‘_Multa enim mala non egisset Daemon, nisi provocatus a sagis_’ saith mine author, Master Bailiff, which is as much as to say that the Devil availeth precious little, unless he be titillated or spurred on by warlocks, wizards, or witches, and much it is to be feared that this wise Doctor, urged on or driven by an immoderate and hydropathic love (or rather let me call it lust) of learning, hath fallen into a cursed intercourse with the angels of darkness, who, as the blessed Saint Austin saith in his book entitled in English _The City of God_, having been deceived himself, goeth about to deceive others. ‘_Daemones enim advocati praesto sunt, seque exorcismis et conjurationibus quasi cogi patiuntur, ut miserum majorum genus in impietate detineant._’ Lo, Master Bailiff, have we not witnessed proof thereof ourselves? Did not old Mother Nightbird conjure a devil out of a parsley bed, who incontinently deserted her in the end, as she herself confessed, that she might perish in her mortal sin? Alas, wretched men compel the Devil with spells, but the Devil afterwards compelleth them with whips of scorpions. Satan feedeth them at first with tit-bits from his own mouth as they were his own dear darlings, but afterwards he turneth and rendeth them like a fierce hound, gulping them down his foul black throat like so many morsels.’ ‘_Vitam turbant, somnos inquietant, irrepentes etiam in corpora mentes terrent, ut ad cultum sui cogant; cum sint ipsi poenales, querunt--et cetera._ The Devil, Master Bailiff, the Devil disquieteth human life, sendeth horrid dreams, terrifieth the mind, that he may compel men to worship him, whereby committing deadly sin. Of this, which I have thus obscurely and indeed somewhat brokenly thrown out, make no doubt but that I shall treat at becoming length and with much matter of illustration in my next Holy Day discourse. But as another author saith, speaking the very words of truth, “_Vita brevior----_” Holy Saints defend us, what was that?’ ‘Eh?’ said the Bailiff, starting up, ‘eh?’ ‘Some one knocketh,’ said the Parson. ‘’Tis the Doctor,’ said the Bailiff, settling himself resolutely in his chair. Sir John closed his volume and laid it with a somewhat tremulous hand upon the table. Taking the lamp in his hand he advanced to the door. ‘_In tuas manus, Domine_,’ he murmured as he unbarred and threw it open. A deep groan came from without, and an agonised voice exclaimed, ‘Hence Hell-hounds, hence; as yet I am not yours.’