his companions "Look there!" but, holding his peace, should take out his flint and steel, and strike fire. (ii. 76.) Here we trace the universal appeal to light, as the protector against evil beings, which is the foundation of the faith of the fire-worshipper, and the origin also of the blessing of candles as practised in the Roman church.

Their dwellings are at the bottom of the sea, where they have their mansions and castles with pastures well stocked with cattle. Sometimes they drive their cattle up on the sea-shore and let them graze on the salt-marshes, and the peasantry are wise when they submit to the loss with a good grace. Once on a time, we learn, the inhabitants of a village in Denmark, "notorious for their covetousness," were foolish enough to intercept a party of sea-cows and bulls who had done them the kindness to feed off their pasture. They drove them, with their attendant merwife, into an inclosure near the town, and refused to allow them to return to their more accustomed element until they had settled a considerable claim for agistment. In vain the merwife explained

that coin was unknown in the transac

She

tions of her native watery realm, and that money therefore she had none. The greedy townspeople insisted upon payment in some shape or other, and compelled her to relinquish her girdle studded with lustrous sparkling gems. Having thus redeemed her cattle and herself, she took her way to the seashore, muttering vengeance. The wind suddenly rose until it blew great guns from the direction of the sea. drove her cattle onwards until they reached the shore, where, choosing a convenient spot, and gathering her flock around her, she conveyed her orders through her large bull, "Rake up now!" Instantly with horns and feet the lately impounded animals raked up the sand and tossed it in the air. Away it flew, carried by the tempest, over the residences of the covetous villagers, and in a few hours so completely were they buried, that even the church could scarcely be discerned peering above the level sanddrift. The punishment of these churls did not end there. The exacted girdle was soon found to be a mere pretence. Its watery brilliancy disappeared like

that of sea-weed as soon as it lost its moisture. (ii. 171.)

There are many pathetic tales of the sorrows which result from yielding to the seductions of these dwellers in the waters. The following, as we are told by Mr. Thorpe, is not only the subject of an old Danish ballad, but also of two beautiful poems by Baggesen and Oehlenschlæger.

In the diocese of Aarhuus there once dwelt two poor people who had an only daughter named Margaret, or Grethe. One day when she had been sent down to the sea-side to fetch sand, and was scooping it into her apron, a merman rose from the water. His beard was greener than the salt sea, he was of comely aspect, and spoke in friendly words to the girl, saying,

Follow me, Grethe! I will give thee as much silver as thy heart can desire." "That would not be amiss," answered she, "for we have not much of that article at home." So she suffered herself to be enticed, and he took her by the hand, and conducted her to the bottom of the ocean, where she became mother of five children.

After a long lapse of time, and when she had nearly forgotten her Christian belief, as she was sitting one holiday morn ing, rocking her youngest child in her lap, she heard the church-bells ringing

above her, and was seized with a strong fit of melancholy and longing after church; and as she sat and sighed, with the tears rolling down her cheeks, the merman, observing her sorrow, inquired the cause of it. She then besought him earnestly, with many expressions of affection, to allow her once more to go to church. The merman could not withstand her affliction, but conducted her up to land, repeatedly exhorting her to return quickly to her children. In the middle of the sermon the merman came outside of the church and cried "Grethe! Grethe!"' She heard him plainly enough, but resolved within herself that she would stay and hear the sermon out. When the sermon was ended the merman came a second

time to the church, crying "Grethe! Grethe art thou soon coming? But she did not obey him. He came a third time, crying, "Grethe! Grethe art thou soon coming? Thy children are longing after thee." On finding that she did not come he began to weep bitterly, and again descended to the bottom of the sea. But from that time Grethe continued with her parents, and let the merman himself take care of the poor little children. His wail and lamentation are often to be heard

from the deep.

A local traditionary mermaid story from Sweden is full of interest and curiosity.

In West Gothland, in the district of Biärke, there is a lake, with beautifully wooded shores, called Anten. On an isle in this lake there was formerly an ancient castle, remains of which are still to be seen, called Loholm, in which dwelt Sir Gunnar, a renowned knight and ancestor of the famous family of Leionhufvud, or Lewenhaupt. Once, when out on the lake, he had fallen into danger, a merwife came to his aid, but exacted from him the promise, that on a certain day he should meet her again at the same place. One Thursday evening she sat expecting the knight; but he forgot his promise. She then caused the water of the lake to swell up over Loholm, until Sir Gunnar was forced to take refuge in a higher apartment; but the water reached even that. He then sought safety in the drawbridge tower, but there the billows again overtook him. He next committed himself to a boat, which sank near a large stone, called to this day Gunnar's Stone; from which time Sir Gunnar, it is said, lives constantly with the merwife. When fishermen or the country-people row by the stone they usually lift their hats, as a salutation to Sir Gunnar, in the belief that if they neglected to do so they would have no success. From that time no one dwelt at Loholm, of the materials of which was built the noble castle of Gräfsnäs, on a peninsula in the same lake, with towers, ditches, and drawbridges, remains of which are still visible. From this Sir Gunnar descended Erik Abrahamson, father-inlaw of Gustavus the First.

