The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1860-04-04
The Devil and Tom Walker.
By WASHINGTON FRYING.
As Tom waxed old, however. he grew

As Tom waved old, however, he grew
thoughtful. Having secured the good
things of this world, he began to feel am
xious about the next. He thought with
regret on the bargain he had made with
Ms black friend, and put bis wits to work
to cheat him out of his condition. He
became. therefors. all of q sudden, vio-
lent church goer, as If Heaven were to be
carried by force of lungs. Indeed, one
might tell when he sinned most by the
clamor of his Sunday devotion. The
quiet christians, who had been modestly
and quietly travelling Zion-ward, were
struck with self-reproach at seeing them
selves 20 suddenly out-stripped in their
career by this newly made convert. Tom
was as rigid in religion as in money mat
tiers. He was stern supervisor and GEN.
surer to his neighbors. and seemed to
think every sin entered upon their account
became credit on his page. de talked
Of the expediency of renewing the perse.
sution of the Quakers and Anabaptists.
In word, Toms zeal became as his
riches.
Still in spite of his strenuous attentions
to forms, Tom had lurking dread that
the devil after all, would have his due.
Lest he should be taken unawares it is
said he always carried small bible in his
pocket. He also had great folio bible
in his counting-house desk, and would
frequently be found reading when people
called on business; on such occasions he
would lay his green spectacles on the
book to mark the place, while he turned
around to drive some usurious business
Some say Tom grew a little crack
Drained in his older days, and then, fancy
ing his end approaching, he had his horse
newly shod, saddled and bridled, with his
feet uppermost, because that at the last,
the world would be turned upside down,
In which case he would fud the horse
ready for mounting, and he was deter.
mined to give his friend q run for it.
This, however. is probably o mere old
wife's tale. If he really did take that
precsution, it was totally superAuous-
ct least, so says the authentic old legend,
which closes his story in the following
maAner:
One hot afternoon in the dog-days just
ASA terrible thunder-gnst came up, Tom
sat in his counting. house, in his white
linen cap and Indian silk morning gown.
He was on the point of foreclosing a
mortgage BY which he would complete
No rnia Of an unhappy speculator for
whom be had professed the greatest
friendship. The poor land jobber begged
him to grant few months service. Tom
hsd grown testy and irritated, and refused
to give another day.
aMy family will be ruined and brought
upon the parish. said the land jobber.
sCharity begins at home," replied TON.
II must take care of myself these hard
tfmes.n
"You have made SO much money out
Of me-" said the speculatcr
Tom lost his patience aud his piety
"The devil take me-" said he, "if have
made farthing."
dust then there were three loud raps at
the street door. He stepped ont to see
who was there. A black man with black
horse which neighed with impatience
."Tom, you are come for, "said the black
fellow gruay.
Tom shrnnk back, but too late. He
had left his bible buried under the
mortgage be was about to foreclose
epfwssa poor sinner taken more unawares
Thc black man whisped him like a child
sstride Of the horse, and away he gallop-
ed in tho midst Of thunderstorm The
clsrksstuck their pens behind their ears
cod stared after him from the windows.
Away went Tom Walker dashing down
the stseet, his white cap bobbiug up and
down. his morning gown auttering in the
wind, and his steed striking FIRE out of the
pavements at every boand. When the
clerks turned to look, the black mao had
disappeared.
Tom Walker never returned to fore
close the mortgage. A countryman who
lived near the swamp reported that in the
height Of Q thunder-gust he had heard a
great elattey Of boofs and bowling along
the road, and that when he had run to the
window he just caught sight of figure
such, asI have described, on horse that
gslloped like mad across the feIds, over
the hills, and down in the black hemlock
swamp toward the old Indian fort, and
that, shortly thunder bolt fell in that
same direction which seemed to set the
whole forest ia blaze.
The good people Of Boston shook their
heads and shrugged their shoulders.
They had been SO accustomed to witches
and hob goblins, and tricks of the devil