Bona Dea, the Good Goddess, or the Earth, represented in the Frontispiece to the first volume of the Every-Day Book, with the zodiacal signs of the celestial system, which influences our sphere to produce its fruits in due order.

It is in May that "Spring is with us once more pacing the earth in all the primal pomp of her beauty, with flowers and soft airs and the song of birds every where about her, and the blue sky and the bright clouds above. But there is one thing wanting, to give that happy completeness to her advent, which belonged to it in the elder times; and without which it is like a beautiful melody without words, or a beautiful flower without scent, or a beautiful face without a soul. The voice of man is no longer heard, hailing her approach as she hastens to bless him; and his choral symphonies no longer meet and bless her in return-bless her by letting her behold and hear the happiness that she comes to create. The soft songs of women are no longer blended with her breath as it whispers among the new leaves; their slender feet no longer trace her footsteps in the fields and woods and wayside copses, or dance delighted measures round the flowery offerings that she prompted their lovers to place before them on the village green. Even the little children themselves, that have an instinct for the spring, and feel it to the very tips of their fingers, are permitted to let May come upon them, without knowing from whence the impulse of happiness that they feel proceeds, or whither it tends. In short,

powers:

Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away-a sordid boon!"

-But be this as it may, we are still able to feel what nature is, though we have in a great measure ceased to know it; though we have chosen to neglect her ordinances, and absent ourselves from her presence, we still retain some instinctive reminiscences of her beauty and her power; and every now and then the sordid walls of those mud hovels which we have built for ourselves, and choose to dwell in, fall down before the magic touch of our involuntary fancies, and give us glimpses into " that imperial palace whence we came," and make us yearn to return thither, though it be but in thought.

'Then sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

66

And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,

Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the MAY!'"*'

May 1.

St. Philip and St. James.†
MAY DAY.

As we had some agreeable intimacies to-day last year, we will seek our country friends in other rural parts, this May morning," and see "how they do." To illustrate the custom of going Maying," described in volume i., a song still used on that occasion is subjoined :

66 a

To-morrow, when work's done,

I hold it no wrong,

If we go round in ribands,

And sing them a song.

Come, lads, bring your bills,
To the wood we'll away,
We'll gather the boughs,

And we'll celebrate May.

There is a rural ditty chanted in villages and country towns, preparatory to gathering the May

THE MAY EVE SONG.

If we should wake you from your
sleep,

Good people listen now,
Our yearly festival we keep,
And bring a Maythorn bough.

An emblem of the world it grows,

The flowers its pleasures are,
But many a thorn bespeaks its woes,
Its sorrow and its care.

Oh! sleep you then, and take your
rest,

And, when the day shall dawn,
May you awake in all things blest-
A May without a thorn.

And when, to-morrow we shall come
Oh! treat us not with scorn;
From out your bounty give us some-
Be May without a thorn.

May He, who makes the May to
blow,

On earth his riches sheds,

Protect thee against every woe,

Shower blessings on thy heads. After "bringing home the May," there is another lay :

THE MAYER'S SONG.

On the Mayers deign to smile, Master, mistress, hear our song, Listen but a little while,

We will not detain you long.

Life with us is in its spring,

We enjoy a blooming May, Summer will its labour bring,

Winter has its pinching day.

Yet the blessing we would use

Wisely-it is reason's partThose who youth and health abuse, Fail not in the end to smart. Mirth we love-the proverb says, Be ye merry but be wise, We will walk in wisdom's ways, There alone true pleasure lies.

May, that now is in its bloom,
All so fragrant and so fair,
When autumn and when winter

come,

Shall its useful berries bear.

We would taste your home-brew'd beer,

Give not, if we've had enough,May it strengthen, may it cheer, Waste not e'er the precious stuff. We of money something crave,

For ourselves we ask no share, John and Jane the whole shall have, They're the last new married pair. May it comfort to them prove,

And a blessing bring to you; Blessings of connubial love,

Light on all like morning dew.

So shall May, with blessings crown'd,
Welcom'd be by old and young,
Often as the year comes round,
Shall the May-day song be sung.

Fare ye well, good people all,

Sweet to night may be your rest, Every blessing you befall,

Blessing others you are blest.

