With the following old tale in verse we close our collected information on Demonology--a tale founded upon one of the most extraordinary events recorded in the annals of the human mind. Not a century and a half ago all the circumstances which form the romance, with the addition of many others nearly as ridiculous, were not only firmly believed by the peasants of a few Sclavonian villages, among whom they were supposed to have happened, but were received as truths, and seriously commented upon by learned divines and physicians of the surrounding provinces. A superstition somewhat similar appears to have prevailed in Bohemia and Silesia previous to the days of Dr. Henry More, who details several of the stories to which it gave rise, in his _Philosophical Works_:-- "I left the chaulkie Cliftes of olde Englònde, And paced thro' many a Countrie faire to see, Thorowe the Reaulme of Greece and Holie-Londe, Untill I journeied into sadde Hongrìe. I sawe olde Cecrops' Towne, and famous Rome; But Davyd's holie place I liked beste: I sawe dire Sightes before I found my Home, But much the direst at the Towne of Peste. It was a goodlie Citie, fayre to see; By its prowde Walles and towering Mosques it gave A delicate Aspèct to the Countrèe, With its Bridg of Boates acrosse the Danow's Wave. Yet manie thinges with Woe I did surveie; The Stretes were overgrowne with spiery grasse; And, though it was upon a Sabbath-daie, No Belles did ringe to calle the Folke to Masse. The Churchyardes all with Barrs were closed fast, Like to a sinfulle and accursed place; It shewd as though the Judgment-daie were past, And the Dedde exiled from the Seate of Grace. At last I met an old sadde Man, and asked Where a tired Traveller maye finde repose. The Old Man shook his Hed, and wold have passed; But I caught him by his Arme and held his Clothes. 'Straunger,' said he, 'in Marie's name departe!' (Soe saying, wold agen have passed me by); His hollow Voyce sank depe into my Harte: Yet I wold not let him goe, but asked Why? 'It now is Morne,' quoth he, 'the Sun shines brighte, And the Springe is blithe, save in the Walles of Peste; But, were it Winter wylde, and a stormie Nighte, Not here, O Straunger, sholdst thou seeke to reste; 'Though Rayne in Torrents powred and cold Winds blew, And thou with travelling tired and with Hunger pale.' 'Though the Sun,' sed I, 'shine brighte and the Daie be new, I will not goe, till I have herd thy Tale.' This woefull Wight then took me by the Hande; (His, like a Skeletonne's; was bonie and cold). He seemed as though he scarse cold goe nor stande, Like one o'er whom full fourscore years had rold.