May 1.

St. Philip, and St. James the less. St. Asaph, Bp. of Llan-Elway, A.D. 590. St. Marcon, or Marculfus, A.D. 558. St. Sigismund, king of Burgundy, 6th Cent.

St. Philip and St. James.

Philip is supposed to have been the first of Christ's apostles, and to have died at Hierapolis, in Phrygia. James, also surnamed the Just, whose name is borne by the epistle in the New Testament, and who was in great repute among the Jews, was martyred in a tumult in the temple, about the year 62.* [Mr. Audley, from Lardner.] St. Philip and St. James are in the church of England Calendar.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Tulip. Tulipa Gesneri.
Dedicated to St. Philip.
Red Campion. Lychnisdioica rubra.
Red Bachelor's Buttons. Lychnis dioicaplena
Dedicated to St. James.

May-Day.

Hail! sacred thou to sacred joy,
To mirth and wine, sweet first of May!
To sports, which no grave cares alloy,
The sprightly dance, the festive play!

Hail! thou, of ever-circling time
That gracest still the ceaseless flow!
Bright blossom of the season's prime,
Aye, hastening on to winter's snow!

When first young Spring his angel face
On earth unveiled, and years of gold,
Gilt with pure ray man's guileless race,
By law's stern terrors uncontrolled[,]

Such was the soft and genial breeze
Mild Zephyr breathed on all around;
With grateful glee, to airs like these
Yielded its wealth th' unlaboured ground.

So fresh, so fragrant is the gale,
Which o'er the islands of the blest
Sweeps; where nor aches the limbs assail,
Nor age's peevish pains infest.

Where thy hushed groves, Elysium, sleep,
Such winds with whispered murmurs blow;
So, where dull Lethe's waters creep,
They heave, scarce heave the cypress-bough.

And such, when heaven with penal flame
Shall purge the globe, that golden day
Restoring, o'er man's brightened frame
Haply such gale again shall play.

Hail! thou, the fleet year's pride and prime!
Hail! day, which fame shall bid to bloom!
Hail! image of primeval time!
Hail! sample of a world to come!—

Buchanan, by Langhorne.

On behalf of this ancient festival, a noble authoress contributes a little "forget me not:"—

The First of May.

Colin met Sylvia on the green,
Once on the charming first of May,
And shepherds ne'er tell false I ween,
Yet 'twas by chance the shepherds say[.]

Colin he bow'd and blush'd, then said,
Will you, sweet maid, this first of May
Begin the dance by Colin led,
To make this quite his holiday?

Sylvia replied, I ne'er from home
Yet ventur'd, till this first of May;
It is not fit for maids to roam,
And make a shepherd's holiday.

It is most fit, replied the youth,
That Sylvia should this first of May
By me be taught that love and truth
Can make of life a holiday.

Lady Craven.

This was the great rural festival of our forefathers. Their hearts responded merrily to the cheerfulness of the season. At the dawn of May morning the lads and lasses left their towns and vilages, and repairing to the woodlands by sound of music, they gathered the May, or blossomed branches of the trees, and bound them with wreaths of flowers; then returning to their homes by sunrise, they decorated the lattices and doors with the sweet-smelling spoil of their joyous journey, and spent the remaining hours in sports and pastimes. Spenser's "Shepherd's Calendar" poetically records these customs in a beautiful eclogue:—

Youths folke now flocken in every where
To gather May buskets, and smelling breere;
And home they hasten, the postes to dight,
And all the kirke pillers, ere daylight,
With hawthorne buds, and sweet eglantine,
And girlonds of roses, and soppes in wine.

* * * * *

Siker this morrow, no longer ago,
I saw a shole of shepheards outgo
With singing and showting, and jolly cheere;
Before them yode a lustie tabrere,
That to the meynie a hornepipe plaid,
Whereto they dauncen eche one with his maide.
To see these folkes make such jovisaunce,
Made my hart after the pipe to daunce.
Tho' to the greene-wood they speeden them all,
To fetchen home May with their musicall:
And home they bringen, in a royall throne,
Crowned as king; and his queen attone
Was Ladie Flora, on whom did attend
A faire flock of faeries, and a fresh bend
Of lovely nymphs. O, that I were there
To helpen the ladies their May-bush beare!

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morne
Upon her wings presents the God unshorne.
See how Aurora throwes her faire
Fresh-quilted colours through the aire;
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herbe and tree.
Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east,
Above an houre since, yet you not drest,
Nay! not so much as out of bed;
When all the birds have matteyns seyd,
And sung their thankfull hymnes; 'tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in,
When as a thousand virgins on this day,
Spring sooner then the lark, to fetch in May.

Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seene
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and greene,
And sweet as Flora. Take no care
For jewels for your gowne or haire;
Feare not, the leaves will strew
Gemms in abundance upon you;
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.
Come, and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:
And Titan on the eastern hill
Retires himselfe, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be brief in praying;
Few beads are best, when once we goe a Maying.

Come, my Corinna, come; and, comming, marke
How each field turns a street, each street a parke
Made green, and trimm'd with trees; see how
Devotion gives each house a bough,
Or branch; each porch, each doore, ere this,
An arke, a tabernacle is,
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;
As if here were those cooler shades of love
Can such delights be in the street,
And open fields, and we not see't?
Come, we'll abroad, and let's obay
The proclamation made for May:
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying
But, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying.

Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime
And take the harmlesse follie of the time.
We shall grow old apace and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short, and our dayes run
As fast away as do's the sunne;
And as a vapour, or a drop of raine
Once lost, can ne'r be found againe;
So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade;
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies drown'd with us in endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying.

Herrick.

The May-pole is up,
Now give me the cup;
I'll drink to the garlands around it;
But first unto those
Whose hands did compose
The glory of flowers that crown'd it.

Herrick.

Another poet, and therefore no opponent to homely mirth on this festal day, so describes part of its merriment as to make a beautiful picture:—

I have seen the Lady of the May
Set in an arbour (on a holy-day)
Built by the May-pole, where the jocund swaines
Dance with the maidens to the bag-pipes straines,
When envious night commands them to be gone,
Call for the merry youngsters one by one,
And, for their well performance, soon disposes,
To this a garland interwove with roses,
To that a carved hooke, or well-wrought scrip;
Gracing another with her cherry lip;
To one her garter; to another, then,
A handkerchiefe, cast o'er and o'er again;
And none returneth emptie that hath spent
His paines to fill their rural merriment.

Browne's Pastorals

"With coat of Lincoln green, and mantle too,
And horn of ivory mouth, and buckle bright,
And arrows winged with peacock-feathers light,
And trusty bow well gathered of the yew;

"whilst near him, crowned as Lady of the May, maid Marian,

"With eyes of blue,
Shining through dusk hair, like the stars of night,
And habited in pretty forest plight—
His green-wood beauty sits, young as the dew:

"and there, too, in a subsequent stage of the pageant, were

"The archer-men in green, with belt and bow,
Feasting on pheasant, river-fowl, and swan,
With Robin at their head, and Marian.

