this is the Christ-child; that he brings all these gifts from heaven; that Pelznichel is sent by him, and so on-the moment a child grows old enough to see through this, he must begin to think that his parents care little for the truth, and be in danger of adopting an idea that he need not much regard it himself. In fact, at a certain age, the parents are obliged to let the children into the secret, and to take them, as it were, into a partnership of imposing on their younger brothers and sisters. This is very bad; and when the next step to this in domestic education, is to stuff the young mind with a whole host of Märchen, household legends of a similar kind, we must fear that truth cannot be very sacred amongst them. And is it? Our experience is, that it is far from being so much so as it should be. Whoever has looked through their literature must have felt surprised at the freedom with which the heroes of the stories by the most celebrated masters, Goethe for instance, tell any kind of fib to help them out of scrapes. Whoever has seen much of private life in Germany, will, we fear, have experienced a similar surprise. Spite of the national boasts of the Deutsche Treue und Deutsche Wahrheit, German faithfulness and truth, this is a fact which merits the most serious attention of a people so proud of their improvements in education; and it seems wonderful that it has not struck them, that all the essential and beautiful of this Christmas practice will remain independent of these fictions. The tree may still be set up; the children may still look forward to finding under it presents for the good, and it will be just as delightful to their young hearts that these are the testimonies of parental and household affection, as if they suppose them brought by a Christ-kindschen. If they prize the wonder which such deceptions bring, it is still worth while asking whether that momentary wonder may not be purchased too dear; that is, by the lasting injury to truthfulness. All that wonder too may be imparted by relating to the children at these times, what were the legends and the fancies of their ancestors, for the imagination is perhaps more delighted with what is presented to it as an ideal of the past, than as an actuality of the present.

CHAPTER XIII.

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NEW-YEAR'S EVE.

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NEW-YEAR'S DAY is kept in Germany as a thorough holiday. There is service at the churches; business is at a stand; and like Christmas-day, it is far more observed than a Sunday. Newyear's eve is perhaps the most merry time of the German year. In almost every house are parties met to conduct the old year out with dance and sport. About five o'clock in the evening, the church bells ring, and guns are fired off in all directions. In this respect every town is filled with as much noise of firing, and smell of gunpowder, as the night of the fifth of November used to be in England. The practice has been forbidden by the authorities; but, except in the chief cities, the authorities are not over active, and the prohibition is little regarded. The police go about the streets; but in all ordinary towns these are so fat and sleepy that it is only necessary to be quiet just where they are, and everywhere where they are not, are guns and pistols discharging.

It is considered a compliment for young men to go and fire a salute in front of the houses of their friends. In the University towns, the students, a little before twelve o'clock, headed by their clubs, proceed with torches to the house of the Prorector, and by a volley of fire-arms, and a loud vivat, announce the termination of the year, and wish him a happy new one. The Prorector appears at his window, makes there a short speech in acceptance of their compliment, drinks a happy new year to them, and frequently concludes by flinging the glass down upon the pavement, that it may never be used on any other occasion. With loud vivats they echo his good wishes, and march away to pay the same compliment to a few others of their most popular professors. The scene is wild

and peculiar. The troop of students, every one with his torch, forming a train, headed by the seniors of their clubs, in their respective costumes; joined by as many other students as please, with wild looks, flying hair, and torches flaming in the stormy winds, and followed by a crowd of the miscellanea of the city, marching through the wintry streets at midnight; with shouts, and scattered discharges of fire-arms,—is strange and picturesque. At a distance you see the light of their torch-train, confined by the narrow streets, stream up into the air like the tail of a comet, while the successive discharges of guns flash across it like lightning.

Within doors all is mirth and enjoyment. There are games played peculiar to this eve. New-year's eve is probably acted in a witty and ludicrous charade, which occasions much merriment. In one party, where we were, the young men made the charade New-Year's Night. They represented the students drinking and singing, from the Burschen Song-book, a New-year's-night song, They then acted them, as pretty well primed with punch and gleewine they rushed into the streets. The watchman, against whom they ran, raised his staff, and blew his horn, and said his rhyme, but in vain, being glad to get away from them. Then the scene changed to the room of one of the professors, who sat at his table waiting for the arrival of the students' torch-train, pretending to be very calm and philosophical, taking up a book to read, but all the while very fidgety lest the Burschen should not pay him that compliment, or should go to others before him. At length, a volley was discharged before the house. He started up joyfully, exclaiming, "Aha! they are there!" threw up the window, made his speech, and pledging the youngsters, flung his glass into the street.

