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his monument in Harwood Church in Yorkshire, where he is described as "nuper capit. justio. de banco Hen. nuper regis angliæ quarti."

      I think I may fairly ask whether it is possible to suppose that in either of these records, particularly the latter, he would have been docked his title, had he ever been Chief Justice of the reigning king?

      Allow me to take this opportunity of thanking L.B.L. for his extracts from the Hospitaller's Survey (Vol. ii., p. 123.), which are most interesting, and, to use a modern word, very suggestive.

Edward Foss.

      Street-End House, near Canterbury.

      AN OLD GUY?

      No one would at present think of any other answer to a Query as to the meaning of this term than that the phrase originated with the scarecrows and stuffed apings of humanity with which the rising generation enlivens our streets on every fifth of November, and dins in our ears the cry, "Please to remember the guy," and that it alludes to the Christian name of the culprit, Guido. Have, however, any of your readers met this title, or any allusion to it, in any writer previously to 1605? and may its attribution to the supposed framer of the Gunpowder Plot only have been the accidental appropriation of an earlier term of popular reproach, and which had become so since the conversion of the nation to Christianity? This naturally heaped contumely and insult upon every thing relating to the Druids, and the heathen superstitions of the earlier inhabitants.

      Amongst others, Guy was a term by which, no doubt, the Druids were very early designated, and is cognate, with the Italian Guido and our own Guide, to the Latin cuidare, which would give it great appropriativeness when applied to the offices of teachers and leaders, with which these lordly flamens were invested. Narrowly connected with their rites, the term has descended to the present day, as is decidedly shown in the French name of the mistletoe, le Gui, and as denoting the priesthood. The common cry of the children at Christmas in France, au gui l'an neuf, marks the winter solstice, and their most solemn festival; so ai-guil-lac, as the name of new year's gifts, so necessary and expensive to a Frenchman, which they particularly bear in the diocese of Chartres, can only be explained by referring it to the same origin. In the French vocabulary at present this word, as I have before observed, is restricted to the mistletoe, the viscum album of Linnæus: but in Germany we have pretty much the same conversion of a favourite druidical plant, the trefoil, or shamrock, and the cinquefoil; both of them go in Bavaria and many other parts of Germany under the name of Truten-fuss, or Druid's foot, and are thought potent charms in guarding fields and cattle from harm; but there too, as with us, possibly the oldest title of guy, the term Druid, has grown into a name of the greatest disgrace: "Trute, Trute, Saudreck," "Druid, Druid, sow dirt," is an insulting phrase reserved for the highest ebullitions of a peasant's rage in Schwaben and Franken.

      Whilst on the subject of the mistletoe, I cannot forbear to mark the coincidences that run through the popular notions of a country in all ages. Pliny, in his very exact account of the druidical rites, tells us, when the archdruid mounted the oak to cut the sacred parasite with a golden pruning-hook, two other priests stood below to catch it in a white linen cloth, extremely cautious lest it should fall to earth. One is almost tempted to fancy that Shakspeare was describing a similar scene when he makes Hecate say

      "Upon the corner of the moon,

      There hangs a vap'rous drop profound,

      I'll catch it ere it come to ground."

      In a very excellent note to Dr. Giles' translation of Richard of Cirencester, p. 432., he adduces the opinion of Dr. Daubeny, of Oxford, that as the mistletoe is now so rarely found in Europe on oaks, it had been exterminated with the other druidical rites on the introduction of Christianity. I am not sufficiently botanist to determine how far it is possible to destroy the natural habitat of a plant propagated by extrinsic means, and should be more inclined to account for the difference then and now by supposing that the Druids may have known the secret of inoculating a desirable oak with the seeds where birds had not done so, and practised it when necessary.

      P.S. Since writing the above, I recollect that the Latin verse,

      "Ad viscum Druidæ: Druidæ clamare solebant,"

      is frequently quoted from Ovid, sometimes, and that recently, specifying the Fasti. I need not tell you that it is not to be found there, and I wish to inquire if any of the numerous readers of your valuable publication can say where I can meet with it; if classical, it is another remarkable evidence of the endurance of popular customs to the present day. In the following quotation from Keyssler's Treatise de Visco, the Anklopferleinstag would be also a noisy demonstration dating from druidical times, at a period of the year not far removed from the beginning of November.

      "In superiori Germaniæ parte, Marchionatu Onolsbacensi comprehensa, cujus inolæ plurimas Gentilismi reliquias retinent, regio ipsa multis Druidum vestigiis abundat, tempore adventus Christi, sive media Hyeme (am Anklopferleinstag), vulgus per vias et pagos currit malleisque pulsat fores et fenestras indesinenter clamans Gutheyl! Gutheyl! Quod quidem non salutem per Christi adventum partam indicat, quasi diceres: Gut Heyl; bona salus; multo minus fictitam Sanctam Günthildem, quam rustici illius tractus miris fabulis ac nugis celebrant, sed nomen ipsum visci est."

      The present popular and only German name of the mistletoe, the parent of our English denomination, is Mistel, which is evidently only Meist-heyl (most heal, or healing), the superlative of the above Gut-heyl, and both wonderfully agreeing with the name which Pliny says it bore in his time, Omnia sanans.

William Bell, Ph.D.

      FOLK LORE

      Folk Lore of South Northamptonshire.—No. 2.

      Mice.—A sudden influx of mice into a house, hitherto free from their ravages, denotes approaching mortality among its inhabitants. A mouse running over a person is considered to be an infallible sign of death, as is also the squeaking of one behind the bed of an invalid, or the appearance or apparition of a white mouse running across the room. To meet with a shrew-mouse, in going a journey, is reckoned ominous of evil. The country people have an idea that the harvest-mouse is unable to cross a path which has been trod by man. Whenever they attempt, they are immediately, as my informant expressed it, "struck dead." This, they say, accounts for the numbers which on a summer's evening may be found lying dead on the verge of the field footpaths, without any external wound or apparent cause for their demise.

      Snakes.—There is a very prevalent belief that a snake can never die till the sun is down. Cut or hack it as you will, it will never die till sunset. This idea has evidently its source in the amazing vitality common to the species.

      Poultry.—The crowing of a hen bodes evil, and is frequently followed by the death of some member of the family. When, therefore, Dame Partlet thus experiments upon the note of her mate, she pays her head as the price of her temerity, a complete severance of the offending member being supposed to be the only way of averting the threatened calamity. No house, it is said, can thrive whose hens are addicted to this kind of amusement. Hence the old proverb often quoted in this district:

      "A whistling woman and a crowing hen,

      Is neither fit for God nor men."

      According to Pluquet, the Normans have a similar belief, and a saying singularly like the English one:

      "Un Poule qui chante le coq, et une fille qui siffle, portent malheur dans la maison."

      Before the death of a farmer his poultry frequently go to roost at noon-day, instead of at the usual time. When the cock struts up to the door and sounds his clarion on the threshold, the housewife is warned that she may soon expect a stranger. In what is technically termed "setting a hen," care is taken that the nest be composed of an odd number of eggs. If even, the chickens would not prosper. Each egg is always marked with a little black cross, ostensibly for the purpose of distinguishing them from the others, but also supposed to be instrumental in producing good chickens, and preventing any attack from the weasel or other farm-yard marauders. The last egg the hen lays is carefully preserved,

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