"I value every custom that tends to infuse poetical feeling into the common people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic manners, without destroying their simplicity. Indeed it is to the decline of this happy simplicity that the decline of this custom may be traced; and the rural dance on the green, and the homely May-day pageant, have gradually disappeared, in proportion as the peasantry have become expensive and artificial in their pleasures, and too knowing for simple enjoyment. Some attempts, indeed, have been made of late years, by men of both taste and learning, to rally back the popular feeling to these standards of primitive simplicity; but the time has gone by, the feeling has become chilled by habits of gain and traffic; the country apes the manners and amusements of the town, and little is heard of May-day at present, except from the lamentations of authors, who sigh after it from among the brick walls of the city."

There will be opportunity in the course of this work to dilate somewhat concerning the May-pole and the characters in the May-games, and therefore little will be adduced at present as to the origin of pastimes, which royalty itself delighted in, and corporations patronized. For example of these honours to the festal day, an honest gatherer of older chronicles shall relate in his own words, so much as he acquaints us with:—

"Moreover, this Robin Hood desired the king and queene, with their retinue, to enter the greene wood, where, in arbours made of boughes, and deckt with flowers, they were set and served plentifully with venison and wine, by Robin Hood and his meyny, to their great contentment, and had other pageants and pastimes; as yee may read in my said author.

"I find also, that in the month of May, the citizens of London (of all estates) lightly in every parish, or sometimes two or three parishes joyning together, had their severall Mayings, and did fetch in May-poles, with divers warlike shewes, with good archers, morice-dancers, and other devises for pastime all the day long; and towards the evening, they had stage-plaies, and bonefires in the streets.

"Of these Mayings, we read in the reign of Henry the sixth, that the aldermen and sheriffes of London, being on May day at the bishop of Londons wood in the parish of Stebunheath, and having there a worshipfull dinner for themselves and other commers, Lydgate the poet, that was a monk of Bury, sent to them by a pursivant a joyfull commendation of that season, containing sixteene staves in meeter royall, beginning thus:—

"Mighty Flora, goddesse of fresh flowers,
  which clothed hath the soyle in lusty green,
Made buds to spring, with her sweet showers,
  by influence of the sunne shine,
To doe pleasance of intent full cleane,
  unto the states which now sit here,
Hath Ver downe sent her own daughter deare,

  "Making the vertue, that dured in the root,
Called the vertue, the vertue vegetable,
  for to transcend, most wholesome and most soote,
Into the top, this season so agreeable:
  the bawmy liquor is so commendable,
That it rejoyceth with his fresh moisture,
  man, beast, and fowle, and every creature," &c.

Thus far hath our London historian conceived it good for his fellow citizens to know.

Of the English May-pole this may be observed. An author before cited says, that "at the north-west corner of Aldgate ward in Leadenhall-street, standeth the fair and beautiful parish church of St. Andrew the apostle, with an addition, to be known from other churches of that name, of the knape, or undershaft, and so called St. Andrew Undershaft because that of old time, every year (on May-day in the morning,) it was used, that a high or long shaft, or May-pole, was set up there, in the midst of the street, before the south door of the said church, which shaft or pole, when it was set on end, and fixed in the ground, was higher than the church steeple. Jeffrey Chaucer, writing of a vain boaster, hath these words, meaning of the said shaft:—

"Right well aloft, and high ye bear your head,
* * * * *
As ye would bear the great shaft of Corn-hill.

It was a great object with some of the more rigid among our early reformers, to suppress amusements, especially May-poles; and these "idols" of the people were got down as zeal grew fierce, and got up as it grew cool, till, after various ups and downs, the favourites of the populace were, by the parliament, on the 6th of April, 1644, thus provided against: "The lords and commons do further order and ordain, that all and singular May-poles, that are or shall be erected, shall be taken down, and removed by the constables, bossholders, tithing-men, petty constables, and churchwardens of the parishes, where the same be, and that no May-pole be hereafter set up, erected, or suffered to be set up within this kingdom of England, or dominion of Wales; the said officers to be fined five shillings weekly till the said May-pole be taken down."

Accordingly down went all the May-poles that were left. A famous one in the Strand, which had ten years before been sung in lofty metre, appears to have previously fallen. The poet says,—

Fairly we marched on, till our approach
Within the spacious passage of the Strand,
Objected to our sight a summer broach,
Y cleap'd a May Pole, which in all our land,
No city, towne, nor streete, can parralell,
Nor can the lofty spire of Clarken-well,
Although we have the advantage of a rocke,
Pearch up more high his turning weather-cock.

Stay, quoth my Muse, and here behold a signe
Of harmelesse mirth and honest neighbourhood,
Where all the parish did in one combine
To mount the rod of peace, and none withstood:
When no capritious constables disturb them,
Nor justice of the peace did seek to curb them,
Nor peevish puritan, in rayling sort,
Nor over-wise church-warden, spoyl'd the sport.

Happy the age, and harmlesse were the dayes,
(For then true love and amity was found,)
When every village did a May Pole raise,
And Whitson-ales and MAY-GAMES did abound:
And all the lusty yonkers, in a rout,
With merry lasses daunc'd the rod about,
Then Friendship to their banquets bid the guests,
And poore men far'd the better for their feasts.

The lords of castles, mannors, townes, and towers,
Rejoic'd when they beheld the farmer's flourish,
And would come downe unto the summer-bowers
To see the country-gallants dance the Morrice.
* * * * * *

But since the SUMMER POLES were overthrown,
And all good sports and merriments decay'd,
How times and men are chang'd, so well is knowne,
It were but labour lost if more were said.
* * * * * *

But I doe hope once more the day will come,
That you shall mount and pearch your cocks as high
As ere you did, and that the pipe and drum
Shall bid defiance to your enemy;
And that all fidlers, which in corners lurke,
And have been almost starv'd for want of worke,
Shall draw their crowds, and, at your exaltation,
Play many a fit of merry recreation.*
[Pasquil's Palinodia, 1534, 4to.]

"Where Catharine-street descends into the Strand;"

and as far as recollection of the print serves, it was erected opposite to the site of sir Walter Stirling and Co's. present banking-house. In a compilation respecting "London and Middlesex," it is stated that this May-pole having decayed, was obtained of the parish by sir Isaac Newton, in 1717, and carried through the city to Wanstead, in Essex; and by license of sir Richard Child, lord Castlemain, reared in the park by the rev. Mr. Pound, rector of that parish, for the purpose of supporting the largest telescope at that period in the world, given by Mons. Hugon, a French member of the Royal Society, as a present; the telescope was one hundred and twenty-five feet long. This May-pole on public occasions was adorned with streamers, flags, garlands of flowers and other ornaments.

It was near the May-pole in the Strand that, in 1677, Mr. Robert Perceval was found dead with a deep wound under his left breast, and his sword drawn and bloody, lying by him. He was nineteen years of age, had fought as many duels as he had lived years, and with uncommon talents was an excessive libertine. He was second son to the right hon. sir Robert Perceval, bart. Some singular particulars are related of him in the "History of the House of Yvery." A stranger's hat with a bunch of ribbons in it was lying near his body when it was discovered, and there exists no doubt of his having been killed by some person who, notwithstanding royal proclamations and great inquiries, was never discovered. The once celebrated Beau Fielding was suspected of the crime. He was buried under the chapel of Lincoln's-inn. His elder brother, sir Philip Perceval, intent on discovering the murderers, violently attacked a gentleman in Dublin, whom he declared he had never seen before; he could only account for his rage by saying he was possessed with a belief that he was one of those who had killed his brother; they were soon parted, and the gentleman was seen no more.

