“Stay, we’ve not done with you yet,” cried Pope Julius, and madly they engage once more, tooth and nail, until the strokes clashed like earthquakes; the three armies of the damned tore each other piecemeal, and like snakes became whole again, and spread far and wide over the jagged, burning crags, until Lucifer bade his veterans, the giants of Hell, separate them, which indeed was no easy task. When the conflict ceased, Pope Clement spake—“Thou Emperor of Horrors, no throne has ever performed more faithful and universal service to the infernal crown than have the bishops of Rome, throughout a large portion of the world, for eleven centuries, and I hope you will allow none to vie with them for your favor.” “Well,” said a Scotch-man of Cromwell’s gang, “however great has been the service of the Koran for these eight hundred years, and of popish superstitions for a longer period, yet the Covenant has done far more since its appearance, and everyone begins to doubt the others and be weary of them, but we are still increasing, the wide world over, and have much power in the island of your foes, that is, in Britain and in London, the happiest city under the sun.” “Ha ha,” exclaimed Lucifer, “if I hear rightly ye too are about to suffer disgrace there. But whatever ye may have done in other kingdoms, I will have none of your rioting in mine. Wherefore make your peace forthwith under the penalty of more woes, bodily and spiritual.” And at the word I could see many of the fiends and all the damned, with their tails between their hoofs, steal away to their holes in fear of a change for the worse.