a bran new cloak and gown. It was near the mouth of the Murthering Hole that he met her. He first sthruve to get his will of her, but he couldn’t, for she was a very dacent girl; so he tares off her cloak and drags her to the mouth of the Hole, and says, ‘Strip.’
“Go on.”
“Well, sir, she takes off her new gown, and her flannel petticoat, saving your presence, and then she falls down on her knees and says to him, ‘Oh, for the Vargin’s sake, turn your head aside while I take off the rest of my things.”
“Well?”
“Well, sir, he turned his back to her and his face to the Murthering Hole, when she sprung up and made a dhrive at him, and pushed him in.”
“And killed him?”
“Of coorse.”
“Bravo!”
A DECLARATION.
Again the glimmering night had chased the day;
The billows danced before me; more and more
My madness came upon me, as I lay
With swelling bosom on the lonely shore,—
With bosom full and swelling like the sea,
With deep and tender longing for the form
Which everywhere is present unto me,
In the warm sunshine and the pelting storm,—
Which calls me and surrounds me everywhere,
Whose voice is murmuring in the western wind.
I know all nature is indeed most fair,
But in all nature her alone I find.
With brittle reed I wrote upon the sand,—
“Emma, I love thee!” but the creeping stream
Too soon effaced the labour of my hand,
As the dank morning breaks a happy dream.
Ah, slippery sand! ah, too, too treacherous wave!
I will not trust your frail record again.
“Emma, I love thee!” I will rather grave
In characters which cannot over wane.
To generations of remotest time
These golden characters shall surely speak;
I will enclose them in incondite rhyme
In the immortal page of Once a Week.
MIDSUMMER-EVE IN BOHEMIA.
The people of Bohemia still preserve many customs and superstitions derived from their pagan ancestors. At the introduction of Christianity, in the latter part of the ninth century, the harbingers of the Gospel, in accordance with the precepts of Pope Gregory, indulged to some degree the customs and prejudices of the nation they came to convert. Christianity did not wholly exterminate, but subverted idolatry, and then amalgamated the fragments with itself. The localities consecrated from of old to heathen deities were allowed to preserve their sacred character, by becoming the sites of Christian churches, often dedicated to saints whose names resembled, or were made to assimilate to, those of the idols they superseded. It was probably a similarity of name that assisted in superseding the worship of the pagan deity “Sviatoy Vit,” by that of the Christian Saint Vitus; and the latter, accordingly, became in popular belief invested with the attributes of the former; being always represented as a beautiful youth, accompanied by a black cock—a bird sacred to the idol,—and which is to this day brought as an offering by the people, in their pilgrimages to the shrine of St. Vitus. A like policy was pursued with regard to the pagan festivals and ceremonies, which were not entirely abolished, but made to coincide and blend with those of the new faith. The antagonist creeds, when brought together, underwent a fusion, and the result was an alloy.
The heathen festival of the Beltane Fire, celebrated at the summer solstice, was readily associated, and then confounded, with the illuminated rites of the Roman Church on the vigil of St. John; and in this instance it was easy to convert the pagan observance into a Christian solemnity.
For some weeks previous to Midsummer-eve, the young people, all over the country, are active in collecting fuel for the bonfires to be kindled on that day; and among the articles in request are old besoms and cart-wheels out of use. The cart-wheels, being well smeared with rosin, are set on fire and allowed to roll down the hills. The besoms, dipped in tar, are set ablaze, and the young men wave them about, while dancing round and leaping through the bonfire, or run with them, flaming in their hands, from one bonfire to another, to leap over each in turn, being in this exercise imitated and rivalled by the damsels; for it is believed that to leap three times through the fire secures the performer from fever for the year. There are various methods of building up the pile for the bonfire, but when made of bundles of firewood, the number preferred is seven. A lofty tree, standing alone upon an eminence, near a village, is sometimes selected; and, being heaped round with dry branches and brush-wood, the whole is set in flames, while the young people of both sexes dance in a circle around it. The tarred besoms are kindled at the fire; and, after being swung about and hurled into the air, the charred stumps are carried home, and stuck about the cabbage-