52 THE PHRENOLOGIST. 



Now, whether the earth opened according to the most approved 

 method in such cases, or whether the dwarf descended through a 

 secret passage, the work of scheming mortality, I am not informed ; 

 but in the space of a few minutes he found himself in a subterranean 

 cave, or apartment, brilliantly illuminated. Whence the light pro- 

 ceeded was a mystery. No torch was visible ; and the damp of 

 fear stood, for the first time, on the adventurer's brow. The walls, 

 the roof, and the floor were of solid rock, bearing the marks of 

 having been rudely torn asunder by the effect of some mighty power, 

 rather than the systematic workmanship of mortal agency. But the 

 daring Kopfstirn had little time to remark the peculiarities of the 

 cavern's construction, for almost at the moment of his introduction 

 his guide vanished, and from the further extremity of the apartment 

 came a figure which could not fail to appal. Not, unhappily, pos- 

 sessed of Milton's sublimity, I must content myself by saying, that 

 the tail and head gear of this being proclaimed him the dread Prince 

 of Darkness. Kopfstirn no longer felt any difficulty in solving the 

 problem whence the mystical illumination of the cave proceeded. 



Our youthful hero, however, contrived to retain possession of his 

 senses. The fearful apparition of him of the cloven foot had not the 

 power, or exercised it not, of reducing him to mere unintelligent 

 matter. He was, therefore, perfectly aware of the whole proceedings, 

 which, for the benefit of the curious in demonology, we have faith- 

 fully, but briefly, chronicled. 



The ruler of the nether regions advanced to the centre of the in- 

 fernal cave, followed by a multitude of the most extraordinary and 

 grotesque forms man ever looked upon, and lived to describe. There 

 were witches with their broomsticks ; wizards with their wands ; 

 and all kinds of fantastic spirits, with heads and without heads, with 

 tails and without tails. These were succeeded by the terrific and 

 gigantic form of the demon of the Hartz mountains, at the head of 

 another motley group of infernals, bearing his uprooted pine for a 

 walking-stick. These elements resolved themselves into a dance. 



Perhaps none of my readers ever had an opportunity to witness 

 such an exhibition as a dance of giants and witches. If not, let them 

 imagine Stonehenge and a few scattered hamlets suddenly animated 

 by the music of a volcanic eruption, and frisking about in all the 

 exuberant joy of stones and houses liberated from their thraldom. 



The Devil is certainly a gentleman conversant in the ways of the 

 world, and, in the present instance, a copier thereof; for, after the 

 ball, a sumptuous entertainment was spread for their strange guests. 

 Whether his Infernal Majesty's favourite dish a roasted hippopota- 

 mus, garnished with young tigers, was one of the solids of this feast, 

 Ernest Kopfstirn could not ascertain. English gin and porter was 

 handed about, and seemed to be a favourite drink, and divided the 

 palm with brimstone and vitriol. Mirth, revelry, and noise, now 

 triumphed; which, after considerable duration, was suddenly suc- 

 ceeded by the silence of the grave. But as the piercing light, which 

 had hitherto illumined the cavern, began to wane, the stillness was 

 broken by the daemon of the Hartz mountains, who, rearing his 

 gigantic height far above his compeers, and leaning on his pine-tree, 



