Haulard's voice has always a slight accent of reproof in it when she addresses young people. "I thought you never gave in." Eugénie feels ready to cry. She bows to the gorgeous jeweller, and goes to look for her father. She draws a deep sigh of relief when at last she reaches a vacant chair near the bench on which the miller sits smoking. "Mademoiselle sighs; and yet dancing makes the heart gay, is it not so? This time Eugénie looks up at once, and then her eyes fall again and a deep blush spreads over her face. A tall man stands beside her. His face is dark, and is shadowed by a broad felt hat; but there can be no mistake in his likeness to the stranger of her dream. It is he himself the idol she has secretly worshipped since her vigil before the altar. "I-I am a little out of breath," she stammers; and then she plays with her bonnet-strings. She is terribly agitated. She longs to look up again, but she has no courage; she feels that the stranger's dark eyes are fixed on her face. "That is not to be wondered at," he says. How the sweet, soft music of his voice steals into her soul! "Mademoiselle has been sacrificed to an incapable partner. A good partner is the soul of dancing." After this there comes silence. Jacques rouses after a bit and looks round for Eugénie. Seeing her so near he goes and fetches her a glass of sirop, and then, scanning her companion with his alert, half-closed Norman eyes, he says, 66 "Pardon, monsieur is apparently a stranger?" Yes, monsieur; I am from Paris, and my name is Hyppolite Laborde at your service;" and then the two men take off their hats and bow as only Frenchmen can bow in similar circumstances. "I am a writer, monsieur, and I have come into your charming country for fresh air and fresh ideas. I am enchanted with Caudebec and with its people, and I shall be sorry to leave it. I have been wishing to dance," he looks as innocently as possible into the face of the miller, divining that he is the father of Eugénie "but there is no chance for me; all the young people seem old friends, and a new-comer is left in the lurch.' The miller laughs. "Do you say so? It is the first time I ever knew a Parisian modest. Why, friend, 'The gods help those who help themselves.' Here is my daughter Eugénie, without a partner-though how she comes to be sitting down I don't understand. Art thou tired, little one?" Eugénie's heart throbs with delight, but still she wishes the stranger to ask her himself. "I am afraid I must not dance," she says calmly. "I told Monsieur Poiret I was tired, and it is still the same waltz." But monsieur is dancing again," the stranger speaks eagerly. Now that I have the permission of monsieur her father, I wait but till mademoiselle has reposed herself to have the honor of claiming her hand." Is she dreaming again, or is this reality? and has the life that she has passed through since that delicious vision been the dream? she asks herself as she is wafted round blissfully on the stranger's arm. Eugénie only knows that she could waltz on forever, and then at each pause in the dance, as she stands with her partner a little apart from the rest, and listens to the words so like those she listened to in her dream, words which gradually grow more and more full of fervent meaning, it seems to her life has been empty till now, and that the joy of this afternoon is too intense to last. Presently they are standing still near her father again, and she hears him ask her partner if he is staying at La Mailleraye. "I am not staying anywhere, monsieur. I reached Caudebec yesterday, heard of the fête here to-day, and came over in mere idleness." "Then you must come and see my mill to-morrow," Jacques slaps him on the shoulder, "and our château. We at Villequier are visited by all travellers. There is no such mill". -he says this in a low voice - "in the north of France." VII. It is two months since the fête at La Mailleraye. The little village of Villequier is all astir, and a crowd of idlers is waiting round the church porch. Outside the crowd, just beyond Monsieur Furet's garden-gate, stands Margot, looking eager and restless. Her black eyes glitter with a fierce, triumphant light. She is safe; for at this moment Eugénie is being wedded to Monsieur Hyppolite Laborde, and there is no fear that she will ever reign over the ménage of Monsieur Furet. "Little vain fool!. She believed the tale- I told, and so she gave up my poor besotted master. He'll hanker after her, though, to the day of his death. See him now!" She shrugs her shoulders in disdain, and shelters herself behind a huge countryman, who is hanging on the skirts of the crowd. Monsieur Furet has just come out of church. He is the first of the bridal party who has appeared in the porch; most of the others are busy signing names in the vestry. Monsieur Furet is smiling, and he holds a large bouquet in his hand. There is a buzz of voices, and