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 with out 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,

All the earth is gay;

Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May

Doth every beast keep holiday :' while man, man alone, lets the season come without glorying in it; and when it goes he lets it go without regret; as if all seasons and their change' were alike to him; or rather, as if he were the lord of all seasons, and they were to do homage and honour to him, instead of he to them! How is this? Is it that we have sold our birthright for a mess of pottage?-that we have bartered our being's end and aim' for a purse of gold? Alas! thus it is:

6

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our

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!

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.

our

As we had some agreeable intimacies to-day last year, we will seek country friends in other rural parts, this "May morning," and see "how they do."

To illustrate the custom of going "a Maying," described in volume i., a song still used on that occasion is subjoined :THE MAYER'S CALL.

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

And we'll celebrate May.

We'll bring our load home,

As we've oft done before, And leave a green bough, At each good master's good neighbour's pretty maid's

}

* Mirror of the Months. + Sce vol. i. p. 541.

door.

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 bessing 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.

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.

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 then 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," supillusplies an engraving on the next page 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 boister ous rudeness which must be well remem. bered by many old Londoners on May. day.

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