ispleasure, at
her destroying one of the most innocent of His Creatures.

After this, he woulde tell us of this and that worn-our [Transcriber's
note: worn-out?] Superstition, as o' the Friar's Lantern, and of
Lob-lie-by-the-Fire, untill _Mary_, who affects not the Unreall, went off
to make the Flip. _Anne_ presentlie exclaimed, "Father! when you sayd--

'The Shepherds on the Lawn,
Or e'er the Point of Dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic Row,
Full little thought they then
That the mighty _Pan_
Was kindly come to live with them, below,'

whom meant you by _Pan_? Sure, you would not call our Lord by the Name
of a heathen Deity?"

"Well, Child," returns Father, "you know He calls Himself a Shepherd, and
was in truth what _Pan_ was onlie supposed to be, the God of Shepherds;
albeit _Lavaterus_, in his Treatise _De Lemuribus_, doth indeede tell us,
that by _Pan_ some understoode noe other than the great _Sathanas_, whose
Kingdom being overturned at _Christ's_ Coming, his inferior Demons
expelled, and his Oracles silenced, he is some sort was himself
overthrown. And the Story goes, that, about the Time of our Lord's
Passion, certain Persons sailing from _Italy_ to _Cyprus_, and passing by
certayn Islands, did heare a Voice calling aloud, _Thamus, Thamus_, which
was the Name of the Ship's Pilot, who, making Answer to the unseene
Appellant, was bidden, when he came to _Palodas_, to tell that the great
God _Pan_ was dead; which he doubting to doe, yet for that when he came
to _Palodas_, there suddainlie was such a Calm of Wind that the Ship
stoode still in the Sea, he was constrayned to cry aloud that _Pan_ was
dead; whereupon there were hearde such piteous Shrieks and Cries of
invisible Beings, echoing from haunted Spring and Dale, as ne'er smote
human Ears before nor since: Nymphs and Wood-Gods, or they that had
passed for such, breaking up House and retreating to their own Place. I
warrant you, there was Trouble among the Sylvan People that Day--Satyrs
hirsute and cloven-footed Fauns.

". . . Many a Time and oft have _Charles Diodati_ and I discust fond
Legends, such as this, over our Winter Hearth; with our Chestnuts
blackening and crackling on the Hob, and our o'er-ripe Pears sputtering
in the Fire, while the Wind raved without among the creaking Elms. . . ."

Father still hammering on old Times, and his owne young Days, I beganne
to frame unto myself an Image of what he might then have bee