the children cry, “Là voilà!" and out comes Eugénie, veiled from head to foot and leaning on her husband's arm. He is looking so fondly at the blushing face under the veil that he does not see Monsieur Furet; but the ex-avocat places himself in Eugénie's path. 66 -- Madame," ," he says, with much dignity, "I wish you all happiness. Monsieur," he looks at Hyppolite, "you have a wife who is wise as well as lovely-yes, wiser than heads much older than her own." He bows and stands aside to let them pass, offering the bouquet gallantly to Eugénie. "There is no fool like an old fool," says Margot. "Peste! I should not wonder if he leaves her his money, after all!" AERONAUTICAL MACHINES. IF the fabulous stories of antiquity could be credited, it might be believed that a method of navigating the air was known to the ancients. The aeronautic flight of the Cretan philosopher, and the luckless fate of his son in the Icarian Sea, is a tale well known to all school-boys. Strabo tells of a people of Scythia who had a method of elevating themselves in the air by means of smoke, although he does not mention in what manner, or whether by the intervention of any mechanical contrivance. Roger Bacon alludes to a flying-machine, although he confesses that he has not seen it, and seems to have known little of it beyond the inventor's name. The first historical flying experiment was made in Scotland, by an Italian friar, whom James IV. had made prior of Tongland. The man, who was a great favorite of the king's, from his presumed scientific attainments, and his supposed successes in alchemy, was commonly believed to be in league with "Auld Hornie." Thinking that he had discovered a method of flying though the air, the prior appointed a certain day, in 1510, for an aerial ascension, and invited the king and his court to witness the feat. At the appointed time, the Italian, bedecked with an enormous pair of wings, ascended one of the battlements of Stirling Castle, and in the presence of King James and his court, spread his plumes, and vaulted into the air. Unfortunately for the prior's reputation, the experiment was a complete failure. Amid the laughter and derision of the whole assembly, the would-be aeronaut came tumbling headlong down; and although a manure-heap luckily saved his neck, his thigh-bone was broken. As is invariably the case, the hapless experimentalist had an excuse for his non-success; it was to be attributed, he asserted, to the fact that his wings included some feathers from common fowls, instead of having been all from eagles and other noble birds! In 1617, un warned by this disaster, a monk of Tubingen manufactured for himself wings of parchment, and leaped with them into the air from a high tower: he fell to the ground, and was killed. In 1670, the first really scientific project for navigating the air was devised by Francis Lana, a Jesuit. His plan was to use globes made of exceedingly attenuated metal, the interior of which was exhausted of the air. The specific gravity of these globes being much less than that of the surrounding atmosphere, they must necessarily rise. Upon this hint one of the Montgolfiers would appear to have based his experiments, although a publication, contemporary with him, asserts that he first conceived the idea of a balloon from seeing an open paper globe, into which he had accidentally let some smoke, slip from his hands, and mount into the air. Acting upon this chance experiment, he pursued his studies in that direction, until, on the 5th of June, 1783, he was enabled to let off, in the presence of his townsfolk, a paper balloon of more than a hundred feet in circumference. This experiment was the first successful one ever made. The balloon's ascension was caused by the expansion of the air in it through the agency of a fire underneath. The fame of Montgolfier's discovery spread rapidly, and produced an almost incredible sensation. Everybody fancied that the navigation of the air was about to become an easy task. On the 27th of August, 1783, Messieurs Charles and Robert set off an aerostatic globe from Paris. It was twelve feet in diameter, and only weighed forty pounds. It was made of a kind of taffeta, coated with gum, and filled with an inflammable gas, obtained by the dissolution of iron filings in vitriolic acid. Estimated to have attained an elevation of twelve thousand feet, it descended, after a voyage of only three quarters of an hour, at Gonesse, a village about twelve miles from Paris. Other and more daring experiments followed, until, on September 19 of the same year, the Montgolfiers started a balloon weighing seven hundred pounds, to the neck of which was suspended a cage, carrying the first living voyagers that had yet travelled the air, in the shape of a sheep and two fowls. The success of this journey tempted its projectors into a still more hazardous experiment, and on the 21st of the