The 10th of January, in Roman days, was dedicated to the _Fera Dea_, or cruel goddess, of which _Hero Dias_ is a literal Celtic interpretation here. She is the queen of the witches, and although Satan himself is the commander-in-chief of the witches, he has a mate who participates in his authority, and leads the dance when his votaries meet to celebrate their midnight orgies at Catioroc or Rocquaine. This is no less a personage than the dissolute and revengeful woman by whose evil counsel the holy precursor of our Saviour was put to death by Herod. To her, more particularly, is attributed the rising of sudden storms, and especially of those which take the form of a whirlwind. It sometimes happens that during the warm and sultry days of harvest a gust of wind will suddenly arise, and, whirling round the field, catch up and disperse the ears of corn which the reaper has laid in due order for the binder of the sheaves. The countryman doubts not but that this is caused by Herodias shaking her petticoats in dancing--“_Ch’est la fille d’Hérode qui châque ses côtillons_,”--and he loses no time in hurling his reaping hook in the direction she appears to be moving. It is said that this has generally the effect of stopping the progress of the whirlwind. These sudden gusts are locally known by the name of “_héroguiâzes_,” and, although there is so easy a means of dispersing them as that indicated above, the man who would venture to throw his sickle or knife at them must be endowed with no small degree of courage.[119] [119] From Mr. George Métivier. Father Martin, the oracle of Gaulish divinity, has lavished floods of ink on Herodias. According to him she is the genius of the whirlwind--the “mid-day,” as well as a mid-night, demon. Here she continues to “ride on the whirlwind,” and “direct the storm.” Instead of driving her away with holy water, as our Catholic neighbours do, _we_ fling a sickle at “La Vieille” with pious indignation, whenever the eddying straws announce her arrival in the harvest-field. Near “Le Ras de Fontenay,” so infamous for its shipwrecks, the little island of Sain, off Finistère, was dedicated to He’ro Dias. There she presided over the oracle of “Sena,” the Hag. Her priestesses were nine shrivelled hags, and their island derived its appellation from the hag, their mistress. None but mariners, suitors for a bagful of favourable wind, were admissible to the presence of these ladies, who spent their time “sur le rocher désert, l’effroi de la nature,” in a very edifying manner--brewing storms, manufacturing hail, lightning, thunder, and so forth, and changing themselves into a variety of brutal forms--(Pomponius Mela). That there is a two-headed serpent which caresses Dame Hérodias on a bas-relief of the temple of Mont-Morillon in Poitou, may be remembered _en passant_. EDITOR’S NOTES.