OF its kind we do not know a better book than this. It does not pretend to treat the subject philosophically, but as a collection of popular legends, brought together from a variety of sources inaccessible to the general reader, translated with obvious care, well illustrated with notes, and rendered accessible by useful indexes, the work is worthy of high praise and deserves great success.

We shall probably do justice to the author most completely, and inform our readers in the clearest way what is the nature of the book, if we throw together the information it contains upon some of those subjects of popular superstition which are best known amongst ourselves, or are common to us as well as to the nations to whose mythology these volumes relate,-perhaps common to all mankind.

We will first take Jack-o'-lantern or Will with the Whisp. Among ourselves, popular superstition imagines these flickering lights to be the false glimmering torches of mischievous little beings who seek to mislead the wandering traveller into bogs and marshes. In Northern Germany we are told that they are called by various familiar names similar to those among ourselves, and at Magdeburg are styled "light-mannikins." Both in Northern Germany and in Denmark the peasants say they are the souls of land-measurers who, in their

lifetime, had perpetrated injustice in their measurements, or persons who had sworn away lands, or who had removed landmarks. In punishment of these several offences they are condemned to run about at midnight, measuring with red-hot iron rods, and exclaiming "From here to there, so much," or "Here is the clear and right boundary." (Thorpe, ii. 211, iii. 158.)

In Sweden the tradition is very precise.

According to the old popular belief a man who during life has rendered himself guilty of such a crime [removing land, marks], is doomed to have no rest in his grave after death, but to rise every midnight, and with a lantern in his hand to proceed to the spot where the land-mark had stood which he had fraudulently removed. On reaching the place he is seized with the same desire which instigated him in his lifetime, when he went forth to remove his neighbour's landmark, and he says as he goes, in a harsh, hoarse, voice, "It is right! it is right! it is right!" But on his return qualms of conscience and anguish seize him, and he then exclaims, "It is wrong! it is wrong!" (ii. 97.)

This was probably the most ancient form, that is, the heathen form, of the superstition; then followed the Christian, or priestly form; which was, that these wandering fires were the souls of unbaptized children, that have no rest in the grave, and must hover

is believed to have been a shoemaker of Jerusalem, who, when Our Saviour passed his door bending under the weight of his cross, refused to allow him to rest even for an instant. The inhuman corvisarius thus drew upon himself the curse of perpetual wandering. In Jutland he is described as a man mean and lowly in his garments," and accepting as alms only so much as he requires for the moment. He is looked upon as a prophet, and many examples of foretelling future events are attributed to him. (ii. 212.) In North Germany they say he never grows old, nor is ever hungry or thirsty. He takes rest always out of doors, not being permitted to sleep under a roof. Some years ago he was at Luneburg, where he slept on a stone just without the city. "A few years since he was seen at Sundewith, not far from Beschchau. He carried a basket, out of which there grew moss. He rests only on Christmas eve, when he finds a plough in the field, for on that alone may he sit." (iii. 59.) Our friends the Belgians believe that he was met in the forest of Soignies in 1640, by two citizens who dwelt in the Tanners'-street in Brussels. His old-fashioned clothes seemed much the worse for wear.

They invited him to accompany them to the hostelry, which he did, but refused to sit down, and drank standing. As he walked with the two citizens towards the gate he told them many things, most of which were relations of events that had taken place several hundred years before;

whence the citizens soon discovered that their companion must be Isaac Laquedem, the Jew who refused to let our Lord rest at his door, and they left him filled with horror. (iii. 265.)

The number of superstitions founded upon similar imaginary histories attributed to scriptural persons is very considerable.

Gertrude's Bird, which is the name given in Norway to the red-crested black woodpecker, is one of them. In her human condition Gertrude dwelt in the Holy Land during the lifetime of our Lord, and on one occasion he and St. Peter, in the course of their "wandering," accosted her at a time when she was baking. They solicited the gift of a cake. The over-scrupulous but not altogether churlish woman separated a small portion of dough for

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them, and put it into the oven. rose in the process of baking so as to fill the pan. She tried again, with the same result, and finally dismissed them, with "You must go without alms, for all my bakings are too large." She was thereupon sentenced, so the story goes, by him who is All-merciful, to become a little bird, to seek her dry food between the wood and the bark, and to drink only when it rains. Hardly were the words uttered when the metamorphosis was completed. The colour of Gertrude's red hood reappeared in her crest as a bird, and the soot of her kitchen chimney (up which she made her escape) imprinted itself upon her body. "She constantly pecks the bark of trees for sustenance, and whistles against rain; for she always thirsts and hopes to drink." (ii. 25.)

