_.--It is a common idea among many of the farmers and
labourers of this immediate neighbourhood, that, from whatever quarter
the wind blows for the most part on Palm Sunday, it will continue
to blow from the same quarter for the most part during the ensuing
summer.

Is this notion prevalent in other parts of the country, as a piece of
"Folk-Lore?"

R.V.

Winchester, March 26.

_Curious Symbolical Custom_.--On Saturday last I married a couple in
the parish church. An old woman, an aunt of the bridegroom, displeased
at the marriage, stood at the church gate and pronounced an anathema
on the married pair. She then bought a new broom, went home, swept
her house, and hung the broom over the door. By this she intimated her
rejection of her nephew, and forbade him to enter her house. Is this a
known custom? What is its origin?

H. Morland Austen.

St. Peter's, Thanet, March 25. 1850.

_The Wild Huntsman_.--The interesting contributions of your
correspondent "Seleucus," on "Folk Lore," brought to my recollection
the "Wild Huntsman" of the German poet, Tieck; of whose verses on that
superstitious belief, still current among the imaginative peasantry of
Germany, I send you a translation, _done into English_ many years ago.
The Welsh dogs of Annwn, or "couriers of the air"--the spirit-hounds
who hunt the souls of the dead--are part of that popular belief
existing among all nations, which delivers up the noon of night to
ungracious influences, that "fade on the crowing of the cock."

"THE WILD HUNTSMAN.

"At the dead of the night the Wild Huntsman awakes,
In the deepest recess of the dark forest's brakes;
He lists to the storm, and arises in scorn.
He summons his hounds with his far-sounding horn;
He mounts his black steed; like the lightning they fly
And sweep the hush'd forest with snort and with cry.
Loud neighs his black courser; hark his horn, how 'tis swelling!
He chases his comrades, his hounds wildly yelling.
Speed along! speed along! for the race is all ours;
Speed along! speed along! while the midnight still lours;
The spirits of darkness will chase him in scorn,
Who dreads our wild howl, and the shriek of our horn,
Thus yelling and belling they sweep on the wind,
The dread of the pious and reverent mind:
But all who roam gladly in forests, by night,
This conflict of spirits will strangely delight."

J.M.

Oxford, March 13.

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