As the day advances, a ballad suitable to the "village sports" is sung by him who has the honour to crown his lass as the "May-day queen."

THR WREATH OF MAY.

This slender rod of leaves and flowers,

So fragrant and so gay, Produce of spring's serener hours, Peculiarly is May.

This slender rod, the hawthorn bears, And when its bloom is o'er,

Its ruby berries then it wears,

The songster's winter store.

Then, though it charm the sight and smell,

In spring's delicious hours, The feather'd choir its praise shall tell,

'Gainst winter round us lowers.

O then, my love, from me receive,
This beauteous hawthorn spray,
A garland for thy head I'll weave,
Be thou my queen of May.

Love and fragrant as these flowers,
Live pure as thou wert born,
And ne'er may sin's destructive
powers,

Assail thee with its thorn.

One more ditty, a favourite in many parts of England, is homely, but there is a prettiness in its description that may reconcile it to the admirers of a "country life:"

THE MAY DAY HERD.

Now at length 'tis May-day morn, And the herdsman blows his horn; Green with grass the common now, Herbage bears for many a cow.

Too long in the straw yard fed, Have the cattle hung their head, And the milk did well nigh fail, The milk-maid in her ashen pail.

Well the men have done their job,
Every horn has got its knob;
Nor shall they each other gore,
Not a bag, or hide, be tore.

Yet they first a fight maintain,
Till one cow the mastery gain;
They, like man, for mastery strive,
They by others' weakness thrive.

Drive them gently o'er the lawn,
Keep them from the growing corn;
When the common they shall gain,
Let them spread wide o'er the plain.

Show them to the reedy pool,
There at noon their sides they'll cool,
And with a wide whisking tail,
Thrash the flies as with a flail.

Bring them gently home at eve, That their bags they may relieve, And themselves of care divest, Chew the cud and take their rest.

Now the dairy maid will please,
To churn her butter, set her cheese;
We shall have the clotted cream,
The tea-table's delightful theme.

Raise the song, then, let us now, Sing the healthful, useful cow, England well the blessing knows, A land with milk that richly flows.

May-day is a Spring day.

Spring-" the innocent spring," is the firstling of revolving nature; and in the first volume, is symbolized by an infant. In that engraving there is a sort of appeal to parental feeling; yet an address more touching to the heart is in the following little poem :

A Mother to her First-born.

"Tis sweet to watch thee in thy sleep,

When thou, my boy, art dreaming; "Tis sweet, o'er thee a watch to keep, To mark the smile that seems to creep O'er thee like daylight gleaming. 'Tis sweet to mark thy tranquil breast, Heave like a small wave flowing; To see thee take thy gentle rest, With nothing save fatigue opprest,

And health on thy cheek glowing. To see thee now, or when awake,

Sad thoughts, alas! steal o'er me For thou, in time, a part must take, That may thy fortunes mar or make, In the wide world before thee.

But I, my child, have hopes of thee,

And may they ne'er be blighted !— That I, years hence, may live to see Thy name as dear to all as me,

Thy virtues well requited.

I'll watch thy dawn of joys, and mould
Thy little mind to duty-
I'll teach thee words, as I behold
Thy faculties like flowers unfold,
In intellectual beauty.

And then, perhaps, when I am dead,

And friends around me weepingThoul't see me to my grave, and shed A tear upon my narrow bed,

Where I shall then be sleeping!

BARTON WILford.

then

The Maypole nearest to the metropolis, that stood the longest within the recollection of the editor, was near Kennington-green, at the back of the houses, at the south corner of the Workhouselane, leading from the Vauxhall-road to Elizabeth-place. The site was nearly vacant, and the Maypole was in the field on the south side of the Workhouse-lane, and nearly opposite to the Black Prince public-house. It remained till about the year 1795, and was much frequented, particularly by milk maids.

A delightfully pretty print of a merrymaking "round about the Maypole," supplies an engraving on the next page illus trative of the prevailing tendency of this work, and the simplicity of rural manners. It is not so sportive as the dancings about the Maypoles near London formerly; there is nothing of the boisterous rudeness which must be well remembered by many old Londoners on Mayday.

