but the thought struck him about me, and thinking, perhaps, that I could afford him some little aid, he started off yesterday morning, and he spent several hours with me here last night. He told me the whole of his tale, and when he had completed its recital, I said to him very kindly, but firmly,-

"You have done, my friend, a very wicked thing."

"O sir, I know I have; but my heart is so depressed, pray do not, therefore, upbraid me now, but try and afford me some a.s.sistance."

"I really can't see my way to help you, especially as your enemy is so subtle."

"But, my dear pastor, I think you can break the net in which he has caught me."

"There is only one way of defeating him, Nat; that way is, by prayer and supplication for Divine help and guidance when the hour of your doom comes."

"O sir, I have poured out my whole soul to my Redeemer, but I've received no answer to my prayer."

"Relief, Nat, may yet come. Oh, don't cease in your pet.i.tions to the throne of mercy."

"I'm terribly afraid, sir, that my sins are so black, there is no hope for me."

"While there is life, friend, there is hope; and even yet, at the eleventh hour, a way of escape may be opened to you."

"Heaven be praised if there be, sir; but this bond is too explicit in terms, and he who holds the counterpart is too exacting, for me to hope for an escape."

"You have the bond, then, Nat?"

"Yes, sir! here it is."

"Have you received the benefits of its conditions?"

"The only benefit I received was one jug of beer. As for the bacon, that was devoured by the flames."

"There is a line, which appears as an afterthought, added to the bond, namely, guaranteeing the security of the blessings wished for during a period of seven years. Do you now say, Nat, that you have not partic.i.p.ated in the benefits of the wishes during the seven years?"

"I declare, sir, in the most solemn manner, that the only benefit I had was the jug of ale already referred to."

"Now, Nat, I think I can help you out of your difficulty, and I will pray Heaven to succour and a.s.sist you in the terrible encounter awaiting you.

But to insure success you must observe to the letter my directions. Will you promise me?"

"Most solemnly I promise to obey you to the letter."

"You must fulfil your engagement with the enemy, and if he insists on your carrying out the condition of the bond, then tell him to his face that you will not do so, unless he will first carry out _his_ conditions about the seven years. If he refuses, then demand another wish, and as you have received no benefit from the previous ones, he will, I think, concede the point. If so, then let your wish be that something terrible might happen to him."

Now, said the parson to me, I can proceed no further with my tale. Every moment I am anxiously waiting news, or the return of Nat. If he comes you shall hear the rest of the story from his own lips,-whereupon Nat entered, and throwing up his hat to the top of the room, cried out, "He is conquered! he is conquered! Hurrah for Parson Jones! Hurrah for the good Vicar of Llan! before whom both witches and devils flee." At last Nat became calm and composed, when he proceeded to complete the tale, which I tell in his own words:-

"I met the old chap at the appointed time and place, when he produced the bond, and asked me if I was ready to accompany him.

"I said, said I, 'Not yet, my lord.'

"'Why?' said he.

"'Because,' said I, 'you have not fulfilled the conditions of the bond.'

"'In what have I failed?' asked he.

"'In this,' said I, 'I was, by the bond, to enjoy the blessings for seven years, and I've had only one jug of beer.'

"'But that was your fault,' said he.

"'Whether it be my fault or not,' said I, 'I will not come with you unless you fulfil your conditions.'

"'I will not wait for you another seven years,' said he; 'but I will permit your having one more wish.'

"'You'll do what?' said I.

"'I will grant you the privilege of one more wish.'

"'You really will?' said I.