The last poet who seems to have mentioned it was Pope; he says of an assemblage of persons that,—

Amidst the area wide they took their stand,
Where the tall May-pole once o'er-look'd the Strand.

A native of Penzance, in Cornwall, relates to the editor of the Every-Day Book, that it is an annual custom there, on May-eve, for a number of young men and women to assemble at a public-house, and sit up till the clock strikes twelve, when they go round the town with violins, drums, and other instruments, and by sound of music call upon others who had previously settled to join them. As soon as the party is formed, they proceed to different farmhouses, within four or five miles of the neighbourhood, where they are expected as regularly as May morning comes; and they there partake of a beverage called junket, made of raw milk and rennet, or running, as it is there called, sweetened with sugar, and a little cream added. After this, they take tea, and "heavy country cake," composed of flour, cream, sugar, and currants; next, rum and milk, and then a dance. After thus regaling, they gather the May. While some are breaking down the boughs, others sit and make the "May music." This is done by cutting a circle through the bark at a certain distance from the bottom of the May branches; then, by gently and regularly tapping the bark all round, from the cut circle to the end, the bark becomes loosened, and slips away whole from the wood; and a hole being cut in the pipe, it is easily formed to emit a sound when blown through, and becomes a whistle. The gathering and the "May music" being finished, they then "bring home the May," by five or six o'clock in the morning, with the band playing, and their whistles blowing. After dancing throughout the town, they go to their respective employments. Although May-day should fall on a Sunday, they observe the same practice in all respects, with the omission of dancing in the town.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,
There still exists among the labouring classes in Wales the custom of May-dancing, wherein they exhibit their persons to the best advantage, and distinguish their agility before the fair maidens of their own rank.

About a fortnight previous to the day, the interesting question among the lads and lasses is, "Who will turn out to dance in the summer this year?" From that time the names of the gay performers are buzzed in the village, and rumour "with her hundred tongues" proclaims them throughout the surrounding neighbourhood. Nor is it asked with less interest, "Who will carry the garland?" and "Who will be the Cadi?" Of the peculiar offices of these two distinguished personages you shall hear presently.

About nine days or a week previous to the festival, a collection is made of the gayest ribbons that can be procured. Each lad resorts to his favoured lass, who gives him the best she possesses, and uses her utmost interest with her friends or her mistress to obtain a loan of whatever may be requisite to supply the deficiency. Her next care is to decorate a new white shirt of fine linen. This is a principal part of her lover's dress. The bows and puffs of ribbon are disposed according to the peculiar taste of each fair girl who is rendered happy by the pleasing task; and thus the shirts of the dancers, from the various fancies of the adorners, form a diversified and lively appearance.

When May-day morn arrives, the group of dancers assemble at their rendezvous—the village tavern. From thence (when permission can be obtained from the clergyman of the parish,) the rustic procession sets forth, accompanied by the ringing of bells.

The arrangement and march are settled by the Cadi, who is always the most active person in the company; and is, by virtue of his important office, the chief marshal, orator, buffoon, and money collector. He is always arrayed in comic attire, generally in a partial dress of both sexes: a coat and waistcoat being used for the upper part of the body, and for the lower petticoats, somewhat resembling Moll Flagon, in the "Lord of the Manor." His countenance is also particularly distinguished by a hideous mask, or is blackened entirely over; and then the lips, cheeks, and orbits of the eyes are sometimes painted red. The number of the rest of the party, including the garland-bearer, is generally thirteen, and with the exception of the varied taste in the decoration of their shirts with ribbons, their costume is similar. It consists of clothing entirely new from the hat to the shoes, which are made neat, and of a light texture, for dancing. The white decorated shirts, plaited in the neatest manner, are worn over the rest of their clothing; the remainder of the dress is black velveteen breeches, with knee-ties depending half-way down to the ancles, in contrast with yarn hose of a light grey. The ornaments of the hats are large rosettes of varied colours, with streamers depending from them; wreaths of ribbon encircle the crown, and each of the dancers carries in his right hand a white pocket handkerchief.

The whole party being assembled, they march in single file, but more generally in pairs, headed by the Cadi. After him follows the garland-bearer, and then the fiddler, while the bells of the village merrily ring the signal of their departure. As the procession moves slowly along, the Cadi varies his station, hovers about his party, brandishes a ladle, and assails every passenger with comic eloquence and ludicrous persecution, for a customary and expected donation.

When they arrive at a farmhouse, they take up their ground on the best station for dancing. The garland-bearer takes his stand; the violin strikes up an old national tune uniformly used on that occasion, and the dancers move forward in a regular quick-step to the tune, in the order of procession; and at each turn of the tune throw up their white handkerchiefs with a shout, and the whole facing quickly about, retrace their steps, repeating the same manœuvre until the tune is once played. The music and dancing then vary into a reel, which is succeeded by another dance, to the old tune of "Cheshire Round."

During the whole of this time, the buffoonery of the Cadi is exhibited without intermission. He assails the inmates of the house for money, and when this is obtained he bows or curtsies his thanks, and the procession moves off to the next farmhouse. They do not confine the ramble of the day to their own parish, but go from one to another, and to any country town in the vicinity.

This ancient custom, like many others among the ancient Britons, is annually growing into disuse. The decline of sports and pastimes is in every age a subject of regret. For in a civil point of view, they denote the general prosperity, natural energy, and happiness of the people, consistent with morality,—and combined with that spirit of true religion, which unlike the howling of the dismal hyæna or ravening wolf, is as a lamb sportive and innocent, and as a lion magnanimous and bold!

I am, Sir,
Yours sincerely,
H. T. B.

April 14, 1825.

MAY-DAY AT HITCHIN, IN HERTFORDSHIRE.

For the Every-Day Book.

EXTRACT from a letter dated Hitchin, May 1st, 1823.

On this day a curious custom is observed here, of which I will give you a brief account.

May-day at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire.

The "Mayer's Song" is a composition, or rather a medley, of great antiquity, and I was therefore very desirous to procure a copy of it; in accomplishing this, however, I experienced more difficulty than I had anticipated; but at length succeeded in obtaining it from one of the Mayers. The following is a literal transcript of it:

The Mayer's Song.

Remember us poor Mayers all,
And thus do we begin
To lead our lives in righteousness,
Or else we die in sin.

We have been rambling all this night,
And almost all this day,
And now returned back again
We have brought you a branch of May.

A branch of May we have brought you,
And at your door it stands,
It is but a sprout,
But it's well budded out
By the work of our Lord's hands.

The hedges and trees they are so green,
As green as any leek,
Our heavenly Father He watered them
With his heavenly dew so sweet.

The heavenly gates are open wide,
Our paths are beaten plain,
And if a man be not too far gone,
He may return again.

The life of man is but a span,
It flourishes like a flower,
We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow,
And we are dead in an hour.

The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light,
A little before it is day,
So God bless you all, both great and small,
And send you a joyful May.

Milkmaids' Garland on May-day.

In London, thirty years ago,
When pretty milkmaids went about,
It was a goodly sight to see
Their May-day Pageant all drawn out:—

Themselves in comely colours drest,
Their shining garland in the middle,
A pipe and tabor on before,
Or else the foot-inspiring fiddle.