following November, a balloon was sent off from Paris, to which was appended a car, containing two human beings, the Marquis d'Arlandes, and M. Pilâtre de Rozier. The aerial navigators soon disappeared from the sight of the anxious spectators, and after a voyage of twenty-five minutes' duration, descended in the open country, several miles from the city. Their balloon was raised by means of rarefied air, created by a stove-fire carried in the car, and fed by the voyagers, from time to time, with straw. The machine was seventy feet high, and forty-six feet in diameter; it contained sixty thousand cubic feet of air, and weighed (with all its contents) between sixteen and seventeen hundred-weight. The success of this experiment was deemed so marvellous, that a report of it was drawn up on the spot, and signed by Franklin and several notabilities who were present. On the 2d of December following, a still more remarkable aerial journey was performed by Messieurs Charles and Robert, junior. They terminated their aerial journey without any mishap; and from his success, M. Charles was led to conceive, as he himself says, "perhaps a little too hastily," the idea of being able to steer one's course through the air. This idea, the unsolved problem of aerial navigation, was at once caught at by the public, and on the very day of the last-named ascent, the Lyons Academy offered a prize of twelve hundred livres for the best dissertation on this subject: "To find the most certain and most simple method of directing the Air Balloon horizontally and at pleasure." To accomplish this feat is what the empirical are still striving at. Whilst these really scientific experiments were going forward in France, a Mr. Miller was exhibiting in London a soi-disant flying-machine, made in the form of a West Indian crow, with wings acted upon by mechanical power' "in a perfect imitation of nature." The turning of a winch gave motion to a small wheel, which then set in action other wheels to the right and left, and gave play to the two wings. "The person who turns this winch," says a contemporary of its inventor, "being seated at the aerial helm, guides, at the same time, a fine spreading tail or rudder, which may be moved with ease (as may the wings) in any direction, perpendicular, horizontal, or oblique. The wings, the pinions of which are formed of steel, so finely tempered by an invention of the ingenious artist that a file will not touch them, are at present covered with crimson silk; but when brought into action will be covered with the strongest gummed silk. The whole machine weighs five hundred pounds, and will carry three hundred. The artist has been employed upon it many years, at a very considerable expense; for which reason it will not take its flight till a subscription, now going on, to reward the artist for his skill and labor is in sufficient forwardness." This was in 1784; and up till the present time Mr. Miller does not appear to have "raised the wind" sufficiently to set this machine into motion. The success of the Montgolfiers and others had the effect of bringing many new competitors into the field. By the end of 1784, no less than twenty-eight voyages of aerostatic machines carrying human freights are recorded, of which the most interesting is that of Mr. Tytler of Edinburgh, who ascended on the 27th of August of that year in a basket appended to a balloon, and travelled for about half a mile. To him belongs the honor of being the first aerial navigator in Great Britain. Most of these early aeronauts attempted to propel or guide their balloons with wings or oars of various kinds, and although these schemes were necessarily failures, their inventors invariably declared that they were successes. M. Blanchard, who subsequently, in 1810, crossed the English Channel, positively affirmed, in 1784, that he was enabled to guide his balloon by means of the two pairs of large wings or sails which were attached to the car. In his account of his third aerial journey, made with M. Boby, in the latter year, he remarks that, when preparing to descend, "we observed a large number of peasants running towards us, and, as it was impossible to know their intention, we again took flight, and ascended to nearly twelve hundred feet. My wings alone produced this effect, and with great ease. . . . A slight motion enabled us to ascend or descend at pleasure." Before the discovery of ballooning, M. Blanchard had already made himself notorious by the manufacture of a machine for flying. He tried the invention in Paris, but unsuccessfully, although it is alleged that he raised himself a short distance from the earth with it. Not yet discouraged, "he made a second experiment," quaintly records a contemporary," by sending off a criminal in the machine from the top of the church of Notre-Dame at Paris." The criminal, who was condemned to death, was offered his liberty