The innocent and the unaspiring may always be happy. Their pleasures like their knitting needles, and hedging gloves, are easily purchased, and when bestowed are estimated as distinctions. The late Dr.Parr,the fascinating converser, the skilful controverter, the first Greek scholar, and one of the greatest and most influential men of the age, was a patron of May-day sports. Opposite his parsonage-house at Hatton, near Warwick, on the other side of the road, stood the parish Maypole, which on the annual

festival was dressed with garlands, surrounded by a numerous band of villagers. The doctor was "first of the throng," and danced with his parishioners the gayest of the gay. He kept the large crown of the Maypole in a closet of his house, from whence it was produced every May-day, with fresh flowers and streamers preparatory to its elevation, and to the doctor's own appearance in the ring. He always spoke of this festivity as one wherein he joined with peculiar delight to himself, and advantage

to his neighbours. He was deemed eccentric, and so he was; for he was never proud to the humble, nor humble to the proud. His eloquence and wit elevated humility, and crushed insolence; he was the champion of the oppressed, a foe to the oppressor, a friend to the friendless, and a brother to him who was ready to perish. Though a prebend of the church with university honours, he could afford to make his parishoners happy without derogating from his ecclesiastical dignities, or abatement of self-respect, or lowering himself in the eyes of any who were not inferior in judgment, to the most inferior of the villagers of Hatton.

Formerly a pleasant character dressed out with ribands and flowers, figured in village May-games under the name of

JACK-O'-THE-GREEN.

The Jack-o'-the-Greens would sometimes come into the suburbs of London, and amuse the residents by rustic dancing. The last of them, that I remember, were at the Paddington May-dance, near the "Yorkshire Stingo," about twenty years ago, from whence, as I heard, they diverged to Bayswater, Kentish-town, and adjoining neighbourhoods. A Jack-o'the-Green always carried a long walking stick with floral wreaths; he whisked it about in the dance, and afterwards walked with it in high estate like a lord mayor's

footman.

On this first of the month we cannot pass the poets without listening to their carols, as we do, in our walks, to the songs of the spring birds in their thickets. VOL. II.-71.

TO MAY.

Welcome! dawn of summer's day,
Youthful, verdant, balmy May!
Sunny fields and shady bowers,
Spangled meads and blooming flowers,
Crystal fountains-limpid streams,
Where the sun of nature beams,
As the sigh of morn reposes,
Sweetly on its bed of roses!
Welcome! scenes of fond delight,
Welcome! eyes with rapture bright—
Maidens' sighs-and lovers' vows-
Fluttering hearts-and open brows!
And welcome all that's bright and gay,
To hail the balmy dawn of May!
J. L. Stevens.

The most ancient of our bards makes noble melody in this glorious month. Mr. Leigh Hunt selects a delightful passage from Chaucer, and compares it with Dryden's paraphrase:

It is sparkling with young manhood and a gentle freshness. What a burst of radiant joy is in the second couplet; what a vital quickness in the comparison of the horse, "starting as the fire;" and what a native and happy case in the conclusion!

The busy lark, the messenger of day,
Saleweth in her song the morrow gray;
And fiery Phoebus riseth up so bright,
That all the orient laugheth of the sight;
And with his stremès drieth in the grevest
The silver droppès hanging in the leaves;
And Arcite, that is in the court real
With Theseus the squier principal,
Is risen, and looketh on the merry day;
And for to do his observance to May,
Remembring on the point of his desire,
He on the courser, starting as the fire;
Is risen to the fieldès him to play,
Out of the court, were it a mile or tway:
And to the grove, of which that I you told,
By àventure his way he gan to hold,
To maken him a garland of the greves,
Were it of woodbind or of hawthorn leaves,
And loud he sung against the sunny sheen:
"O May, with all thy flowers and thy green,
Right welcome be thou, faire freshe May:
I hope that I some green here getten may."
And from his courser, with a lusty heart,
Into the grove full hastily he start,
And in a path he roamed up and down.

Dryden falls short in the freshness and feeling of the sentiment. His lines are beautiful; but they do not come home to us with so happy and cordial a face.