Here Psellus is rambling in his dissertation as wildly as though his own head were affected by this demoniacal ailment. Which Allatius observing comments thus:-- ‘What has Barychnas or Babutzicarius[424] or if you like Ephialtes to do with the fair lady of the woods or the mountains (_pulcram nemorum sive montium_)? From them men suffer lying abed; whereas attacks such as we have said are made by Callicantzarus[425], Burcolacas[426], or Nereid, occur in the open country and public roadways.... And Psellus himself knew quite well that the ‘fair lady of the mountains’ was nothing other than those who are commonly called the ‘fair mistresses’[427] (i.e. Nereids), who have nothing on earth to do with Barychnas and Ephialtes.’ The argument of this strangely confused passage is happily beside our mark, and we need not puzzle, with Psellus, over the demonology of dyspepsia. His interpretation of the phrase καλὴ τῶν ὀρέων I have even ventured to omit, for a devious path of wilful reasoning leads only to the conclusion that it means the tree on which Christ was crucified. The only method in his mad medley of medicine and theology is the intention to refute the popular belief in a beautiful goddess who haunted the mountains. Some details of the belief may be gathered from Allatius’ criticism of the argument. Psellus mentions only the title ἡ καλὴ τῶν ὀρέων, but Allatius amplifies it in the phrase _pulcram nemorum sive montium_, implying thereby that in his own time Artemis--for it can be none other--was associated as much with woodland as with mountain; while her intimate connexion with the Nereids is adduced as a matter of common knowledge. The somewhat loose phrase by which Allatius indicates this fact--_pulcram montium nihil aliud esse quam eas quas vulgus vocat pulcras dominas_--must not be read in any strict and narrow sense. The beautiful lady of the mountains is, he means, just such as are the Nereids; but she is a definite person, distinguished as of old among her comrades by supreme grace and loveliness. The statements of Leo Allatius, based as they are in the main upon his own recollections of his native Chios, find remarkable corroboration in a history of the same island written a little earlier by one Jerosme Justinian[428]. In the main the history is purely fabulous, taking its start from a point, if my memory serves me rightly, many centuries earlier than the Deluge; but the reference to contemporary superstitions may I think be trusted.