This was sufficiently terrifying, one would think, to excuse the Baron for following the example of his host. But, though he found afterwards that he must have perspired freely, he courageously stood his ground.
“Vy have you gomed here?” he demanded in a voice nearly as hollow as the Wraith.
As solemnly as before the spirit replied—
“From Pit that's bottomless and dark—
Methinks I hear it shrieking—Hark!”
(The Baron certainly did hear a tumult that might well be termed infernal; though whether it emanated from Mr. Gallosh, fiends, or the piper, he could not at the moment feel certain.)
“I came o'er many leagues of heather
To carry back the answer whether
The noble chieftain of my clan
Conducts him like a gentleman.”
After this warning, to put the third question required an effort of the most supreme resolution. The Baron was equal to it, however.
“Vat instroction do you give me?” he managed to utter.
In the gravest accents the Wraith chanted—
“Hang ever kilt above the knee,
With Usquebaugh be not too free,
When toasts and sic'like games be mooted
See that your dram be well diluted;
And oh, if you'd escape from Hades,
Lord Tulliwuddle, 'ware the ladies!”