42 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



answer for their ill-doing. With all the vast ma- 

 chinery of Hell to back them, they could neither 

 outwit nor outstrip the clumsy pursuit of man. A 

 rare exception to this rule was the case of a baker's 

 wife in Koln, who cruelly bewitched her husband's 

 little apprentice. When accused of the crime, she 

 manifested the unconcern of one who had nothing 

 to fear ; and neither threats nor exhortations could 

 move her to repentance. She was sentenced to the 

 stake; but, to the end, defied the judge, laughed at 

 the executioner, and mocked the priest with appall- 

 ing blasphemies. The fagots were fired, the smoke 

 enveloped her thickly, the priest lifted his voice in 

 prayer, — when, with a wild exultant screech, there 

 leaped from out the flames a black cat, which dis- 

 appeared in a trice amid the terrified throng. The 

 witch had escaped ; but one trembles to think what 

 suspicion must have fallen for a time on all the 

 black pussies of Koln. 



Perhaps, however, it was impossible to enhance 

 the guilt of an animal already credited with such 

 frightful depths of malignity. The very word 

 Grimalkin, or Greymalkin, which now we use so 

 lightly, was the name of a fiend, and bore a fearful 

 significance in the annals of witchcraft. 



" Now I go, now I fly, 

 Malkin, my sweet spirit, and I," 



sings Hecate in Middleton's fantastic play. A still 



