and loud rejoicing. In many places on the Lower Rhine, the horse's head has lately been exchanged for a figure of Zacchaeus, the patron saint of the Kirmess. Having thus gained full possession of the Kirmess merriment, the joyous troop wends its way to the inn, where the disinterred Kirmess symbol is erected above the dancing-room, together with the Kirmess crown, consisting of flowers and eggs. The young men then solemnly bind themselves to make holiday for three or more days, to keep a joint score, and to celebrate the feast jointly, as well as to stand by each other in the event of possible fighting. This compact is ratified by each youth in turn striking a post, fixed in the ground for the purpose, with a heavy wooden cudgel. The number of strokes denote the amount of holidays each will take. Generally three are deemed sufficient, but sometimes four or six strokes are given. It is considered a good omen when the stake is finally driven quite into the ground. The girls, whose business it is to manufacture the Kirmess crown, and in some places to deck the Kirmess tree, are present during the process just described, and they fasten a red ribbon on the breast of every youth, which may not be discarded until the prescribed Kirmess days are over. Kirmess was not buried until Saturday. The horse's head again played the chief part in this ceremony. Either that, or else the effigy of Zaccheus on his horse was carried on a bier through the village with the usual funeral melodies. Zaccheus on his white horse is evidently Woden himself, but there is no explanation how Zaccheus became the patron saint of the Kirmess. The "Gelagsburschen" walked beside the bier with chalked faces, and covered with white cloths. There were also the usual masks, reminiscences of the ancient heathen gods-such as the Faithful Eckhart, Hakelberend the Wild Huntsman, Knecht Ruprecht and Frau Berchta-although they were now made to assume a merely demoniacal aspect. Thus they proceeded to the spot, whence the Kirmess was to be resuscitated the following year. The place chosen was generally secluded and dismal, and the flickering torches lent it a still more uncanny appearance. The horse's head or the figure was then laid in the deeply-dug grave, and the bones and skulls of animals were also cast in. Whilst the hole was being filled up, a hideous din was created by those present-howling, shrieking, and beating pots and pans. With wild shouts the company returned to the village; and on this wise was the Kirmess buried. The ceremony varies slightly in different parts of Germany, although its main features remain the same. The Kirmess is generally celebrated on Sunday, and as the last chords of the organ die away, the dance music strikes In Swabia, after the young people have up; the girls are fetched from the church-danced from Monday morning till Wedpath by their partners, and those maidens take precedence who have manufactured the Kirmess crown. Some fifty years back, the dancing still took place under the shadow of the village linden tree. On the second and third holidays, the "Gelagsburschen" go to church, headed by a band, playing. Formerly they proceeded thither in masquerading guise, and were fetched by the priest himself. The musicians performed during the mass bespoken by the "Burschen," but the tunes were not always of an edifying description. After service, the party either betook themselves to the dancing-room, or else visited distant farms, where the young men were regaled with cakes baked for the occasion. By Wednesday it was the turn of the married men to take the lead, and the youths retired. Frequently the wildest revelry occurred under the new auspices, and extended over the whole week, so that the nesday evening, the "Kirwe" having commenced on Sunday, each youth takes his partner, and they all walk two and two to bury the "Kirchweih" outside the village. Here the "Kirwe" consists of a piece of cake, some old rags and coloured ribbons, and a bottle of wine, which is poured into the grave. The other articles are then thrown in, and all the spectators break out into loud lamentations, such as we have just described. At Lahr, in Baden, a sealed bottle of wine represents the Kirchweih, and it is formally interred in the middle of the village. The innkeepers of Wildberg, in Swabia, are forced to provide all the cake, gratis, which their guests consume in the course of the evening. In several villages there are special games connected with the Kirchweih, such as the so-called "hat dance," which is performed as follows, on the Sunday succeeding the Kirchweih. A hat is drawn up to the top of a long pole, by means of a cord fastened at the bottom, and to which a long piece of lighted tinder is affixed. The youths then dance round the hat in turn to an appointed goal, where each dancer delivers up the decorated sprig he bears in his hand to his successor, who is chosen by lot. He who happens to be dancing when the hat falls from the burnt cord, wins the hat. But it is not every Swabian village that can boast of a Kirchweih. Some parishes are said to have forfeited their privilege, and among these are Betzingen-where a beggar is believed to have starved on the Kirchweih day-Tübingen, Bietigheim, and Weilheim. It is told of Tübingen and Bietigheim, that they lost their rights because, once, two women quarrelled while baking their