if the experiment succeeded, and, avers our authority, it was successful. M. Blanchard then built a flying-boat to carry the despatches for the French government from Brest to Paris; but this project failed to answer his expectations, and it was not until after the balloon exploits of Messieurs Charles and Robert, that he learned how to traverse the air. He must have been somewhat of a charlatan; and his repeated declarations that he directed his balloon at will prevent, us putting much faith in his amusing accounts of his aerial adventures. The rarefied air which the Montgolfiers made use of was soon exchanged by later balloonists for hydrogen gas: being the lightest gas procurable, it was deemed the best for balloon-navigation, but the difficulty was in finding any suitable substance sufficiently impervious to its escape. Oiled silk, which was generally used, could not retain it; and it was not until Mr. Green introduced coal-gas, or carburetted hydrogen, into his balloons, that this great obstacle was overcome. All experiments to apply machinery to direct balloons, and to overcome the currents of air, have signally failed. All these machines are at the mercy of the winds. The muscular power of birds proves con clusively that the strength required to move in the air, or to fly, is so great, as compared with the size of the bird, that no machine could be built that could carry, suspended in the air, machinery enough to propel it. PEASANT CUSTOMS IN SOUTH GERMANY. THE subject of popular superstitions and observances is one of great interest, dating back as it does to remote ages. Their heathen origin may still be easily traced, although Christianity has given them a somewhat different character, and the names of the deities themselves, in whose honor the rites were originally established, have been forgotten. Before long the spread of civilization will sweep away all remains of these ancient traditions, even in South Germany, where as yet they still retain a strong hold on the minds of the peasantry. It therefore appears well worth while to collect some account of these quaint customs before they become extinct. Since the earliest times the breeding of horses has been especially cultivated in the grassy plains of Lower Bavaria, and also in the neighborhood of the Allgäu and Inn mountains. When the troops of the Bavarian dukes accompanied the German emperors in their expeditions to Rome, the Rott Thal chestnuts formed a highly esteemed body of cavalry; and to this day the Bavarian regiments of light horse obtain most of their steeds and their best riders from that part of the country, in which the youths possess traditional renown for courage and dexterity in the saddle. The patron saint of all the districts where horse-breeding flourishes in Upper Germany is the holy horseman St. George, who is considered to be peculiarly learned in this branch. On the 24th of April, his festival pastimes take place, which evidently testify to a heathen origin. All the peasants of the neighborhood assemble at some chapel dedicated to the saint, or else, according to a still older custom, where some gigantic oak or lime tree stands in the midst of a forest clearing, and serves as a trysting-place. Such patriarchal trees, some thousand years old, are called Ting-trees, and are still often to be found on the sites of the old Pagan altars in Bavaria. Thousands of horses and vehicles of every description form a circle round the sacred object. The people bring provisions, and encamp in the open air; the priest preaches a sermon in the chapel and then blesses the horses. But the benediction is only intended to give a Christian character to the rite, and the matter of most importance in the Georgi Ritt (George's Ride), as it is called, consists in the following process. The young men mount their best horses, without saddles, and gallop three times round the chapel or tree, before which stands the priest, or in his absence an old peasant, who sprinkles the animals with holy water as they dash past, and casts upon them earth, which has been dug from the roots of the sacred tree. This ceremony preserves horse and rider throughout the year from sickness, stumbling, or falling; and formerly every peasant took home a handful of the healing earth in a bag, to hang up in the stable. This is apparently the remains of the festival of some god of horses, whose protection was thus sought. It may have been Freyr, to whom horses' heads were especially sacrificed, and whose warlike attributes may easily have been transformed into the chivalrous dragon-slayer. In other parts different saints are looked upon as patrons of horses, particularly St. Bernard and St. Leonard. The latter acts a most important part in Upper Germany, for to him the peasant confides his greatest treasure, which he often values above house and family, namely, his cattle and his stables. St. Leonard