Another story of a similar kind is entitled Hans Dumkt. A very small star, nearly in the centre of the fore part of the Great Bear, or Charles's Wain, is known as the wagoner Hans Dumkt. This Hans was a servant to our Lord. "He had a very comfortable place, but, by degrees, did his work more and more negligently." Hans was chided, but cared little for that. He was particularly careless in cutting chaff; none that he cut could be used, being cut much too long. By way of punishment he was set upon the pole of that celestial wain in which Elias, our Lord, and other saints journeyed to heaven; there he may be seen nightly, "a warning to all servingmen that cut chaff too long." (iii. 58.)

The Cuckoo is the subject of a similar tradition. The Saviour, passing by a baker's shop, was attracted by the smell of new bread. He sent one of his disciples to beg a loaf. The baker refused, but his wife and six daughters, who overheard what took place in the shop, secretly complied with the request of the humble applicant. For this good deed, the pious women were transferred to the heavens, where they shine forth as the Pleiades, or seven stars, whilst the churlish baker remains on earth transformed into the cuckoo. He makes his appearance from St. Tiburtius, April 14th, to St. John, June 24th, that being the period during which alone the constellation Pleiades can be seen in Northern

Germany; and by his monotonous chant attracts attention to the warning conveyed in his own wretched fate, and the contrasted brilliancy of his starry relatives. The original condition of the cuckoo, as a baker, is still indicated by his plumage, which appears as if sprinkled with flour. In some parts of Germany the story is altered into that of a baker's man, who, in a time of dearth, stole portions of the dough brought to him by poor people, "and on drawing it thus diminished from the oven was wont to cry "Gukuk!" (See, see!) (iii. 131.)

The Cuckoo's indication of the future, or power of foretelling by the number of times his cry is heard, either on the first occasion of his being listened to, or after he has been appealed to by a question, is a superstition common to the people of other countries as well as to ourselves. The number of times he is heard indicates how long the person hearing will live, or if a maiden how long it will be ere she be married. Upon the last point Mr. Thorpe's book contains a very valuable piece of information. Many a blooming damsel's heart has been saddened by hearing the cuckoo suddenly break forth into his monotonous chant, and continue it until all maidenly patience was exhausted. Years have seemed to stretch out in the distance, even "to the crack of doom," and still "Cuckoo! cuckoo!" has continued its tormenting reiteration of numbers yet to come. Now the Swedish lasses have found out the secret of this. If the cuckoo cries oftener than ten times, then "they say he sits on a bewitched bough," and that young ladies need not give heed to his prediction. (ii. 108.) We are most happy to be able to give currency to this valuable and consolatory discovery.

Much value is assigned in Sweden to the point of the compass from which the cuckoo is first heard. If from the north, the year will be one of sorrow; if from the west or east, one of prosperity; if from the south, a good butter year, but a year of death. Here we see the way in which ignorance links together cause and effect by means of superstition. The sound of course comes in the way of the wind. In a northern climate, the predominance of a northerly wind at cuckoo time bodes

an unseasonable and fruitless year, east and west indicate moderate weather, the south wind brings wet, butter is plentiful, but so is miasma, fever,-death.

Laziness is reproved in a Danish cuckoo-superstition. The "plain song" is not heard until the sun is well up. A man who hears it ere he has broken his fast is of course a late riser. Such a one is said to be "befooled" by the cuckoo. He shall not find his cattle on the hills or anything else he may seek after. He is behind-hand in everything. His day is badly begun, and he passes through it in a hurry and bewilderment. A girl who is similarly "befooled," is evidently a lazy worthless slut. She is warned lest she find that men as well as birds "befool." Old folks are told that early rising conduces to longevity, and that to be befooled by the cuckoo portends sickness. (ii. 271.)

We have not noticed in these volumes any allusion to the money-superstition connected with the cuckoo which is common among ourselves, namely, that he who has money in his pocket at that time will not want money all the year. The same notion is common in France. (Plancy, Dict. Infernal, voce "Coucou.")