Kirchweih cakes, and killed one another with the plates. A somewhat similar incident is recorded of the natives of Weilheim. One Kirchweih, two beggars approached the village. They agreed with one another to ask only for cake on such a festival day, and one was to go to Weilheim, while the other betook himself to the Derendingen Kirchweih; at night they were to meet and divide the proceeds. The Derendingers gave plentifully, but the Weilheimers behaved so stingily that the two beggars fought over the division of the spoil, and one was killed. This happened close to Weilheim, on the road to Derendingen, where a lime tree now stands. On account of this sad catastrophe, the Weilheimers resolved never to hold another Kirchweih. To this day they do not like to be reminded of the occurrence, but if twitted with the loss of the Kirchweih cake, they proudly return that they eat cake all the week through. The inhabitants of Hepisau are nicknamed "cuckoos," because they are accused of having sold their Kirchweih for a cuckoo, in olden times. At Wurmlingen, and one or two other places in Swabia, the people themselves declare that the Kirchweih is in reality an ancient heathen festival. In that part of Bavaria called the Lechrain, it is customary, on the Monday morning after the Kirchweih, to have a solemn mass said for the souls of all the deceased members of the parish, at which the women appear dressed in black. On the same day the musicians go round to the house of every well-to-do peasant, and play a dance, in return for which they expect to be regaled with meat, cakes, and beer. This process has to be rapidly performed at an early hour, for no one likes to miss the souls' mass, to which the peasantry cling with the greatest devotion. We will conclude with a curious legend respecting the Kirchweih of Bruckdorf, in the Bavarian Palatinate. It so happened that Pope Leo the Ninth chanced to be travelling from Hungary to Nürnberg, just as the Counts of Schwarzburg had completed the erection of the church at Bruckdorf. They therefore besought the holy father on bended knees to consecrate it. But the Pope was unable to deviate from his route, although he did not like to refuse such a request. Accordingly he rode to the summit of a hill, whence the little church was visible, and made the sign of the cross over it as it lay in the distance. This did not quite satisfy the knights of Schwarzburg, and the holy father, noticing their discontent, said to them: "Go ye thither and convince yourselves. If the walls bear no sign of the consecration, I will grant your desire." And, behold! the knights found that an angel had acted as the Pope's substtute, and that the church was duly consecrated! The fame of this miracle soon spread abroad, and crowds of pious pilgrims flocked to Bruckdorf. It is said that amongst the portraits of the Popes in the Basilica of St. Peter at Rome, Leo the Ninth may be seen portrayed with the Bruckdorf church as his attribute. GRIFFITH'S DOUBLE. BY MRS. CASHEL HOEY, BOOK VI. GRIFFITH'S DOUble. LADY OLIVE DESPARD had given Audrey a hint, in the note she wrote to her at Ida's request, that it would be well to let her cousin's looks and movements pass without comment for the present; and Audrey obeyed the intimation. Not that she was not curious to find out what was the matter with Ida, and what was the object of her sudden and unannounced visit to Lady Olive; but that she was of a happy nature, not given either to mysteriousness or to jealousy on her own account; Audrey had seen the parcel on the table, and recognised it for that which they had found in the packing-case. and, as she felt no doubt but that she "Well, that is funny. And lucky too, should know all about it in time, what- for you can give her her things, you know ever it might be, she did not mind-oh, I see you have given them to her." Lady Olive's being in Ida's confidence in the first instance. Audrey was quite sure that Ida was not in love with anyone, and in her present state of mind she really could not feel much distress about "trouble" on any other score. Ida, therefore, remained in her room on the following morning unquestioned, and Audrey left her to herself until nearly noon, when she took her some hothouse flowers which Madeleine Kindersley had just brought from Beech Lawn. To her surprise, Audrey found that Ida was not alone. Her cousin was sitting at her writing-table, and looking tired, as if she had been writing for some time; but she had laid aside her pen, and had evidently been listening or speaking-and with some agitation-to the second person in the room, towards whom Audrey glanced, when her first look at Ida showed her the disturbance in her face. This second person was a handsome young woman, whose colourless cheeks and determined expression-she did not remove her eyes from Ida's face-and the firm resting of her hand upon a parcel on the table, made it evident that no commonplace subject was in discussion between them. "I beg your pardon," said Audrey; "I did not know-I only came to bring you these. Madeleine is here." "Thank you, dear," said Ida, taking the flowers. "I am so sorry I can't go down to see Madeleine; at least, not yet. Is she going to stay long?" "Mrs. Simcox was here yesterday, Ida, while you were out. She is looking so well. Do you like Ireland ?" said Audrey, addressing Bessy West, who answered: "Yes, ma'am.” Then Audrey ran downstairs again, and she and Madeleine agreed that it was a pity Bessy West had turned up just now, when Ida was not in good spirits, and when the renewal of the scenes she had gone through was undesirable. Meantime, Ida and her former attendant resumed the conversation which Audrey had interrupted. "And do you really mean to say that you would not have asked to see me, that I might never have known you were here, if you had not heard that rumour at Mrs. Lipscott's ?" "I do mean to say it, Miss Pemberton. Why should I have asked to see you? For your sake, or for mine? There never was any love lost between us, you know, and I don't pretend to be what I'm not.” Ida's eyes filled with tears. "I don't think I deserved love or anything like it from you," she said. "Pray forgive me. I had been so accustomed to be loved, and to have so much that I did not deserve, that I did not think about meriting anything. Why, all the time you and I were together, I never thought about what your life might have been, or whether you had any sorrows or diffi "Until after lunch." "That's right. whom you have heard of." Bessy West bowed. "Indeed!" exclaimed Audrey, coming up to her, and shaking hands with her, full of enthusiasm about another survivor of the catastrophe of the Albatross, and instantly accounting for Ida's agitation by the necessarily painful associations evoked by the sight of her companion in that disaster. "When did you come, and where did you come from?" This is Bessy West, culties." "I have just come from Ireland," replied Bessy West. "Did not Griffith tell you?" asked Ida. "He met her last evening in the town, and told us at Despard Court. Is it not odd, Audrey, how things turn out? Here is Bessy West come to Wrottesley, with your old friend Mrs. Simcox." "Just so, Miss Pemberton; and yet, I am a woman like yourself, and not so very much older, though I have lived a great deal longer than my years. But if you did not think or care about my life, or what was to become of it, there was one that did, and while my life lasts, I shall never forget her. It is because I shall never forget her I am here to-day, and am going to do you the greatest service that ever was done you in your life." "I don't know what you mean. "I think you do, Miss Pemberton; though it's contradicting you very flat to say so. But I must go back to the beginning to make it clear to you. When I first came to your house at Randwick, I had my suspicions that there was something wrong with you. I cannot put it Ida bent her head, and shaded her face with one hand, listening. "Mrs. Pemberton is the best woman in the world,' said Mrs. Simcox to me, and her step-daughter is behaving ill to her, and I have a notion she has been put up to it by the man who was here when Mr. Randall died-by Mr. Geoffrey Dale." " Ida did not speak, or look up, when Bessy West paused to observe the effect of her words upon her. "Mrs. Simcox knew that Mr. Dale was no stranger to me, and that I had the best of reasons for knowing that he would not lead any one right; but I told her, if he had been making any mischief out of the time he had been at your father's house, it would not be likely to last, for that he was gone back to England, or going very soon. I knew that, or at least I believed it, and so she need not fret." "How did you know it? "I could not make it out, altogether. I wondered why you consented to go to England if you did not like it; then I thought it might be settled between you and him on account of your father's will. Of course I never heard a word from you or Mrs. Pemberton to tell me anything; and, to tell the truth again, I did not care. Though you were very good, and almost all you ought to be to my dear mistress on the voyage,"-Ida liked the honesty of that "almost"-" I used to like to think that she would soon be with kind friends, and have other people to think of and depend on, besides you." "Hush, hush!" said Ida, putting out her hand imploringly; "I have suffered enough." "So I think," said Bessy West, "and she would not thank me for grieving you. I need not tell you much more about that time. When she was gone, and the baby was gone, I had nothing more to care about; I had no more to do with you and your affairs. You did not want me, and I did not want you after we were safe in England; and when I thought at all about it, I still thought the man you were fretting about was in the colony. But I knew you were your own mistress now, and could hurt nobody but yourself." "I will come to that in time. Mrs. Simcox said: "Then he's gone to England to wait for her there, like a spider for a fly; for I'm sure and certain it's that man and nobody else that has altered Miss Ida to her step-mother.' I thought that was very likely to be his plan, but I did not much care about it, for Mrs. Pemberton was going to take me to England with her, and when I got there I could easily "You felt very hardly towards me." upset his game. Then came Mrs. Pem- "I did. I mostly feel hard towards berton's illness, and the delay about going every one. My life has made me hard; to England, and I did not think much but if my dear mistress had been spared about you, to tell you the truth, because II would have been different. And now, loved her with all my heart, and I had enough to think of, with her and the child, and my own troubles. But when I