"A man from earth!" cried one, "a man from earth," exclaimed another, while they crowded round me, like caterpillars, from every quarter. "Which way came you, sirrah?" asked a morkin of a death-imp. "Indeed, sir," said I, "I know not any more than you do." "What is your name?" he asked. "Call me here in your own country what ye will, but at home I am called the Sleeping Bard."

By this I could see that there was a little death-imp at every door, each one bearing arms, and a name different from that of his fellows; though it was evident that they, one and all, were the ministers of the same king.

Hieing away through forests and dales, and over rivers and rocks, they alight at one of the rear portals of the City of Destruction which opens upon a murky region the chambers of Death. On all hands are myriads of doors leading into the Land of Oblivion, each guarded by the particular death-imp, whose name was inscribed above it.