Which a Christian man is presumed to meet,

    But never a hint and never a line

    Can I find of a reading fiend like mine.

    I've crossed the Psalter with Brady and Tate,

    And laid the Primer above them all,

    I've nailed a horseshoe over the grate,

    And hung a wig to my parlor wall

    Once worn by a learned Judge, they say,

    At Salem court in the witchcraft day!

    "

     Conjuro te, sceleratissime

    ,

     Abire ad tuum locum!

    "—still

    Like a visible nightmare he sits by me,—

    The exorcism has lost its skill;

    And I hear again in my haunted room

    The husky wheeze and the dolorous hum!

    Ah! commend me to Mary Magdalen

    With her sevenfold plagues, to the wandering Jew,

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