angered by them, and they especially are found
in rich iron and silver mines, which are indeed
swarming with them. A pious and learned
man, Lavater says, once wrote to him that
there was a silver mine at Oavos, upon which
the lord of the place, Peter Buol, a valiant
man, had spent much, not without handsome
return. In it there was a spirit, or mountain
devil who was particularly active on a Friday,
when the men loaded their ore into the trucks;
he would move ore at his pleasure from one
truck into another, in which practices the
master saw no harm,—but crossing himself
whenever he went in and out of the mine, he
prospered well in spite of the demon. One
day, however, when this creature had been
more than usually wild and troublesome, one
of the miners became angered and abused
him heartily, and cursed him, and told him to
go back home. Upon that, the demon took
the miner by the head and twisted it round,
so that his face looked over his back, yet he
was not altogether killed, but lived for many
years with his twisted neck, and became
known to many who are now alive, but some
years afterwards he died.

The mines were supposed also to contain
ghostly animals, "some of which," wrote
Georgius Agricola, "are very terrible to
behold, and they are all mostly hostile to the
workmen. There was such an animal," he
adds, "at Anneberg, in the pits called
Rosenkrantz, that destroyed twelve men with the
breath out of its mouth. He emitted the
blast by opening his mouth, and was seen
commonly in the shape of a horse. There was
one too wearing a black coat in the St. George's
pit of the Schneberg, that blew a man into
the air, not without great danger to his body."
Were we as ignorant now as our forefathers,
what awful stories might be made to thicken
horrors that are already more than thick
enough. The cruel under-ground dragon that
with the blast of its nostrils lately burnt and
destroyed more than a hundred men at
Wigan, the same that within the year before
had smitten sixty, we know now how to call
by its name, Firedamp, and we know its dam,
Neglect.

  They were surely not days for us to wish
back with "the song of Gamelyn," when
almost anything—an old cup, a handful of old
coins, a wry neck, or a mine explosion—could
be looked at in this manner from a
superstitious point of view.

I have not called the earth spirits of the
mines kobolds, because kobold is simply a
German form of our word goblin, and a
goblin is essentially a spirit that inhabits
houses. Such spirits are of many kinds; some
are gadabouts, some are domestic, and
establish themselves with a single family. These
last generally enter into a sort of contract
before taking possession of a dwelling. During
the night they drag chips of faggot into the
middle of the kitchen floor, and put dung into
the milk-pans. If the chips be left
undisturbed next day, and the dung be not thrown
out of the milk,—the milk being used in spite
of it,—the bargain is complete, and these
creatures, for the hire of a daily plate of
victuals set in a clean corner for their use,
become very faithful servants.

Some of these goblins, indeed a large class,
of them, on account of the hats that they
wore, used to be called Hattikins in Germany.
In the year eleven hundred and thirty-two
there was a hattikin at Hildesheim, which has
been mentioned in several chronicles. In
Abbot Trithim's chronicle of the Monastery
of Hirschau, the story of him is told in this
manner:—"In the year one thousand one
hundred and thirty-two an evil spirit
appeared during a long time to many men at
Hildesheim, in the shape of a peasant with a
hat upon his head, for which reason he was
called by the country people Hattikin. This
spirit took pleasure in going about with men,
sometimes visible, sometimes invisible,
questioning and answering them. He hurt nobody
without a cause, but if he was laughed at or
abused he avenged the injury with a strong
hand. When the Count Burcard de Luca was
killed by the Count Hermann of Wiesenburg,
and the land of the last named came in
danger of being made the  booty of the
avenger, the Hattikin roused Bishop Bernhard
of Hildesheim out of sleep, and said these
words to him: 'Up with you, baldhead! the
county Wiesenberg is made vacant by
murder, and may be added easily to your
possessions.' The bishop collected hurriedly
his fighting men, fell upon the estates of the
guilty count, and united it, with the permission
of the emperor, to his domains. The
spirit often gave to the said bishop unasked
warning of dangers, and was a particularly
frequent visitor to the court kitchen, where
he gossiped with the cooks, and performed for
them many little services. Thus they became
gradually very intimate with Hattikin; and
at last one of the kitchen boys ventured,
whenever he came in, to mock at him, and
even to throw dirty water over him. The
spirit begged the chief cook, or the kitchen
master, that he would check the rude boy for
his impudence, or otherwise he might be
taking for himself too severe revenge. The
master cook replied: 'You are a ghost, and
afraid of the young rascal!' Upon which
Hattikin answered with a menace: 'Since
you will not punish the boy, I will let you see
in a few days how much he frightens me.'
Soon afterwards the young fellow was asleep
by himself in the kitchen when the Hattikin
entered. The spirit seized him then, strangled
him, tore him to pieces, and set the pieces in
a number of different pots upon the fire.
When the cook saw what had been done he
swore at the Hattikin, who therefore on the
next day spoiled all the meat that was on the
spits with the poison and blood of toads that
he poured over it. The cook was moved to
fresh wrath, and again angered the Hattikin,