has become, for some unknown reason, the patron of all four-footed domestic animals; whilst the feathered race has its own saints. For instance, doves are under the protection of St. Columb, geese under that of St. Martin, and ducks belong to St. Vitus. In the whole of Bavaria, Austria, Swabia, and the Alle mannic part of middle Germany, there are countless small chapels, generally standing in some clearing of the woods, to which all the country-people flock in pilgrimage on St. Leonard's day, November 6th, and then with horses and vehicles they drive round the sacred spot. This is called the "Lienhards-Fahrt " (Leonard's drive): it is similar to the "Georgi-Ritt," only the latter is confined to horses alone. The vehicles used on this occasion are constructed for the purpose, and consist of boxes on wheels. They are painted bright blue, and are filled with young and old folks, all gayly dressed in holiday attire. Some, who prefer riding, come with their horses decked out with ribbons and gaudy trappings. Even the Sennerin brings her cows from the mountain pastures. The day is concluded with music and dancing. A thoroughly heathen idea is the common custom of offering to the saint wax models of the limbs of such animals as are either sick, or have already been cured by his aid. In general, the offering is vowed when the illness breaks out, and presented after the recovery. Consequently, the altar of St. Leonard's Chapel is often quite covered with these gifts. Cow horns, goat horns, heads of oxen, horses' necks, pigs' snouts, the fore and hind legs of all domestic animals, and even their hearts, livers, and lungs, all testify to the power and veterinary skill of the saint. But St. Leonard meets with wrath, as well as gratitued, should his help not prove effectual. Like the old northern kings, who demolished the images of their gods, with clubs, if they were not victorious in battle, so did the Baden peasants in our own times, for they cast the wooden figure of St. Urban,1 the tutelary saint of vine culture, into the Rhine, because he did not ward off the grape disease. Some Austrian peasants behaved in a similar manner: when the foot and mouth disease approached, they vowed and erected a new gilded statue to St. Leonard, to secure his protection, and when the complaint appeared, despite their precautions, and killed all their cattle, they destroyed the statue, and threw the fragments into the water, bitterly upbraiding the ungrateful saint. The beautiful custom of the Sonnwend fires, on the Eve of St. John the Baptist, is well known. At one time, attempts were made in official quarters to put them down, but in vain. The peasants were obstinate, and Government was forced to yield the point. Some years ago, as many as thirty-seven bonfires have been counted on the summits of the mountains which encircle the Chiem-See. In the Harz Mountains, and on the Rhine, there are socalled Judas fires; in South Germany, and particularly the Bavarian Highlands, we find the Easter and St. John's fires. The former are lighted on Easter Eve, at the time when the Resurrection is considered to have been accomplished. On the 23d of June the mountains are blazing with the Midsummer fires. Some days previously boys go about from house to house, collecting wood, and singingIf here an honest man doth live, A fagot he will gladly give; Two fagots and two sticks, that so, Our fire may bravely glare and glow! Every household must contribute its share, or else the Bäuerin will find her hearth unproductive during the year. The flame itself possesses prophetic, saving, healing, and consecrating powers. Its height foretells the growth of the next crop of flax : whoever jumps over the fire will not suffer from sunstroke, rheumatism, or fever throughout the year. It is a universal custom to drive sick cattle either over the smouldering embers, or else through the flame, in order to restore them to health and to preserve them from witchcraft, accident, and pestilence. Amongst other things, a cart-wheel is dipped in pitch and poised on the end of a 1 The following quaint legend is told at Treves of St. Urban. He prayed that he might be allowed to regulate the weather, rain, and sunshine, in such a manner as he thought would be most conducive to the growth of the vines, and his entreaty was granted. But he forgot the wind, and consequently the blossoms all fell off. Only one bunch, which he had hung behind a door, ripened, thanks to the current of air. However, a voice from heaven bade him not to be discouraged, for the solitary bunch of grapes would yield so much wine, that he would not have barrels enough to contain the quantity. And so it proved; but from henceforth St. Urban acknowledged that Providence understood the weather better than he did. long stick; it is then set alight, and, after being whirled round a few times, it is hurled down the mountain-side, while