hands, unchanged by time, "not seeing corruption," serves but to supply the needful nourishment to the flame—the "Light of the World."
In mediaeval times the burning of candles at Candlemas was supposed to frighten off evil spirits from the house for a year.
The celebration, I think, would find favour at a luncheon. The American hostess is as eager as the Athenian of St. Paul's time for "something new."
In arranging the table a lighted candle should be before each place, white and without shades. Snowdrops are the "proper" flowers for the occasion—but are not always to be had. "I can light a taper to our Virgin Mother on the blowing of the white snow-drop which opens its floweret at the time of Candlemas," is quoted from an ancient book by a Franciscan Friar. A low centrepiece of lilies of the valley, or Roman hyacinths with maidenhair fern, is lovely, and among the blossoms many small white candles all alight. If the ends are heated, the wooden splints that florists use may be inserted or wired firmly to the candles. Strands of asparagus fern or smilax on invisible wires hanging from the chandelier and carried to the edge of the table, fastened at the edge under a spray of leaves or flowers, make a pretty bower-like effect. The cakes, bonbons, etc., should be iced in white or green.
One ambitious hostess, who had some skill in water-colours, painted in the lower left-hand corner of each name-card a representation of a lighted candle, the smoke spelling the name of the guest as it passed off in attenuated curves.
It may give a turn to conversation at table, and interest those who care for old customs, to learn that the superstitious notions and observances connected