“I quite agree with you,” said Hamilton, “and the idea of praying for their souls is poetical in the extreme. Had I been a Catholic, that is one of the tenets I should most tenaciously have believed. But,” he resumed after a long pause, “it seems odd that All Saints’ Day instead of All Souls’ Day, should be chosen—can you tell me why?” “No,” replied Zedwitz, “you must ask someone better informed on these subjects than I am; all I know is, that the observance itself was instituted by one of the popes about twelve hundred years ago.” “But I should have thought that as none of the relatives of these people have been saints—to-morrow, being All Souls’ Day, would be the proper day to choose.” “Very likely,” answered Zedwitz, laughing. “I have never thought about the matter, but I suppose the first of November is what you would in England call the most fashionable day. Ask my mother the first time you see her, and she will tell you everything about it. By-the-by, when do you intend to visit us?” “As soon as I have a second horse and a sledge. I enjoy the idea of sledging so much that I wish with all my heart it would begin to snow to-morrow. But here we are, and I hope Hildegarde may prove a very loadstone to you, otherwise we shall scarcely find her among all these people.” The crowd was immense, and they made their way slowly through it, but Hamilton was interested in the novelty of the scene; his companion’s eyes wandered toward the different groups of dark moving figures, who occasionally stopped to sprinkle the graves of departed friends with water placed near for the purpose. Hamilton was occupied with the tombstones and crosses, which were variously and tastefully decorated with wreaths, festoons, bouquets of flowers, and coloured lamps. Even the graves of the poorest were strewn with charcoal, and ornamented with red berries and moss, while tearful groups surrounding those newly made, gave an additional shade of solemnity to a religious rite which Hamilton had been taught to consider superfluous.