heaven, all the year round, save upon the twelve nights between Christmas and Twelfth-night.[129] If any door is left open upon the night when Hackelberg goes by, one of the dogs will run in and lie down in the ashes of the hearth, nor will any power be able to make him stir. During all the ensuing year there will be trouble in that household, but when the year has gone round and the hunt comes again, the unbidden guest will rise from his couch, and, wildly howling, rush forth to join his master. Strangely distorted, there lurks in this part of the story a ray of the Vedic sleep-god Sârameyas. ‘Destroyer of sickness, guard of the house, oh, thou who takest all shapes, be to us a peace-bringing friend.’ The Valkyriur in their turn are changed by the mediæval spirit into witches. The Witches’ Sabbath, the old beldames on broomsticks riding through the air, to hold their revels on the Brocken, reproduce the swan-maidens hurrying to join the flight of Odin. And, again, changed once more, ‘Old Mother Goose’ is but a more modern form of a middle-age witch, when the thought of witches no longer strikes terror. And while we are upon the subject of witches it may be well to recall how the belief in witches has left its trace in our word ‘nightmare.’ _Mara_ was throughout Europe believed to be the name of a very celebrated witch somewhere in the North, though the exact place of her dwelling was variously stated. It is highly probable that this name Mara was once a byname of the death-goddess Hel, and it _may_ be etymologically connected with the name of the sea (Meer), the sea being, as we have seen, according to one set of beliefs, the home of the soul. Odin, or a being closely analogous with him, reappears in the familiar tale of the Pied Piper of Hameln, he who, when the whole town of Hameln suffered from a plague of rats and knew not how to get rid of them, appeared suddenly--no one knew from whence--and professed himself able to charm the pest away by means of the secret magic of his pipe. But it is a profanation to tell the enchanted legend otherwise than in the enchanted language of Browning:-- ‘Into the street the piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then like a musical adept To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled.’ Then the townsfolk, freed from their burden, refused the piper his promised reward, and scornfully chased him from the town. On the 26th of June he was seen again, but this time (Mr. Browning has not incorporated this little fact) fierce of aspect and dressed like a _huntsman_, yet still blowing upon the magic pipe. Now it is not the rats who follow, but the children:-- ‘All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.’