They stopt at houses, where it was
Their custom to cry "milk below!"
And, while the music play'd, with smiles
Join'd hands, and pointed toe to toe.

Thus they tripp'd on, till—from the door
The hop'd for annual present sent—
A signal came, to curtsy low,
And at that door cease merriment[.]

Such scenes, and sounds, once blest my eyes,
And charm'd my ears— but all have vanish'd!
On May-day, now, no garlands go,
For milk-maids, and their dance, are banish'd.

My recollections of these sights
"Annihilate both time and space;"
I'm boy enough to wish them back,
And think their absence—out of place.

May 4, 1825.

From the preceding lines somewhat may be learned of a lately disused custom in London. The milkmaids' garland was a pyramidical frame, covered with damask, glittering on each side with polished silver plate, and adorned with knots of gay-coloured ribbons, and posies of fresh flowers, surmounted by a silver urn, or tankard. The garland being placed on a wooden horse, was carried by two men, as represented in the engraving, sometimes preceded by a pipe and tabor, but more frequently by a fiddle; the gayest milkmaids followed the music, others followed the garland, and they stopped at their customers' doors, and danced. The plate, in some of these garlands, was very costly. It was usually borrowed of the pawnbrokers, for the occasion, upon security. One person in that trade was particularly resorted to for this accommodation. He furnished out the entire garland, and let it at so much per hour, under bond from responsible housekeepers for its safe return. In this way one set of milkmaids would hire the garland from ten o'clock till one, and another set would have the garland from one o'clock till six; and so on, during the first three days of May.

The milkmaids' earlier plate-garland was a pyramid of piled utensils, carried on a stout damsel's head, under which she danced to the violin.

MAY-FAIR.

Tiddy Diddy Doll—loll, loll, loll.

This celebrated vender of gingerbread, from his eccentricity of character, and extensive dealings in his way, was always hailed as the king of itinerant tradesmen.* [He was a constant attendant in the crowd on Lord Mayor's day.] In his person he was tall, well made, and his features handsome. He affected to dress like a person of rank; white gold laced suit of clothes, laced ruffled shirt, laced hat and feather, white silk stockings, with the addition of a fine white apron. Among his harangues to gain customers, take this as a specimen:— 'Mary, Mary, where are you now, Mary? I live, when at home, at the second house in Little Ball-street, two steps under ground, with a wiscum, riscum, and a why-not. Walk in, ladies and gentlemen; my shop is on the second-floor backwards, with a brass knocker at the door. Here is your nice gingerbread, your spice gingerbread; it will melt in your mouth like a red-hot brickbat, and rumble in your inside like Punch and his wheelbarrow.' He always finished his address by singing this fag end of some popular ballad:—

Hence arose his nickname of 'Tiddy-doll.' In Hogarth's print of the execution of the 'Idle 'Prentice,' at Tyburn, Tiddy-doll is seen holding up a gingerbread cake with his left hand, his right being within his coat, and addressing the mob in his usual way:—'Mary, Mary,' &c. His costume agrees with the aforesaid description. For many years, (and perhaps at present,) allusions were made to his name, as thus:—'You are so fine, (to a person dressed out of character,) you look like Tiddy-doll. You are as tawdry as Tiddy-doll. You are quite Tiddy-doll,' &c.—Soon after the late lord Coventry occupied the house, corner of Engine-street, Piccadilly, (built by sir Henry Hunlocke, Bart., on the site of a large ancient inn, called the Greyhound;) he being annoyed with the unceasing uproar, night and day, during the fair, (the whole month of May,) procured, I know not by what means, the entire abolition of this festival of 'misrule' and disorder."

The engraving here given is from an old print of Tiddy-doll; it is presumed, that the readers of the Every-Day Book will look at it with interest.

EVIL MAY-DAY.

In the reign of king Henry VIII., a great jealousy arose in the citizens of London towards foreign artificers, who were then called "strangers." By the interference of Dr. Standish, in a Spital sermon, at Easter, this was fomented into so great rancour, that it violently broke forth in the manner hereafter related by Stow, and occasioned the name of "Evil May-day" to the first of May, whereon the tumult happened. It appears then from him that:—

"Then suddenly rose a secret rumour, and no man could tell how it began, that on May-day next following, the citie would slay all the aliens: insomuch that divers strangers fled out of the citie.

"This rumour came to the knowledge of the kings councell: whereupon the lord cardinall sent for the maior, and other of the councell of the citie, giving them to understand what hee had heard.

"The lord maior (as one ignorant of the matter) told the cardinall, that he doubted not so to governe the citie, but as peace should be observed.

"The cardinall willed him so to doe, and to take good heed, that if any riotous attempt were intended, he should by good policy prevent it.

"After this commandement was given, in the evening, as sir Iohn Mundy, alderman, came from his ward, hee found two young-men in Cheape, playing at the bucklers, and a great many of young-men looking on them, for the commend seemed to bee scarcely published; he commended them to leave off; and because one of them asked him why, hee would have him sent to the counter. But the prentices resisted the alderman, taking the young-man from him, and cryed prentices, prentices, clubs, clubs; then out at every doore came clubs and other weapons, so that the alderman was forced to flight. Then more people arose out of every quarter, and forth came servingmen, watermen, courtiers, and other, so that by eleven of the clocke, there were in Cheape, 6 or 7 hundred, and out of Pauls church-yard came about 300. From all places they gathered together, and brake up the Counter, took out the prisoners, which had been committed thither by the lord maior, for hurting the strangers: also they went to Newgate, and tooke out Studley and Bets, committed thither for the like cause. The maior and sheriffes were present, and made proclamation in the kings name, but nothing was obeyed.

"Being thus gathered into severall heaps, they ran thorow saint Nicholas shambles, and at saint Martins gate, there met with them sir Thomas More, and other, desiring them to goe to their lodgings.

"Some ran to Blanchapleton, and there brake up the strangers houses, and spoiled them. Thus they continued till 3 a clocke in the morning, at which time, they began to withdraw: but by the way they were taken by the maior and other, and sent to the Tower, Newgate and Counters, to the number of 300. The cardinall was advertised by sir Thomas Parre, whom in all haste he sent to Richmond, to informe the king: who immediately sent to understand the state of the city, and was truely informed. Sir Roger Cholmeley Lievtenant of the Tower, during the time of this business, shot off certaine peeces of ordnance against the city, but did no great hurt. About five of the clock in the morning, the earles of Shrewsbury and Surrey, Thomas Dockery, lord prior of saint Iohns, George Nevill, lord Aburgaveny, and other, came to London with such powers as they could make, so did the innes of court; but before they came, the business was done, as ye have heard.

"Then were the prisoners examined, and the sermon of doctor Bell called to remembrance, and hee sent to the Tower. A commission of oyer and determiner was directed to the duke of Norfolke, and other lords, for punishment of this insurrection. The second of May, the commissioners, with the lord maior, aldermen, and iustices, went to the Guildhall, where many of the offenders were indicted, whereupon they were arraigned, and pleaded not guilty, having day given them till the 4. of May.

"On the seventh of May, Iohn Lincoln, one Shirwin, and two brethren, named Betts, with divers other were adjudged to dye. They were on the hurdles drawne to the standard in Cheape, and first was Lincolne executed: and as the other had the ropes about their neckes, there came a commandement from the king, to respit the execution, and then were the prisoners sent againe to prison, and the armed men sent away out of the citie.

