over, their contents spilled, and the vessels themselves kept up a clattering dance the live-long night, at the beck of the unseen spirit. Thus worried out of his night's rest, the farmer soon found himself compelled to have the stone carefully conveyed back to its original resting-place, where it has remained ever since, and the good man's family have not again been disturbed by inexplicable nocturnal noises. Well may they say with Hamlet, "Rest, perturbed spirit!"
THE DULE UPO' DUN.
The tradition upon which Mr Roby has founded one of his stories appeared many years ago in the Kaleidoscope, a Liverpool weekly literary publication. Barely three miles from Clitheroe, as you enter a small village on the right of the high road to Gisburne, stood a public-house, having for its sign the above title, which, being translated into plain English, is "The Devil upon Dun" (horse) The story runs that a poor tailor sold himself to Satan for seven years, after which term, according to the contract, signed, as is customary, with the victim's own blood, his soul was to become "the devil's own." He was to have three wishes, and these were expended in a wish for a collop of bacon; in a second, that his wife were "far enough;" and then that she were back home again. At the end of the seven years the Father of Lies appeared and claimed his victim, who tremblingly contended that the contract was won from him by fraud and dishonest pretences, and had not been fulfilled. He ventured to hint at the other party's lack of power to bestow riches or any great gift; on which Satan was goaded into granting him another wish. "Then," said the trembling tailor,