The Finns and Laplanders, it is well known, used to sell "a wind," which was either inclosed in a bag, to be opened when desired, or to be procured by the untying of a knot. There are not so many stories upon this subject in the present book as might have been expected; but the power of the Finns in this particular is clearly admitted both in Denmark and North Germany. In one story, referring to a Finlap, something of the mesmeric character is mixed up with the power of controlling the wind. A Jutland shipmaster formed an acquaintance with a Finlap, who often came on board his ship to visit him, and among other proofs of his friendship offered to teach him how to procure a wind. The shipmaster was afraid of dealing GENT. MAG. VOL. XXXVIII.

in such matters, and, although he went the length of accepting a bag of wind and hanging it outside his cabin, he soon afterwards repented, and returned the doubtful gift, suspecting that it came from the devil." The Finlap then asked him whether he wished to know how his wife and children were. On the skipper answering in the affirmative, the Finlap immediately laid down on the deck as if dead. After some time he rose, saying, 'I have been to ing coffee; the others were also in good Aarhuus. Thy wife was sitting drinkhealth, though one of the children had been ill.

That thou mayest believe my words-dost thou know this?' at the same time handing him a silver spoon. This,' said the other, 'thou hast taken from my house in Aarhuus,' and so took the spoon and kept it." (ii. 193.)

The incident of the spoon (which the captain of course found to be missing on his return home) looks like an addition to what-save for that is the mere record of an experiment in clairvoyance.

The most precise and explanatory story in reference to buying a wind is the following:

WIND-KNOTS.

At Siseby on the Slei there dwelt a woman who was a sorceress, and could change the wind. The Sleswig herringfishers used frequently to land there. Once when they would return to Sleswig, the wind being west, they requested the woman to change it. She agreed to do so for a dish of fish. She then gave them a cloth with three knots, telling them they might undo the first and the second, but not the third until they had reached land. The men spread their sails, although the wind was west; but no sooner had the oldest of the party undone the first knot than there came a beautiful fair wind from the east. On undoing the second knot they had storm, and arrived at the city with the utmost speed. They were now curious to know what would follow if they undid the third knot, but no sooner had they done so than a violent hurricane assailed them from the west, so that they order to draw their vessel on shore. were obliged to leap into the water in

We might carry this kind of illustration of the book before us into a vast variety of subjects, but space warns us to forbear. We will conclude

C

with an illustration, the practical utility of which will, we are sure, commend it to the judgment of our readers.

The power attributed to witches in this country was altogether vast and vague. They could perpetrate a multitude of annoying and disagreeable and even deadly things; but we doubt whether any faculty ever attributed to them in England was half so tormenting as one which they possessed, and perhaps still possess, in Northern Germany. The preparation of a bridal bed is in that country a matter of peculiar importance. The cumbrous feather bed under which the newly united pair are to take their rest is to be stuffed with singular care, and woe betide the unhappy couple whose bed passes through the hands of any one envious of the happiness they are about to enjoy, for it appears that the witches have the power of stuffing into the bridal couch either harmony or dissension at their pleasure. A striking story is told upon this subject. A young couple, fondly attached to each other, passed a happy wedding-day, and retired in due time to rest. Soon the sound of discord began to be heard between them; the contest rose so high that the house echoed to the shrill dispute, and, finally, the happy couple proceeded even to blows. The parents

of the bridegroom, whose chamber was not far off, disturbed at the unseemly dissension, interfered to restore harmony, and, suspecting what had occurred, offered the youthful pair to change beds with them. The offer was accepted, and the bride and bridegroom passed the remainder of the night in becoming quietness and affectionate harmony. But no sooner had the old folks laid themselves down in the bridal bed than they, who had never before had a difference between them, quarrelled and fought the whole night through. In the morning the mystery was explained. The bed was ripped open, and it was found that the feathers were "all twisted together in wreaths and rings with silken threads of all colours." The conclusion was clear. "The women who had stuffed the bed were witches, and they had' twisted dissension into it." (iii. 25.) Benevolent anxiety for the comfort of our young friends about to enter into the holy estate compelled us to record this curious history, and we heartily trust its practical warning will not pass unremembered.

Mr. Thorpe's book, it must be obvious to every one, is not only full of amusement but is a most valuable repository of information for the folkloreist and the student of manners.

MR. URBAN,

DR. WARTON, in his observations on "Eloïsa to Abelard," has given some of the passages from the Latin letters of these celebrated persons which were imitated by Pope. As the letters are not in every library, I have noted and transcribed what I believe to include nearly all the passages which Pope's exact taste regarded as suitable to his subject; and it may interest some of your readers to compare them with the Epistle, and to trace with what consummate judgment and poetical skill he selected, and improved upon, the slightest hint furnished by the letters; producing the most finished, perhaps the most beautiful, and certainly the most pathetic, of all his writings.

Abelard and Eloïsa, as is well known, after their fatal attachment, retired from the world, and devoted themselves to a monastic life. Long afterwards, a letter written by Abelard to a friend, in which he detailed the history of his life and misfortunes, came by chance to the hands of Eloïsa. It revived all the recollections of her love, and elicited her first letter to Abelard. This was followed by two others; and her three letters, with three from Abelard in reply, form the whole correspondence, so far at least as relates to the Epistle of Pope.

The wildness of the scenery amidst which the Paraclete was built was evidently suggested by a passage in her first letter. Pope begins