There is plenty of dancing going on. Glee-wine, a sort of negus, and punch, are brought in after supper, and just before twelve o'clock. Every one is on the watch to win the New-Year from the others; that is, to announce the New-Year first. Accordingly, the instant the city bell is heard to commence tolling, "Prosst Neu Jahr!" starts from every one's lips; and happy is he who is acknowledged to have made the exclamation first, and to have won from all the others the New-Year. In every house, at that moment, all over the country, is shouted "Prosst Nen Jahr!" prosst being

no German word, but a contraction of the Latin prosit. On one occasion, having retired to rest, our servants assembled at our room-door, and woke us, in order to cry "Prosst Neu Jahr!" On the following morning, every one that meets you salutes you with the same exclamation.

With the glee-wine are brought in, on a waiter, the New-year wishes of the family and its friends. These are written in verse, generally on very ornamental gilt note-paper, and sealed up. When the "Prosst Neu Jahr" has passed, and all have drunk to one another a Happy New Year, with a general touching of glasses, these are opened and read. For the most part they are without signatures, and occasion much guessing and joking. Under cover of these anonymous epistles, good hints and advice are often administered by parents and friends. Numbers of people, who never on any other occasion write a verse, now try their hands at one; and those who do not find themselves sufficiently inspired, present those ornamental cards of which I have spoken under Christmas, and which have all kinds of wishes, to suit all kinds of tastes and circumstances. These are to be purchased of all qualities and prices, and those sent by friends and lovers generally appear on New-year's day, and are signed or not as suits the purpose of the sender.

After the New-year's wishes have been read, a game of very old standing on this occasion is introduced, a game known to most people in England acquainted with old fashions; that of the flour, the water, and the keys. Three plates are set on a round table in the middle of the room. In one is flour, in another water, in the third a bunch of keys. The young unmarried people are by turns blindfolded, and walking round the table, pitch upon one of the plates. These have, of course, been shifted while the person about to try his or her chance has been under the operation of blindfolding, so as to occupy quite different relative positions to what they did before; or are sometimes shifted and then replaced, so that the person naturally supposing that they have been changed, shall try to avoid the unlucky ones by aiming at a new point, and thus shall actually have a greater chance of passing the lucky one. The lucky one is that containing the keys. Whoever gets that, is to be married to the person of his or her choice; he who pushes his

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fingers into the flour is to marry a widow, or vice versa, and he who dips into the water shall not be married at all. This simple lottery occasions its share of merriment, and then goes on again the dancing.

With the punch and glee-wine came in also one of those large ornamented and nice cakes for which the Germans are so famous, and large cakes of gingerbread in the shape of hearts, with almonds stuck inthem. These make an indispensable part of the entertainment of New-year's eve; and accordingly, you see them reared in and before the bakers' windows, and on stalls, in thousands; some of them at least half-a-yard tall, and a foot wide. These gingerbread hearts are in much esteem also at Christmas; and, indeed, on many occasions. In almost all cases, the German gingerbread, which is peculiar, being mixed with honey, and often flavoured with aniseeds, and is in no respect to be compared to the delicious gingerbread of England, assumes the shape of hearts, and at fairs and wakes, as we have observed, after the national custom, is, being much gilt and coloured, made a medium of love and sentiment by the appendage of verses. On this Eve the servants of every house, by right of ancient and indefeasible custom, have their feast of punch and their great gingerbread hearts, each

servant one.

The Catholics, according to their custom, close the old year and open the new one in their churches. They have a sermon, as twelve approaches; in many places the lights are extinguished, leaving alone, conspicuous, a huge cross, reaching from the bottom to near the top of the church, illuminated with lamps. When twelve has struck, an anthem of thanksgiving strikes up, and mass is celebrated.

In Germany, the servants of tradesmen come for New-year's gifts, as they do for Christmas-boxes with us; and your baker sends you a huge cake, like a couple of great serpents wreathed into two connected circles, perhaps originally intended to represent the old year and the new.