"On the thirteenth of May, the king came to Westminster-hall, and with him the lord cardinall, the dukes of Norfolke, and Suffolke, the earles of Shrewsbury, Essex, Wiltshire, and Surrey, with many lords and other of the kings councell; the lord maior of London, aldermen and other chiefe citizens, were there in their best liveries, by nine of the clocke in the morning. Then came in the prisoners, bound in ropes in a ranke one after another, in their shirts, and every one had a halter about his necke, being in number 400 men, and 11 women.

"When they were thus come before the kings presence, the cardinall laid sore to the maior and aldermen their negligence, and to the prisoners he delared [sic] how justly they had deserved to dye. Then all the prisoners together cryed to the king for mercy, and there with the lords besought his grace of pardon: at whose request, the king pardoned them all. The generall pardon being pronounced, all the prisoners shouted at once, and cast their halters towards the roofe of the hall. The prisoners being dismissed, the gallowes were taken downe, and the citizens tooke more heed to their servants: keeping (for ever after) as on that night, a strong watch in Armour, in remembrance of Evill May-day.

"These great Mayings and Maygames made by the governours and masters of this city, with the triumphant setting up of a great shaft (a principall May-pole in Cornehill, before the parish of saint Andrew) therefore called Vndershaft, by meane of that insurrection of youths, against aliens on May-day, 1517. the [8. ] of Henry the eighth, have not been so freely used as before."

DRURY-LANE MAY-POLE

It is understood, however, that the offerings on the festival are not exclusively appropriated to the receivers; masters share a certain portion of their apprentices' profits from the holiday; others take the whole of the first two days' receipts, and leave to the worn-out, helpless objects, by whom they profit all the year round, no more than the scanty gleanings of the third day's performance.

ELIA, AND JEM WHITE'S FEAST TO THE SWEEPS.

"I have a kindly yearning toward these dim specks—poor blots—innocent blacknesses—

"I reverence these young Africans of our own growth—these almost clergy imps, who sport their cloth without assumption; and from their little pulpits (the tops of chimnies), in the nipping air of a December morning, preach a lesson of patience to mankind.

"When a child, what a mysterious pleasure it was to witness their operation! to see a chit no bigger than one's-self enter, one knew not by what process, into what seemed the fauces Averni—to pursue him in imagination, as he went sounding on through so many dark, stifling caverns, horrid shades! — to shudder with the idea that 'now, surely, he must be lost for ever'—to revive at hearing his feeble shout of discovered day-light— and then (O, fulness of delight) running out of doors, to come just in time to see the sable phenomenon emerge in safety, the brandished weapon of his art victorious like some flag waved over a conquered citadel! I seem to remember having been told, that a bad sweep was once left in a stack with his brush, to indicate which way the wind blew. It was an awful spectacle certainly; not much unlike the old stage direction in Macbeth, where the 'Apparition of a child crowned with a tree in his hand rises.'

"Reader, if thou meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to give him a penny. It is better to give him two-pence. If it be starving weather, and to the proper troubles of his hard occupation, a pair of kibed heels (no unusual accompaniment) be superadded, the demand on thy humanity will surely rise to a tester.

"I am by theory obdurate to the seductiveness of what are called a fine set of teeth. Every pair of rosy lips (the ladies must pardon me) is a casket, presumably holding such jewels; but, methinks, they should take leave to 'air' them as frugally as possible. The fine lady, or fine gentleman, who show me their teeth, show me bones. Yet must I confess, that from the mouth of a true sweep a display (even to ostentation) of those white and shining ossifications, strikes me as an agreeable anomaly in manners, and an allowable piece of foppery. It is, as when

"A sable cloud
turns forth her silver lining on the night.

"In one of the state-beds at Arundel Castle, a few years since—under a ducal canopy—(that seat of the Howards is an object of curiosity to visitors, chiefly for its beds, in which the late duke was especially a connoisseur)—encircled with curtains of delicatest crimson, with starry coronets inwoven— folded between a pair of sheets whiter and softer than the lap where Venus lulled Ascanius—was discovered by chance, after all methods of search had failed, at noon-day, fast asleep, a lost chimney-sweeper. The little creature, having somehow confounded his passage among the intricacies of those lordly chimnies, by some unknown aperture had alighted upon this magnificent chamber; and, tired with his tedious explorations, was unable to resist the delicious invitement to repose, which he there saw exhibited; so, creeping between the sheets very quietly, laid his black head upon the pillow, and slept like a young Howard.

"Golden lads and lasses must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust—

JAMES WHITE is extinct, and with him these suppers have long ceased. He carried away with him half the fun of the world when he died—of my world at least. His old clients look for him among the pens; and, missing him, reproach the altered feast of St. Bartholomew, and the glory of Smithfield departed for ever."

MAY-DAY IN IRELAND.

A popular superstition related in the last quoted work, is, that at early dawn on May-morning, "the princely O'Donoghue gallops his white charger over the waters of Killarney." The foundation of this is,

The Legend of O'Donoghue.

"His end—for it cannot correctly be called his death—was singular and mysterious. At one of those splended feasts for which his court was celebrated, surrounded by the most distinguished of his subjects, he was engaged in a prophetic relation of the events which were to happen in ages yet to come. His auditors listened, now wrapt in wonder, now fired with indignation, burning with shame, or melted into sorrow, as he faithfully detailed the heroism, the injuries, the crimes, and the miseries of their descendants. In the midst of his predictions, he rose slowly from his seat, advanced with a solemn, measured, and majestic tread to the shore of the lake, and walked forward composedly upon its unyielding surface. When he had nearly reached the centre, he paused for a moment, then turning slowly round, looked towards his friends, and waving his arms to them with the cheerful air of one taking a short farewell, disappeared from view.

"The memory of the good O'Donoghue has been cherished by successive generations, with affectionate reverence; and it is believed, that at sunrise, on every May-day morning, the anniversary of his departure, he revisits his ancient domains: a favoured few only are, in general, permitted to see him, and this distinction is always an omen of good fortune to the beholders: when it is granted to many, it is a sure token of an abundant harvest,—a blessing, the want of which, during this prince's reign, was never felt by his people.

"Some years have elapsed since the last appearance of O'Donoghue. The April of that year had been remarkably wild and stormy; but on May-morning the fury of the elements had altogether subsided. The air was hushed and still; and the sky, which was reflected in the serene lake, resembled a beautiful but deceitful countenance, whose smiles, after the most tempestuous emotions, tempt the stranger to believe that it belongs to a soul which no passion has ever ruffled.

"The warrior was O'Donoghue: he was followed by numberless youths and maidens, who moved light and unconstrained over the watery plain, as the moonlight fairies glide through the fields of air; they were linked together by garlands of delicious spring flowers, and they timed their movements to strains of enchanting melody. When O'Donoghue had nearly reached the western side of the lake, he suddenly turned his steed, and directed his course along the wood-fringed shore of Glenaa, preceded by the huge wave that curled and foamed up as high as the horse's neck, whose fiery nostrils snorted above it. The long train of attendants followed, with playful deviations, the track of their leader, and moved on with unabated fleetness to their celestial music, till gradually, as they entered the narrow strait between Glenaa and Dinis, they became involved in the mists which still partially floated over the lakes, and faded from the view of the wondering beholders: but the sound of their music still fell upon the ear, and echo catching up the harmonious strains, fondly repeated and prolonged them in soft and softer tones, till the last faint repetition died away, and the hearers awoke as from a dream of bliss."

