the other hand, moves in good society, she
uses her handsome carriage when she pays a
visit to a royal protégé, and if she is received
with respectful awe it is not because she is
excessively terrific, but because she is
excessively distinguée. Among the writers of
fiend fairy tales: from the Countess d'Aulnoy
(recently brought before the world by Mr.
Planché's new edition, of which more anon) to
Mademoiselle Dela Force, the fancy that
prevails is rather of the tasteful and decorative
than of the wild and roaming kind. No child
would go to bed frightened, after reading any
one of the Countess d'Aulnoy's tales, unless we
make an exception in disfavour of the Golden
Branch, as being a fiction well fitted to cause
unpleasant dreams. Mr. Planché says of this
strange story,—that it is one of the most
elaborate and original of the series,—and we
heartily assent to his opinion; but we trust
that he will tell us some day how such a
terribly grotesque invention found its way into
a collection of such genteel and courtly fables.

The beautifying process of the fiend mind,
in dealing with popular superstition, is
nowhere more clearly shown than in the case of
Saute Klaas—the supernatural patron of
good children in Germany. The name of this
being is a corruption of Saint Nicholas, and
this saint is no doubt the personage he is
made to represent, though popular tradition
in handing him down has used him very
roughly, and he comes to us all the worse for
wear. According to ecclesiastical tradition,
which is very different from the folk-lore on
the subject, he flourished some time in the
fourth century, and greatly distinguished
himself, while yet a child in arms, by refusing
to imbibe the maternal nutriment on
Wednesdays and Fridays. In course of time he
became Archbishop of Myra, in Syria; he is
said to have suffered imprisonment during the
persecution of Diocletian; and is mentioned
among the assistants at the great council of
Nice.

The Rev. Alban Butler, though he records
the fact that St. Nicholas is particularly the
saint of children, judiciously omits the
anecdote by which, during his lifetime, he
conspicuously manifested his protecting care for
wronged innocence. In the course of his
travels he fell in with an avaricious inn-
keeper, who not only coveted the property of
three children committed to his charge, but
slew them all, and, after cutting them up,
put their limbs in a pickling-tub, on the
pretence that they were pork. The worthy
bishop had, however, an ogre-like scent for
fresh meat, and, sniffing out the crime,
summoned the three children to rise from the
tub, whence they issued, safe and sound, to
the terror and confusion of the wicked inn-
keeper. In England the glory of the saint
was long celebrated by a well-known festival,
on Innocents' Day (twenty-eighth December),
at which a youngster was dressed up as a
boy-bishop, and received episcopal honours
as a representative of Saint Nicholas. One
of these youths having the good fortune to
die during the brief period of his exaltation,
obtained a monument in Salisbury Cathedral.
At Ratisbon there was a similar ceremony,
and also at Mayence: with this distinction at
the latter place, that the boy-bishop was
elected on the sixth of December, being the
day dedicated to Saint Nicholas himself.

It will be observed that both by his own.
day and by Innocents' Day, which is
connected with him by an odious association of
ideas, the good archbishop presses very close
upon Christmas. Now, Christmas, with all
its jollity, is a gloomy season of the year, and
a supernatural benefactor who confers his
blessings on dark nights is very likely to
become among a people like the Germans a
source rather of terror than of gratification,
—especially if he be discriminating in his
kindness, and punish infantine delinquency
while he rewards juvenile virtue. In Upper
Suabia, where the power of St. Nicholas
seems to be more firmly established than
elsewhere by popular tradition, he becomes
with all his kindness as arrant a bogie as
ever was domiciled in a coal-hole by the
legendary lore of a London nurse-maid. Having
shown himself a little on the two or three
previous Sundays, he fairly comes out on
Christmas-eve: his usual characteristics being,
a black smutty face, a dress of pea-straw, a
basket on the back, and a stick and chain in
the hand. In some places he varies his
costume by wearing a fur-cap and carrying a
bill,—and it is probably on account of the
former article that he is sometimes named
Pelzmarte or Pelzmichel (that is, Fur-Martin
or Michael) instead of Sante Klaas. At a
place called Marbach he once rode on horseback,
and his dicriminating nature was here
so well established that parents gave him the
naughty children on purpose to be whipped.
He faithfully executed his office, but, when it
was performed, the benevolent side of his
character was brought forward, and the
chastised urchin received a donation of nuts
and cakes from the grim dispenser of justice.
When the saint came on horse-back, the
children were expected to set out a large dish
of oats, which they had previously collected
in their shoes, for the entertainment of the
steed. It may be observed generally that the
Christmas visitor is no mere creation of the
imagination or even of the memory. Some
strapping fellow assumes the awful guise
of the patron, and thus the promises of
reward and the threats of punishment are
easily fulfilled.

Wander from Germany to the French
border, to the neighbourhood of the Jura, and
observe how light and gay the patron of
infancy becomes. A bell is heard to ring at
Christmas time, as in the case of Sante Klaas,
but it is the little bell ordinarily used as a
donkey-courant, and it announces that Aunt
Arie—a beautiful being—has arrived at the