did think about you, I was more and more sure it was some man that was in the place you were thinking of." How vividly the remembrance came to Ida's mind of the day on which Bessy West had come to look for her with a message from Mrs. Pemberton, only a moment after Geoffrey Dale had quitted her side. If she had seen him there! What had she to tell that might influence events? "We sailed. And then, I own, I watched you, Miss Pemberton. You were so miserable, you moped so much, Miss Pemberton, I will tell you the very last time I ever watched you or tried to find out anything at all about what was in your mind.' "Go on, go on!" "It was when we were at the hotel at Plymouth. I watched you then; and the lowness of your spirits, the quiet weary ways of you, and your seeming not to care a bit about going home with your friends, made me quite certain that no one you cared for was waiting for you in England. You remember when you first saw your cousin Mr. Dwarris ? " "I remember." "I thought nothing at all of that. You might very well be upset then; there was so much to think of about the dead and gone; and, besides, I could not get over it on my own account. The next morning there came a letter for you. I took an opportunity of looking at the address and the postmark. They told me nothing: the writing I had never seen; the postmark made it plain that the letter was from some relative. I was quite satisfied. Of course I was also quite wrong." Ida made a mute gesture of assent. "After that time, Miss Pemberton, I thought no more about you-in that way, at least. I was going to Ireland, and I turned my thoughts to the people I was going to. Mrs. Simcox has a great many relations in Ireland; they don't boast of her, though they might; and when she recommended me to her nephew and his wife, they were kind to me. They don't like me to talk about Mrs. Simcox to any one, and no one except yourself need ever be the wiser. I think the major ought to be proud of her, but that is not his opinion, or his wife's; and it is not my business to go against them. It is odd that the only person in England who knew—I mean you, Miss Pemberton-should be living here." "Why did they take you into their employment?" Partly because they are both kind people, partly because they thought I should suit, and partly because it was the best way to make me hold my tongue. If it had come out in Tralee that Captain Simcox had an aunt who was a hired nurse in the colonies, no one but myself could possibly have been to blame; and they would have my punishment in their own hands. We made no bargain, but I think they understood that there was one. They are very kind to me; I do my duty by them, so long as it lasts. They need never know that you know anything about them, if you think it better." "Yes, yes," assented Ida, "I think it would be much better. But, pray go on, and tell me why you come to do me a service now." Bessy West's face softened; she looked with pity and some kindness at Ida. "Because, when I heard what they said in the town-what I have already told you-I understood it all in a minute; I saw that I had been mistaken-wrong all through; and then the recollection of my dear dead mistress came to me, and I said to myself, I will do all I can, for her sake, to save Miss Pemberton.' I did not forget that she saved you from the fire and the sea. If I had not persuaded myself of what wasn't the case, the truth would have been found out before. I heard the talk the first evening at Mrs. Lipscott's, and I sent to ask you to see me." "I did not get the message until I came in last night. Clark thought it of no consequence, I suppose." "I had put it on wanting the things of mine that were among the luggage. It was just as well, for the delay made me quite certain. It was only a sharp guess at first, but I know all about it now; and if you will let bygones be bygones, Miss Pemberton, and trust me, I think-indeed, I know-I can serve you more than anyone in the world can serve you." She moved nearer to Ida, who held out her hand, and said: "Indeed, indeed I will trust you. Sit here, beside me, and I will tell you the truth. Geoffrey Dale did not go to England. I saw him, without Mrs. Pemberton's knowledge, at my old home; I promised to marry him; he was to have come to England in the ship with us; he was actually among the crowd when we went on board, but he changed his mind at the last moment." "He was among the crowd! Could he see us-Mrs. Pemberton, I mean, and myself?" "Yes, certainly, why ?" "Never mind just now. I understand why he changed his mind, and you will understand presently." "The letter you saw was from him. He claims me; he holds me cruelly to my promise." "I know that, I know that. And you -you have cured yourself of your folly; you don't want to marry him? You want to escape from him? "I want," said Ida, bursting into tears, "never to see his face again. I am wretched. It was childish folly, and I knew before I reached England at all, that I had made a terrible mistake. But I know it better and better every day since." "And you see no way out of it, Miss Pemberton ? "Only a very painful way; but I must take it. If I marry him without the consent of Mr. Dwarris, I forfeit all my fortune. He will not want to marry me under such circumstances." "And who gets the money?" "Mr. Dwarris." "He is a very honourable, good man, is he not?" |