Such is the story of O'Donoghe, in the words of the author of "Irish Legends," an elegant work of amusing and recondite lore regarding the land of his fathers.

MAY-DAY IN ITALY.

All gentle hearts confess the quick'ning spring,
For May invig'rates every living thing.
Hark! how the merry minstrels of the grove
Devote the day to melody and love;
Their little breasts with emulation swell,
And sweetly strive in singing to excel.
In the thick forests feed the cooing dove;
The starling whistles various notes of love;
Up spring the airy larks, shrill voic'd and loud,
And breathe their matins from a morning cloud,
To greet glad nature, and the god of day,
And flow'ry Venus, blooming queen of May
Thus sing the sweet Musicians on the spray:
Welcome thou lord of light, and lamp of day;
Welcome to tender herbs and myrtle bowers,
Welcome to plants and odour-breathing flowers;
Welcome to every root upon the plain,
Welcome to gardens, and the golden grain:
Welcome to birds that build upon the breere,
Welcome great lord and ruler of the year:
Welcome thou source of universal good,
Of buds to boughs, and beauty to the wood:
Welcome bright Phœbus, whose prolific power
In every meadow spreads out every flower;
Where'er thy beams in wild effulgence play,
Kind nature smiles and all the world is gay.

Gawin Douglas, by Fawkes

REMARKABLE CORRESPONDENT.

Although public notice has been given that anonymous correspondents will only be answered on the wrappers to the parts of this work, and that those who attach their real names will be noticed privately, yet it is necessary to remark on one who is without a local habitation, and is out of the reach of the two-penny and general post. This is the communication alluded to:—

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Am I not a Day (when I do come) to all purposes as much as any of them. Decompose me, anatomise me; you will find that I am constituted like the rest. Divide me into twenty-four, and you shall find that I cut up into as many goodly hours (or main limbs) as the rest. I too have my arteries and pulses, which are the minutes and the seconds.

It is hard to be dis-familied thus, like Cinderella in her rags and ashes, while her sisters flaunted it about in cherry-coloured ribbons and favors. My brethren forsooth are to be dubbed; one, Saint Day; another, Pope Day; a third, Bishop Day; the least of them is Squire Day, or Mr. Day, while I am—plain Day. Our house, Sir, is a very ancient one, and the least of us is too proud to put up with an indignity. What though I am but a younger brother in some sense—for the youngest of my brethren is by some thousand years my senior—yet I bid fair to inherit as long as any of them, while I have the Calendar to show; which, you must understand, is our Title Deeds.

Not content with slurring me over with a bare and naked acknowledgement of my occasional visitation in prose, you have done your best to deprive me of my verse-honours. In column 310 of your Book, you quote an antique scroll, leaving out the last couplet, as if on purpose to affront me. "Thirty days hath September"—so you transcribe very faithfully for four lines, and most invidiously suppress the exceptive clause:—

Except in Leap Year, that's the time
When February's days hath twenty and —

The Every-Day—but—one—Book.

Yours, as you treat me,
TWENTY NINTH OF FEBRUARY.

To this correspondent it may be demurred and given in proof, that neither in February, nor at any other time in the year 1825, had he, or could he, have had existence; and that whenever he is seen, he is only an impertinence and an interpolation upon his betters. To his "floral honours" he is welcome; in the year 992, he slew St. Oswald, archbishop of York in the midst of his monks, to whom the greater perriwinkle, Vinca Major, is dedicated. For this honour our correspondent should have waited till his turn arrived for distinction. His ignorant impatience of notoriety is a mark of weakness, and indeed it is only in compassion to his infirmity that he has been condescended to; his brothers have seen more of the world, and he should have been satisfied by having been allowed to be in their company at stated times, and like all little ones, he ought to have kept respectful silence. Besides, he forgets his origin; he is illegitimate; and as a burthen to "the family," and an upstart, it has been long in contemplation to disown him, and then what will become of him? If he has done any good in the world he may have some claim upon it, but whenever he appears, he seems to throw things into confusion. His desire to alter the title of this work excites a smile— however, when he calls upon the editor he shall have justice, and be compelled to own that it is calumny to call this the Every-Day—but—one—Book.

May 2.

St. Athanasius, Patriarch of Alexandria, A.D. 373.

St. Athanasius.

CHRONOLOGY.

1519. Leonardo da Vinci, the painter, died.

Richmond.

In the beginning of May, a steam-boat for conveying passengers ascends the Thames in the morning from Queenhithe to Richmond, and returns the same day; and so she proceeds to and fro until the autumn. Before she unmoors she takes in little more than half her living freight, the remainder is obtained during the passage. Her band on deck plays a lively tune, and "off she goes" towards Blackfriars'-bridge. From thence, leisurely walkers, and holiday-wishing people, on their way to business, look from between the balustrades on the enviable steamer; they see her lower her chimney to pass beneath the arch, and ten to one, if they cross the road to watch her coming forth on the other side, they receive a puff from the re-elevating mast; this fuliginous rebuke is inspiring.

A Legal Lament.

Ye Richmond Navigators bold
all on the liquid plain,
When from the bridge we envied you,
with pleasure mix'd with pain,
Why could you be so cruel as
to ridicule our woes,
By in our anxious faces turn-
ing up your steamer's nose?

'Twas 'strange, 'twas passing strange, 'twas
pitiful, twas wonderous
Pitiful, as Shakspeare says,
by you then being under us,
To be insulted as we were,
when you your chimney rose
And thought yourselves at liberty
to cloud our hopes and clothes.

The same sweet poet says, you know,
"each dog will have his day,"
And hence for Richmond we, in turn,
may yet get under weigh.
So thus we are consoled in mind,
and as to being slighted,
For that same wrong, we'll right ourselves,
and get you all indicted.

*

To the over-wearied inhabitants of the metropolis, the trip to Richmond is covetable. The lively French, the philosophic German, the elegant Italian, the lofty Spaniard, and the Cossack of the Don, pronounce the prospect from the hill the most enchanting in Europe. There was no itinerary of Richmond until Dr. John Evans, during a visit in 1824, hastily threw some memoranda into a neat little volume, illustrated by a few etchings, under the title of "Richmond and its Vicinity," which he purposes to improve.

It should also be noticed, in connection with Mr. Montgomery's volume in behalf of the chimney-sweepers, that a Mr. J. C. Hudson has addressed "A Letter to the Mistresses of Families, on the Cruelty of employing Children in the odious, dangerous, and often fatal Task of sweeping Chimnies." To Mr. Hudson's pamphlet, which is published at sixpence, there are two cuts, from designs by Mr. George Cruikshank.

It is observed by Dr. Forster, in the "Perennial Calendar," that "the melody of birds is perhaps at no time of the year greater and more constant than it is at this present period. The nightingale, the minstrel of the eve; and the lark, the herald of the morn; together with the numerous birds whose music fills the groves all day, contribute, in no small degree, to the pleasure derived from the country in this month. Nor is the lowing of distant cattle in the evening, the hooting of the owl, and many other rustic sounds, deficient in power to please by association of ideas. Shakspeare has a beautiful comparison of the lark and nightingale in 'Romeo and Juliet:'—

SCENE. Juliet's Chamber.

