,
and many other ingenious substitutes and expedients to keep out the
weather.

But our tale hath a particular bearing to other and more terrific
days--"the olden time," so fruitful in marvels and extravagances--the
very poetry of the black art; when Satan communed visibly and audibly
with the children of men--thanks to the invokers of relics and the
tellers of beads--and was so familiar and reasonable withal, as to
argue and persuade men touching the propriety of submitting themselves
to him, as rational and intelligent creatures; and even was silly
enough, at times, to suffer himself to be outwitted by the greater
sagacity and address of his intended victims. For proof, we cite the
following veracious narrative, which bears within it every internal
mark of truth, and matter for grave and serious reflection.

"Little Mike," or more properly Michael Waddington, was a merry tailor
of some note in his day, who formerly, that is to say, some eight or
nine score years ago--dwelt in this very tenement, where he followed
his profession, except when enticed by the smell of good liquor to the
village alehouse--the detriment, and even ruin, of many a goodly
piece of raiment, which at times he clipped and shaped in such wise as
redounded but little to the credit of either wearer or artificer. Mike
was more alive to a merry troll and graceless story, in the kitchen of
mine host "at the inn," than to the detail of his own shopboard, with
the implements of his craft about him, making and mending the oddly
assorted adjuncts of the village churls. Such was his liking for
pastime and good company that the greater part of his earnings went
through the tapster's melting pot; and grieved are we, as veritable
chroniclers, to state that it was not until even credit failed him,
that he settled to work for another supply of the elixir vitae--the
pabulum of his being. It may be supposed that matters went on but
indifferently at home, where want and poverty had left indelible
traces of their presence. Matty Waddington, his spouse, would have had
hard work to make both ends meet had she not been able to scrape
together a few pence and broken victuals by selling firewood, and
helping her neighbours with any extra work that was going forward.
Yet, in general, she bore all her troubles and privations with great
patience and good humour--at any rate in the presence of her husband,
who, though an idler and a spendthrift, was, to say the truth, not