the" wheel driver" dedicates it in some such lines as these : Away, my wheel; now fly In former times, when the priest himself used to bless the fire, the wheel was usually dedicated to the Holy Trinity. However, by degrees, wordly interests gained the upper hand, and the young men now generally celebrate the names of their sweethearts. But the most important ceremony is when the youths and maidens leap through the fire, for that is a matter of heart and hand. The mere invitation is a public sign of wooing, and acceptance shows that the suitor is favorably received. One, who already feels pretty certain of his reception, approaches the maiden of his choice, claps his hands and sings, — - Above my head, below my head, The girl that I love, now with me, If he receives her hand as a token that she is willing to go through fire with him, as well as through life, the couple run hand-in-hand towards the flame, and attempt to spring over or through it. A successful spring is a sure sign that the two young people belong to one another; their love has been hallowed by fire. But should one chance to fall or stumble, something will probably cause their separation. The flickering or smoking of the fire signifies that trials are in store for the newly-formed alliance; but when the flames rise up high and clear during their leap, or crackle as though rejoicing over the agile pair, then the future life may be commenced at once in peace and security, for the Midsummer fire has foretold prosperity. On Midsummer Eve, and also on the nights of St. Vitus (June 15th) and Peter and Paul (June 29th), a peculiar act of sorcery may be practised, which goes by the name of Bilmes, or Bilwis-Schnitt, and is evidently of very ancient origin. A peasant who wishes to possess his neighbor's corn, as it stands, makes a compact with the devil, who appears at his door on one of the aforesaid nights in the shape of a rough black goat with fiery eyes. The Neiding, as the sorcerer is called, leaps on the demon's back and becomes, like him, invisible; on his left foot is fastened a sharp, glit ering knife, and thus he rides round the fields of those neighbors who have the finest corn. The fiend-goat only touches the tips of the ears, and travels long distances with incredible speed. The result is, that not only is the corn mown down in the immediate track, which is only about a foot's breadth, but all that has been inclosed in the wide, magic circle must henceforth grow and ripen in the barn of the Bilwis-Schneider, whilst it disappears in the neighbor's fields. But as great mischief may be thus wrought in a short time, it is said that the power of this witchcraft is limited to those three nights, and then only during curfew time; therefore a good sacristan knows that he must ring as short a time as possible on these evenings. However, countercharms exist of white, or allowable magic, against the black of the Bilwis rider. Any one who can find a cuckoo's nest, or the skin of an adder, or else an old mole-hill, and lays it on his head, and sits on a boundary stone, will become invisible, and can recognize the unholy rider. If he is called by name the goat vanishes with a howl, the sorcerer is thrown to the ground and sickens from that moment. Within a year and a day the devil fetches him. The mischief itself may be remedied and the bewitched ears of corn recovered by their rightful owner, provided the first harvest wagon is driven backwards into the barn. According to some old traditions, however, the Bilwis was originally a benevolent though tricksy Kobold, whose great amusement was to tangle the children's hair in their sleep; but gradually his good qualities were forgotten, and he became an evil spirit. At Whitsuntide, in many villages of Bavaria, Swabia, and the Upper Palatinate, is celebrated the Whitsun-ride. A procession of youths ride through the village, collecting contributions for the subsequent feast, and leading a comrade in their midst, enveloped in leaves and boughs, who is cast into the nearest pond or brook, and plentifully besprinkled with water. This appears to typify the victory of summer over winter, and as fragments of old songs testify, it was also an invocation to the gods that they should water the verdant summer earth. In olden days a maiden represented the virgin green earth. Processions are of frequent occurrence in all the Roman Catholic parts of Germany; partly remains of old heathen traditions, for we know from Tacitus and other sources, that solemn processions formed an important item in the ancient worship of the Germans, when the images of the gods were carried, or drawn in chariots, round the boundaries of the country, to spread peace and plenty. To this day there are curious superstitions connected with the Antlass or Corpus Christi procession. For instance, the branches of the young birch-trees, under which the procession has