professor." Leloyer explains these terms as
follows: " By the tabourin is meant the
inflated goat skin which contains the devil's
broth; by the cymbale, the cauldron in
which the infernal ragouts are cooked." Those
children who did not seem likely to turn
out useful sorcerers were condemned to be
fricasseed, and were served up in that guise
at the Sabbath supper.

On arriving at the place of rendezvous the
sorcerer's first act was to pay homage to
Master Leonard. He was seated on a kind of
throne in the form of a goat (as Burns says,
"in shape o' beast "), having three horns, the
middle one of which was tipped with a flame
that threw a light over the whole assemblage;
sometimes, however, he appeared in the form
of a greyhound, of an ox, of the shapeless
trunk of a tree with a lowering human head,
of a black bird, or of a hideous black or red
man,—but his favourite disguise was that of
a goat, though he was not particular in
adhering to strictly hircine attributes. For
instance, he wore a black crown on his head
of matted hair, his face was pale and angry,
his eyes large, round, and inflamed, his beard
goatish, his hands human, except that all the
fingers were of the same length, and curved
like the talons of a bird of prey; his feet were
those of a goose, and his tail was as long as
& donkey's; his voice was deep and fearful,
without inflection, and he invariably
preserved the utmost gravity of countenance.
After the ceremony of adoration—which was
of a kind that need not be mentioned—
Master Leonard distributed among the
assistants a few handfuls of money from the
Satanic mint,—a species of coin which, after
it had passed through the hands of the
sorcerers, always turned into withered leaves.
The feast then began. Some sorcerers declare
that they were served with napkins of
cloth of gold, in vessels of silver holding the
most exquisite meats, and in crystal vases
filled with the most delicious wines; others,
on the contrary, affirm that the viands were
toads, unbaptised children, and the flesh
of malefactors cut down from the gibbet; and
that the devil's bread was always made of
black millet. The most abominable songs
were sung at these repasts, and when the
banquet was over they danced around with a
dead cat swinging behind each person. The
sorcerers glorified themselves also on account
of the mischief they had done since their
last meeting, and the toads, who always
played a conspicuous part at the Sabbath,
preferred accusations against such of their
mistresses as had treated them ill or had not
given them enough to eat. Those who were
condemned to be punished were thrown into
a blazing fire by a number of little devils
without arms, and kept there till they were
half roasted. The toads, who were the
witches' familiars, wore dresses of red or
black velvet, with a small bell round the
neck, or attached to one of the feet. The
Sabbath lasted till cock-crow, and then,
shrieking, they all disappeared.

Such were the low, despicable, rabid
dreams of the miserable wretches who took
upon themselves the reputation of witches,
either for the purpose of indulging in some
malevolent feeling or of holding sway over
those who exceeded them in ignorance as
they exceeded them in worldly goods.
Steeped in the lowest depths of poverty
they lived upon the fears of their fellow
creatures, and accepted, with little
hesitation, the fate which they knew was
inevitable.

The crime of sorcery was not, however,
attributed only to the poor. Cupidity, envy,
and political motives were oftentimes at
work to bring down the learned, the wealthy
and the noble. Few men of science, during
the middle ages, were free from the accusation
of dealing with the powers of darkness.
How well this has been illustrated, Mr.
Morley's Life of Cornelius Agrippa has recently
shown—and the list might be extended ad
infinitum. Not to mention historical names,
I shall confine myself to one or two examples
given by Boden in his Demonomanie. He
there describes how one of the Counts of
Aspremout used to receive great numbers of
guests whom he entertained in the most
magnificent manner, and when they took
their departure from his castle they
invariably died of hunger and thirst before they
reached their own homes. A sorcerer of this
kind was a certain Count of Magon who,
being seated in the midst of his guests, was
suddenly called away from the table by a
stranger, and, going down into the court-yard,
found there a black horse ready saddled, on
which he mounted, and riding away was never
more seen.

Another notable sorcerer of rank was the
Abbot of Saint Jean d'Angely, a native of
Dauphine, Jourdain Faure by name, who
was accused of having poisoned Charles of
France, the brother of King Louis the
Eleventh, and the beautiful Countess of
Montsoreau, by giving to each the half of a
peach, which he had prepared. He was
imprisoned in the castle of Nantes, and to
escape the torture, acknowledged himself
guilty of the murder, and of sorcery into
the bargain. During his imprisonment the
gaoler intimated to the judges, before whom
the Abbot was tried, that it was impossible
for him to retain his office on account of the
number of hideous demons who came to see
his prisoner and made night terrible by their
terrific cries and furious orgies. But these
visitations ceased immediately after the abbot
had been condemned: on that night a dreadful
tempest affrighted the city of Nantes, and
on the following morning the prisoner was
found dead in his cell, his body swollen to
twice its natural size, his tongue torn out of
his mouth; and his face as black as a coal.
Why the abbot was privately strangled does