keep the whole of the swine of Saxony in order, rather than endeavour to preserve a woman's honor against her inclination, and that his mistress had nearly torn his eyes out for his pains. We think that if we had only a dozen or so of this description of hobgoblins, "warranted faithful," we might be able to make a pretty little fortune, by parting with them, by private sale of course, "the strictest secrecy being observed," for a man would not like to bid for such an animal at a public auction. It is one thing to wear horns, and another to proclaim the fact to the world.

In the year 1707, a butcher at St. Ulrich's, at Vienna, paid his addresses to an accomplished damsel of the place, but, inasmuch as a tailor and habitmaker, who was a widower, and well to do in the world, had been dancing attendance upon her for some years, he could not obtain the preference, the tailor's purse being too heavy for him. In short, the latter carried off the prize; but "there's many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip;" and on the bridal day, when the party were in the height of their festivity, the unfortunate tailor was taken suddenly ill, and betaking himself to his bed, died in three days. Now, we will not say what he died of, or where he was buried, no, not even in

German or Dutch; lest, should the butcher be

living, (and, if the

Germans attain unto the

longevity of Indian Generals, we see no reason why he should not be,) a case should be attempted to be got up against him in a certain Court, where the practice is exceedingly sharp. No matter then, what carried him off-he died, and there was an end of the matter, so far as he was concerned.

The widow, of course, was inconsolable. If the bridegroom had died at the expiration of the honeymoon, she might have been a model of becoming resignation; but dying at the church door, as it were, gives quite a different aspect to matters. She therefore requested some of her friends on the day of the melancholy occurrence to sit up with her in the house wherein lay "the dear departed." But, behold, in comes a most outrageous hobgobling, kicking up a fearful riot and upsetting everything, yet without inflicting any personal injury. But amongst his little playful tricks he threw the contents of the dishes that were upon the table at all the young ladies' heads, sent the plates flying in every direction, and the tumblers and glasses after them, till it was universally agreed that such a mischievous imp had never been seen before. Thereon they summoned a Capuchin

monk to their aid, who pattered away some prayer or other, which, as it did not help them a whit, we presume to have been a supplication to the Virgin Mary. The good father then put his breviary with other consecrated things on the top of a goblet full of wine; but our friend Puck cared as little for these as for the Litany to the Virgin, and swept the breviary and goblet, wine and all, off the table. We confess ourselves sceptical on this point: a Capuchin monk would have drained off the goblet before he put the breviary on it. However, the hobgobling was proof against all adjuration by "book, bell, and candle," and the bride was fain to return to her parents' house, on which the hobgobling disappeared and was never seen again; whence people concluded that the butcher had not only sent the goblin thither, but that he had also wickedly the tailor, ah! how near we were letting the cat out of the bag! But we are still masters of our secret, and intend to remain so.

CHAPTER XXI.

"PUCK.

- How now, Spirit! whither wander you ?

FAIRY.-Over hill, over dale,

Over park, over pale,

Through flood, through fire,
I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moon's sphere."

MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT DREAM,

Act ii., Scene 2.

OF FALSE SPIRITS.

There are many things in nature which people hear, such as the scratching of a cat, a rat, or a mouse, which the superstitious at once conceive to be occasioned by the perambulations of a ghost. If a horse paws the

ground, or the wind throws anything down, the same idea enters their mind. If the walls, tables, or benches creak with the wind at night, or the cry of the bittern or any other bird be heard; or if the teredo be gnawing a plank, all their fears are forthwith aroused, and the noises which they hear are ascribed to a spirit.

Nicholas Remigius, in his 3rd part of Demoniolatry, mentions that in the Jesuit College at Naples, there was a young Jesuit, of good parts, but constitutionally timorous to an extreme: the slightest noise in the College, even the rustling of the leaves on the trees, he was wont to take as a ghost-we fear that he had a disturbed conscience. He was continually complaining to the Superior that the college was full of ghosts, but was only laughed at for his pains. One night, when all the brotherhood had retired to rest, a door, which happened to be ajar, clapped backwards and forwards with the wind, on which one of the fraternity, whose slumbers were disturbed thereby, rose up to shut it: the night being very dark, he lost his way in returning along the cloisters, and could by no means find his own cell again, not knowing whether he should turn to the right or left. In this dilemma he reflected that all the doors of the cells, except his own, were shut,