if you want to.” 
  While I was talkin’, “Poohoo!” cried the
       angel.  A fiery man stood,
  Quicker than lightnin’, beside me.  “Light us
       the way to the village!”
  Said he.  And truly before us marched, a-burnin’,
       the Poohoo,
  Over stock and rock, through the bushes, a
       travellin’ torch-light. 
  “Handy, isn’t it?” laughin’, the angel said. 
      —­“What are ye doin’? 
  Why do you nick at y’r flint?  You can light
       y’r pipe at the Poohoo. 
  Use him whenever you like:  but it seems to
       me you’re a-frightened,—­
  You, and a Sunday’s-child, as you are:  do you
       think he will bite you?”
  “No, he ha’n’t bit me; but this you’ll allow
       me to say, Mr. Angel,—­
  Half-and-half I mistrust him:  besides, my tobacco’s
       a-burnin’. 
  That’s a weakness o’ mine,—­I’m afeard o’
       them fiery creeturs: 
  Give me seventy angels, instead o’ this big
       burnin’ devil!”
  “Really, it’s dreadfle,” the angel says he,
       “that men is so silly,
  Fearful o’ ghosts and spectres, and skeery
       without any reason. 
  Two of ’em only is dangerous, two of ’em hurtful
       to mankind: 
  One of ’em’s known by the name o’ Delusion,
       and Worry the t’other. 
  Him, Delusion, ’s a dweller in wine:  from
       cans and decanters
  Up to the head he rises, and turns your sense
       to confusion. 
  This is the ghost that leads you astray in forest
       and highway: 
  Undermost, uppermost, hither and yon the
       ground is a-rollin’,
  Bridges bendin’, and mountains movin’, and
       everything double. 
  Hark ye, keep out of his way!” “Aha!”
       I says to the angel,
  “There you prick me, but not to the blood:  I
       see what you’re after. 
  Sober am I, as a judge.  To be sure, I emptied
       my tankard
  Once, at the Eagle,—­once,—­and the landlord
       ’ll tell you the same thing,
  S’posin’ you doubt me.  And now, pray, tell
       me who is the t’other?”
  “Who is the t’other?  Don’t know without
       askin’?” answered the angel. 
  “He’s a terrible ghost:  the Lord forbid you
       should meet him! 
  When you waken early, at four or five in the
       mornin’,
  There he stands a-waitin’ with burnin eyes
       at y’r bed-side,
  Gives you the time o’ day with blazin switches
       and pinchers: 
  Even prayin’ don’t help, nor helps all your
       Ave Marias!
  When you begin ’em, he takes your jaws and
       claps ’em together;
  Look to heaven, he comes and blinds y’r eyes
       with his ashes;
  Be you hungry, and eat, he pizons y’r soup
       with his wormwood;
  Take you a drink o’ nights, he squeezes gall
       in the tankard;
  Run like a stag, he follows as close on