passed, are the best safeguard against hail and lightning. When the storm rises the dried leaves are reduced to ashes in an iron brazier, which must, however, on no account be riveted with a nail, or else the lightning will be attracted. Moreover, small flags on very long poles are waved during the procession, to drive away from the parish all evil spirits or threatening storms. At the end of August, in South Germany, when the last sheaves are brought into the barn, there comes the joyous festival of the Sichelhenk (from Sichel a sickle), which is in honor of the successful garnering of the corn, just as the Drischlhenk (from Dreschen to thrash) celebrates the final thrashing of the year's fruits. He who has reaped and bound the last sheaf hoists it on his shoulder, and leads the way to the barn. It is there laid down and the couples dance round. The sheaf is then divided: one half is decked with red ribbons and hung up in the shed, whilst the other is burnt on the open barn floor; the lads spring into the fire, and the girls cast in all sorts of small articles, such as ribbons, colored paper, or gingerbread, and preserve the ashes as a remedy against fever and rheumatism; they are likewise much used as love-charms. In many places the Bauer leaves the last ears of corn standing in the field, and the last apples hanging on the tree. "That is for Wodan, for the old one," he says, mysteriously, when questioned. If this act of piety be neglected, the ground or tree whenceall has been taken will bear no fruit next year. In Lower Bavaria the same festival is celebrated in a still more mythological form. The reapers fashion the likeness of a human figure from the last sheaf, with a stick in its hand and a wreath of flowers on its head. They then dance round it, and even kneel down before it and pray, though their devotions are now no longer addressed to the straw figure, but to the true God. Nevertheless, such a prayer is still considered to protect the suppliant from any accident that might befall him in field labor during the year. The remains of the fruit and corn are also laid down before the figure, which is called the Aswalt or Oswalt. With the first week in Advent the Anroller, Klöpfels, or Geb-Nächte begin. On Thursday evenings bands of young men or children, called Klöckler, go from house to house. They are armed with little wooden hammers, with which they knock at the windows, and then recite some rhymes, asking the inhabitants of the house for a small gift. This is supposed to be in pious memory of the wanderings of St. Joseph and the Blessed Virgin, when the hard-hearted people of Bethlehem refused them shelter. The custom may be also traced to the time of the Plague, when peas used to be thrown against the windows to find out if anybody was alive in the house. On the 6th of December, St. Nicholas appears, accompanied by his servant Klaubauf, or Wauwau. In the Vinschgau, in Tyrol, it is customary for all the children to sally out on the eve of St. Nicholas to a neighboring hill. They hang bells about them, and then dance and shout for a certain time. This is called "awaking the Klaubauf.” He is clad in a rough, hairy skin, with clanking chains hung about him. Over his shoulder are slung two sacks, into one of which he thrusts naughty boys and girls, whom he carries off to the woods, where he gobbles them up, but from the other he produces fruit and cakes for good children. Occasionally the heathen goddess Berahta, the Berchtfrau, accompanies the Christian bishop. In the Italian Tyrol, St. Lucy takes his place, and in Luserna a shoe is placed ready to receive her gifts. This is a North German custom, and is unknown elsewhere in Tyrol. In many villages it is usual to gather branches from a cherry-tree on St. Barbara's Day, December 4th, and on St. Lucy's, December 13th, in order to make them bloom on Christmas Eve. All species of black and white magic are supposed to be specially effective on St. Thomas's night, December 21st, and Christmas night, and they are particularly devoted to the practice of love-spells, by curious maidens who wish to penetrate the veil of the future. Lead, or else the yolk of an egg, is poured into water on the night of St. Thomas, and from the shape it assumes may be predicted whether the girl will marry, die, or remain single during the ensuing year; whether she will espouse an old or young man, citizen or peasant, rich or poor. Moreover, the right shoe must be thrown backwards over the left shoulder; should its tip point to the door, the bridegroom will be a stranger, but if the contrary, he will be some one in the village. Finally, the girl mounts on a stool just before getting into bed, and entreats St. Thomas to let her future husband appear in a dream. She also believes that whoever she first meets on her way to the Christmas midnight mass, or whoever first addresses her or shows her any civility, will