The Wild Hunt is a superstition common to all the northern nations. It originated in the fact that sounds like voices are heard in the air during the months of November and December. These are either the roar of the winter tempest, or, as some modern naturalists suppose, the gentler utterances of certain waterfowls on their way to the south. (ii. 83, n.) But the chief time of the hunt is in the twelve days of Christmas, when the seasonable festivities occasion people to be abroad late at night under circumstances which predispose them to meet with unusual incidents. Everything out of the way which then occurs is set down to the Wild Huntsman. In all the northern nations Odin, or Woden, is the person supposed to lead the hunt. He carries his head, like St. Denis, under his arm, and is followed by a wild, barking, screaming rabble of dogs and men, the latter being thought to consist of the souls of loose livers, "drunkards, brawlers, singers of slanderous songs, crafty deceivers, and those that for the sake of lucre have perjured themselves," whose punishment it is to ride about

till the end of the world. Their horses are coal-black, and have eyes that glow in the dark like fire. They are guided with red-hot rods and iron reins. The screaming of the riders, the tramp of the horses, and the clang of their reins produce a terrific noise, which may be heard at a vast distance. As they pass along they press into their service whomsoever they can find. Belated travellers have been run off with, and horses not well secured have been found in the morning weary, covered with mud, and sweating at every pore. (ii. 25, 26, 27.) The peasant who hears their approach in the distant wind seeks safety by throwing himself flat on his face on the earth, until the roar and scream of the hellish band are past. At these times the house should be kept fast and quiet. No linen should be left out, or it will be torn to tatters. If the door be left open, the hunt will pass through the house, consuming and destroying everything.

The great antiquity of this impersonation of the horrors of a tempestuous night is unquestionable. Certainly it belongs to the times of heathendom, but many additions were subsequently made to it. A story, which Mr. Thorpe has printed (iii. 218), is evidently of this kind. In favour of the celibacy of ecclesiastics, this tale represents "the concubine of a priest," that is, his wife by a marriage not binding, after the change in the ecclesiastical law, caught up by the wild huntsman, and thrown across his saddle in most contemptuous fashion.

One of the post-Christian diversities of the legend of the Wild Huntsman is entitled Hans von Hackelberg. (iii. 91.) This Hans was a wild fellow who hunted on Sundays, and, on his deathbed, told the priest he might keep heaven to himself provided he might continue to hunt. He was taken at his word, and his "Hoto! Hoto!" is still heard every stormy night through the forest of Hackel. Those who mock him meet with sudden vengeance, but he disappears if asked for salt, which he is unable to command. Some allusion to the use of salt in baptism is here implied.

The superstitions connected with horse-shoes are probably derived from those of the Wild Huntsman. A found horseshoe was presumed to be one

dropped by the spectral hunters, and was therefore an object of superstitious regard. If nailed to the threshold, with the points turned outwards, it brought luck, that is, it kept out the wild huntsmen; if the points were turned inwards, it brought misfortune. This superstition is referred to Berlin, and other places in North Germany. (iii. 185.) In Denmark the notion is simply this, "If you nail a horseshoe fast to the step of the door, no spirit can enter," a version which, as Mr. Thorpe remarks, is common among ourselves. (ii. 275.)

Weyland Smith, or "the underground smith," shoes the wild horseman's cavalry, and will do the same for the belated traveller. He will do other things besides, when properly adjured. A man riding past the Dreiberge "heard smiths there at work, and cried out that he wished they would make him a chaff-knife." In the evening, as he returned past the same spot, the very instrument he desired was lying on his path. He laid down his money in payment, and bore off his acquisition in triumph. It was a knife "of excellent temper and keenness, but wounds caused by it were incurable." (iii. 33.)

The seas of Scandinavia were of old time peopled with Mermen and Mermaids. They were seen only in tranquil weather, but their appearance foreboded storms. Woe worth the mariner, who, beguiled by their siren songs, allowed himself to fall asleep. Infallibly they dragged him to perdition. It was scarcely less fatal to catch one of them, and bear it away against its will. The ship that carried it soon found itself involved in storm and tempest, and the companions of the imprisoned dweller in the sea following in the vessel's track, wailing and howling for their lost companion. In spite of these imminent perils, sailors were fond of ensnaring one of them, because "they can see into futurity,"-wonderful gift, to participate in which man will face any danger. But all these marvels retreat before the schoolmaster. Even in Norway, "it is now rare to hear a mermaid speak or sing." (ii. 27). The Swedes are so impressed with the badness of the omen which a mermaid presents, that, when one appears, the man who sees her should not say to