recompence for it, Albert got his piece of ground to build a convent
on. He had not, however, shown them all his power. Immediately that
the repast was over, he gave the word, and dark clouds obscured the
sun -- the snow fell in large flakes -- the singing-birds fell dead --
the leaves dropped from the trees, and the winds blew so cold, and
howled so mournfully, that the guests wrapped themselves up in their
thick cloaks, and retreated into the house to warm themselves at the
blazing fire in Albert's kitchen. [Lenglet, "Histoire de la
Philosophie Hermetique." See also, Godwin's "Lives of the
Necromancers."]

Thomas Aquinas also could work wonders as well as his master. It
is related of him, that he lodged in a street at Cologne, where he was
much annoyed by the incessant clatter made by the horses' hoofs, as
they were led through it daily to exercise by their grooms. He had
entreated the latter to select some other spot where they might not
disturb a philosopher, but the grooms turned a deaf ear to all his
solicitations. In this emergency he had recourse to the aid of magic.
He constructed a small horse of bronze, upon which he inscribed
certain cabalistic characters, and buried it at midnight in the midst
of the highway. The next morning, a troop of grooms came riding along
as usual; but the horses, as they arrived at the spot where the magic
horse was buried, reared and plunged violently -- their nostrils
distended with terror -- their manes grew erect, and the perspiration
ran down their sides in streams. In vain the riders applied the spur
-- in vain they coaxed or threatened, the animals would not pass the
spot. On the following day, their success was no better. They were at
length compelled to seek another spot for their exercise, and Thomas
Aquinas was left in peace. [Naude, "Apologie des Grands Hommes accuses
de Magie;" chap. xvii.]