TULIPS.

As one who long in populous city pent,
Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn, to breathe
Among the pleasant villages, and farms
Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight:
The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine,
Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Charlock. Rhaphanus Rhafaristrum.
Dedicated to St. Athanasius.

May 3.

The Invention, or Discovery of the Holy Cross, A.D. 326. St. Alexander, Pope, A.D. 119[.]

INVENTION OF THE CROSS.

This festival of the Romish church is also in the church of England calendar; Mr. Audley says, "the word invention sometimes signifies the finding a thing that was hidden;" thence the name of this festival, which celebrates the alleged finding of the cross of Christ by St. Helena, who is said to have found three crosses on Mount Calvary, but the true one could not be distinguished, till a sick woman being placed on each, was healed by one, which was therefore pronounced the veritable cross. Mr. Audley quotes, that "the custody of the cross was committed to the bishop of Jerusalem. Every Easter Sunday it was exposed to view, and pilgrims from all countries were indulged with little pieces of it enchased in gold or gems. What was most astonishing, the sacred wood was never lessened, although it was perpetually diminished, for it possessed a secret power of vegetation." It appears from Ribadeneira, that St. Paulinus, says, "the cross being a piece of wood without sense or feeling, yet seemeth to have in it a living and everlasting virtue; and from that time to this it permitteth itself to be parted and divided to comply with innumerable persons, and yet suffereth no loss or detriment, but remains as entire as if it had never been cut, so that it can be severed, parted, and divided, for those among whom it is to be distributed, and still remains whole and entire for all that come to reverence and adore it." There is no other way left to the Romish church to account for the superabundance of the wood of the cross.

Robert Parker wrote a remarkably learned book, in folio, entitled—"A Scholasticall Discourse against symbolizing with Antichrist in ceremonies: especially in the signe of the Crosse, 1607." This erudite work subjected Parker to a persecution under James I., from which he fled to Doesburg, where he died in 1630.

CROSS OF THE SOUTH.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Poetic Narcissus. Narcissus poeticus.
Invention of the Cross.

May 4.

St. Monica. St. Godard, Bp. A.D. 1038.

ST. MONICA, A.D. 387.

She was mother of St. Augustine, whom she sent to study at Carthage, where, in 373, he became a Manichee, and remained so, to his mother's affliction, until 386; she was a woman of piety, and he revered her memory. Her supposed remains were translated with the customary ceremonies of the church of Rome, but their identity has been doubted.* [Butler.]

CHRONOLOGY.

1471. Battle of Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire, gained by Edward IV. over the Lancasterians.

1677. Dr. Isaac Barrow died, aged 47. He was an eminent mathematician, a learned divine, and a high cavalier. Educated at the Charter-house, he was disinclined to study; his recreation was in sports that led to fighting among the boys, yet he afterwards subdued his inclination to quarrels, and distinguished himself as a scholar. He became professor of mathematics at Cambridge, master of Trinity-college, served the office of vice-chancellor, and was buried in westminster Abbey. Charles II. used to say of him, that he exhausted every subject whereon he treated; yet he did nothing for him. After the Restoration, Barrow wrote a Latin distich, thus translated:—

O how my breast did ever burn,
To see my lawful king return!
Yet, whilst his happy fate I bless,
No one has felt his influence less.

Barrow was a great smoker to help his thinking. He was a great wit: he met Rochester at court, who said to him, "doctor, I am yours to my shoe-tie;" Barrow bowed obsequiously with, "my lord, I am yours to the ground;" Rochester returned this by, "doctor, I am yours to the centre;" Barrow rejoined, "my lord, I am yours to the antipodes;" Rochester, not to be foiled by "a musty old piece of divinity," as he was accustomed to call him, exclaimed, "doctor, I am yours to the lowest pit of hell;" whereupon Barrow turned from him with, "there, my lord, I leave you."

1736. Eustace Budgell drowned himself, at the age of 52, from vexation, that a bequest to him of 2,000l. in the will of Dr. Tindal, was set aside. He wrote in the "Spectator," "Tatler," and "Guardian;" was a member of the Irish parliament, and lost his property in the South-sea bubble[.]

1758. George Bickham, the eminent writing-engraver, died, aged 74; and was buried at St. Luke's, Old-street.

1795. John James Barthelemy, the celebrated author of "The Travels of Anacharsis the younger in Greece," died, aged 79. He was a man of deep learning and simplicity of character; unhappily he became involved in the troubles of the French revolution, and endured great hardships from the turbulence of men opposed to his views of social happiness.

BIRDS.

A distinguished naturalist obligingly communicates the subjoined table and prefatory remark.

For the Every-Day Book.

A notion prevails that birds do great injury in gardens and fields, and hence rewards are frequently offered to induce boys and others to kill them in spring. The notion and the practice are erroneous. A gentleman of long experience in horticulture, has ascertained that birds, in general, do more good by destroying vermin than they do harm by the little fruit and grain they consume; and entire district in Germany was once nearly deprived of its corn harvest, by an order to kill all the rooks having been generally obeyed.

SPRING BIRDS.

Table of the average terms of their arrival, deduced from a Journal of Natural History, kept during nearly sixty years.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Stock Gilly Flower. Mathiola incana.
Dedicated to St. Monica.

May 5.

St. Pius V., Pope, A.D. 1572. St. Hilary, Abp. of Arles, A.D. 449. St. Angelus, A.D. 1225. St. Mauront, Abbot, A.D. 706. St. Avertin, A.D. 1189.

CHRONOLOGY.

1760. The right honourable Laurence, earl Ferrers, viscount Tamworth, was hanged at Tyburn, for the murder of John Johnson, his steward.

1789. Joseph Baretti, author of the "Italian Dictionary," &c. died, aged 73.

1821. Napoleon died at St. Helena, in the sixth year of his confinement. What he was all men pretend to know, and historians will tell.

THE SEASON.

"Here they are! blowing, growing, all alive!" This was an old London cry by little flower gardners, who brought the products of their grounds to the metropolis, and wheeled them through the streets in a barrow, "blowing, growing, all alive!" to tempt purchasers in the humble streets and alleys of working neighbourhoods. Acts of Parliament have put down the flower-pots, which were accustomed to "topple on the walkers' heads," from the windows of houses, wherein flower-fanciers dwelt.

Flower Garden.

Fairhanded Spring unbosoms every grace,
Throws out the snowdrop and the crocus first,
The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes;
The yellow wallflower, stained with iron brown,
The lavish stock that scents the garden round.
From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed
Anemonies, auriculas, enriched
With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves,
And full ranunculus of glowing red.
Then comes the tulip race, where beauty plays
Her idle freaks, from family diffused
To family, as flies the father dust,
The varied colours run; and while they break
On the charmed eye, the exulting florist marks,
With secret pride, the wonders of his hand.
No gradual bloom is wanting, from the bud,
First born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes—
Nor hyacinths of purest virgin white,
Low bent and blushing inwards—nor jonquils
Of potent fragrance—nor Narcissus fair,
As o'er the fabled mountain [fountain?] hanging still—
Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks,
Nor showered from every bush the damask rose.