eventually marry her. On Christmas Eve the mangers are universally displayed in Tyrol, decked with fir branches, or in South Tyrol with ivy. A Tyrolese manger does not merely represent the Scripture narrative, but is also a miniature reproduction of mountain life. Chamois and hunters climb the snowy summits of the mountains; there is the neat peasant's house, and battlemented castles frown down from the rocks. Shepherds, Bäuerinnen, cattle dealers, and sennerinnen enliven the foreground. Miners are bringing the ore from the depths of the earth, and in a secluded grotto the long-bearded hermit is visible, engaged in reading or praying. Till quite recently, the four elements were fed on the Holy Night, that they might be favorably disposed towards mankind. Flour was scattered in the air, a portion of food was buried in the earth, and some was thrown into the well, and on the fire. In many parts it is still customary to shake or embrace the trees in the orchard, saying, "Awake, tree! This is the Holy Night, bring us apples and pears again." This is supposed to make them bear plentifully. During mass on Christmas Eve, the water in the wells becomes wine. Anybody may fetch as much wine as he likes, but woe to him who utters a syllable during the process. At midnight the dead arise from their graves and hold a solemn service in church. Before going to mass, the Tyrolese place a glass or dish, full of water, on the table, and if it overflows during their absence, it signifies that the ensuing year will be wet. Hidden treasure may now be dug up, and on this night too the poacher casts his charmed bullets. It is well known that on Christmas Eve animals have the gift of human speech. Anybody, who, as a child, slept in a cradle made out of the wood of a cherry-tree, which grew from a stone dropped on a wall by a sparrow, can understand the discourse of the oxen and sheep in these holy hours. The Christmas Tree is unknown amongst the Bavarian peasants. It is a North German, Protestant custom, and was only introduced at the beginning of this century by the Protestant princesses, who wore the crown of Bavaria. Through the court and aristocratic circles of Munich, it has now crept into the families of the citizens, and has penetrated to the provincial towns. There is a strange custom throughout Bavaria and Swabia, called cutting the Kletzen or Scherzel. A maiden gives her betrothed the Kletzen, which is made of black bread, almonds, dried fruits, and figs; then she cuts off the round end, called the Scherzel, and they eat it together. This signifies that they have solemnly plighted troth for the ensuing year, and will share joy and sorrow. The manufacture of the cake is most important, and the Bäuerin fears illness or death, should it get burnt, or be otherwise unsuccessful. On St. John the Evangelist's Day, the red wine is consecrated in church, which the bridal couples drink at a marriage, and which is called St. John's Blessing. Another quaint custom prevails in the Lech Valley, on the Feast of the Holy Innocents. The young men give the girls cake, receiving in return bread and brandy, after which the maidens allow themselves to be beaten by their lovers with willow rods on their hands, arms, and necks. This is called Kindeln; if the skin does not become thoroughly red, it is a sign that the love of the couple is weak and wavering. On this day also, the children parade the village streets, and are permitted to beat the grown-up people, for which they receive fruit and Kletzen. At Christmas, New Year, and Epiphany, in Bavaria, Swabia, and a large portion of German Austria, there are processions of children, poor people, and youths disguised in various ways, who sing, recite verses, and improvise little dramas. Especially in the Giemgau and on the beautiful banks of the Alz, Traun, and Mangfall, the children still sing very ancient carols, of which the following is a specimen : Sleep, sleep, sleep, Thou Dearest Babe, now sleep! Before Thee now in song rejoices; Sleep, sleep, sleep, Thou Dearest Babe, now sleep. Great, great, great, the Love is all too great! God has left his Heavenly Home, Through the ways of Earth to roam! We, we, we, all cry aloud to Thee! When this mortal life is o'er, We, we, we, all cry aloud to Thee! They go from house to house, and receive gifts of fruit and cake, in return for which they sing — THE "STAR-SINGERS'" CAROL OF THANKS. Gratefully now we Our best thanks accord you, Which to us you have given. God the Almighty, He will reward you And will repay you Your kindness in Heaven; The Holy Infant in His Manger Bed, And Mary, too, and Joseph, and the angels overhead. These now together Great might are possessing, Since they in glory United are all; May they, too, grant you The Heavenly Blessing On your field's fruits, And your beasts in the stall; And have you safe from all evil and fear, Thus then we wish you, |