THE DEVIL IN DEVON.
The Devil walked about the land
And softly laughed behind his hand
To see how well men worked his will
And helped his darling projects still,
The while contentedly they said:
"There is no Devil; he is dead."
But when by chance one day in Spring
Through Devon he went wandering
And for an idle moment stood
Upon the edge of Daccombe wood,
Where bluebells almost hid the green,
With the last primroses between,
He bit his lip and turned away
And could do no more work that day.
R. F.