Thomson.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Apple Tree. Pyrus Malus.
Dedicated to St. Angelus and St. Pius.

May 6.

St. John before the Latin Gate. St. John Damascen, A. D. 780. St. Eadbert, Bp. of Lindisfarne, A.D. 687.

ST. JOHN PORT LATIN.

There is a further legend, that while St. Edward the Confessor was dedicating a church to St. John, a pilgrim demanded alms of him in the saint's name, whereupon the king gave him the ring from his finger. This pilgrim was St. John, who discovered himself to two English pilgrims in the Holy Land, bidding them bear the ring to the king in his name, and require him to make ready to depart this world; after this they went to sleep. On awakening they found themselves among flocks of sheep and shepherds in a strange place, which turned out to be Barham Downs in Kent, wherefore they thanked God and St. John for the good speed, and coming to St. Edward on Christmas-day, delivered to him the ring with the warning; these the king received in a suitable manner, "And on the vigyll of the Epyphanye, next after, he dyed and departed holyly out of this worlde, and is buryed in the Abbey of Westmester by London, where as is yet unto this daye that same rynge." Again it is said, that Isidore affirms of St. John, that he transformed branches of trees into fine gold, and sea-gravel into precious stones, with other like incredibilities.* [Golden Legend]

CHRONOLOGY.

1677. Samuel Bochart, a learned French Protestant divine and orientalist, died at Caen, aged 68 years.

SPRING BLIGHT.

The greatest misfortune that the cultivator of a garden apprehends at this season, is blight, of which, according to Dr. Forster, there are three kinds. "The first occurs in the early spring, about the time of the blossoming of the peach, and is nothing more than a dry frosty wind, usually from the north or north-east, and principally affects the blossoms, causing them to fall off prematurely. The two other kinds of blight occur in this month, affecting principally the apple and pear trees, and sometimes the corn. One of these consists in the appearance of an immense multitude of aphides, a kind of small insect of a brown, or black, or green colour, attacking the leaves of plants, and entirely incrusting the young stems. These pests are always found to make their appearance after a north-east wind, and it has been supposed by many that they are actually conveyed hither by the wind. Thomson, too, positively ascribes them to the north wind:—

For oft engendered by the hazy north,
Myriads on myriads, insect armies warp
Keen in the poisoned breeze; and wasteful eat,
Through buds and bark, into the blackened core
Their eager way.

To Blossoms.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last!

What, were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight?
And so to bid good night?
'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite!

But your lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile they glide
Into the grave!

Herrick.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lucken Gowans. Trollius Europœus.
Dedicated to St. John Damascen.

May 7.

St. Stanislas, Bp. of Cracow, A.D. 1079. St. Benedict II. Pope, A.D. 686. St. John of Beverley.

ST. JOHN OF BEVERLEY, A.D. 721,

SEASONABLE STORY.

If the north-east wind blow on this day, or on any other day in May, or in any other summer month, the nervous reader will experience the uneasiness which is sure to afflict him from that baleful quarter. The sun may shine, and the birds may sing, and flowers may give forth their odours, yet pernicious influences prevail against the natural harmony and spirit of the season. To one, therefore, so afflicted, the story of Daniel O'Rourke, from the "Fairy Legends," may be diverting.

DANIEL O'ROURKE.

"I am often axed to tell it, sir," said he, "so that this is not the first time. The master's son, you see, had come from beyond foreign parts in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go, before Buonaparte or any such was heard of; and sure enough there was a dinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high and low, rich and poor. The ould gentlemen were the gentlemen, after all, saving your honour's presence. They'd swear at a body a little, to be sure, and, may be, give one a cut of a whip now and then, but we were no losers by it in the end;—and they were so easy and civil, and kept such rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes;—and there was no grinding for rent, and few agents; and there was hardly a tenant on the estate that did not taste of his landlord's bounty often and often in the year;—but now it's another thing: no matter for that, sir, for I'd better be telling you my story.

"I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered, until at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as day, or your fair lady's eyes, sir, (with your pardon for mentioning her,) and I looked east and west, and north and south, and every way, and nothing did I see but bog, bog, bog,—I could never find out how I got into it; and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain I was that it would be my berrin place. So I sat down upon a stone which, as good luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to scratch my head, and sing the Ullagone—when all of a sudden the moon grew black, and I looked up, and saw something for all the world as if it was moving down between me and it, and I could not tell what it was. Down it came with a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and what was it but an eagle? as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of Kerry. So he looked at me in the face, and says he to me, 'Daniel O'Rourke,' says he, 'how do you do?' 'Very well, I thank you, sir,' says I: 'I hope you're well;' wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to speak like a Christian. 'What brings you here, Dan?' says he. 'Nothing at all, sir,' says I; 'only I wish I was safe home again.' 'Is it out of the island you want to go, Dan?' says he. ''Tis, sir,' says I: so I up and told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell into the water; how I swam to the island; and how I got into the bog, and did not know my way out of it. 'Dan,' says he, after a minute's thought, 'though it was very improper for you to get drunk on Lady-day, yet as you are a decent, sober man, who 'tends mass well, and never flings stones at me or mine, nor cries out after us in the fields—my life for yours,' says he; 'so get up on my back, and grip me well for fear you'd fall off, and I'll fly you out of the bog.' 'I am afraid,' says I, 'your honour's making game of me; for who ever heard of riding a horseback on an eagle before?' ' 'Pon the honour of a gentleman,' says he, putting his right foot on his breast, 'I am quite in earnest; and so now either take my offer or starve in the bog—besides, I see that your weight is sinking the stone.'

"'Arrah, Dan,' said he, 'do you think me a fool? Look down in the next field, and don't you see two men and a gun? By my word it would be no joke to be shot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked up off of a could stone in a bog.' 'Bother you,' said I to myself, but I did not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept, flying, flying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use. 'Where in the world are you going, sir?' says I to him. 'Hold your tongue, Dan,' says he: 'mind your own business, and don't be interfering with the business of other people.' 'Faith, this is my business, I think,' says I. 'Be quiet, Dan,' says he: so I said no more.

"At last where should we come to, but to the moon itself. Now you can't see it from this, but there is, or there was in my time a reaping-hook sticking out of the side of the moon, this way (drawing the figure on the ground with the end of his stick.)

"When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about to me, and said, 'Good morning to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' said he: 'I think I've nicked you fairly now. You robbed my nest last year,' ('twas true enough for him, but how he found it out is hard to say,) 'and in return you are freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a cockthrow.'

"'Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you brute, you?' says I. 'You ugly unnatural baste, and is this the way you serve me at last? Bad luck to yourself, with your hook'd nose, and to all your breed, you blackguard.' 'Twas all to no manner of use: he spread out his great big wings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled after him to stop; but I might have called and bawled for ever, without his minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to this—sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a disconsolate condition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a door opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as if it had not been opened for a month before. I suppose they never thought of greasing 'em, and out there walks—who do you think but the man in the moon? I knew him by his bush.

"'Dan,' said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff when I was done, 'you must not stay here.' 'Indeed, sir,' says I, ''tis much against my will I'm here at all; but how am I to go back?' 'That's your business,' said he, 'Dan: mine is to tell you that here you must not stay, so be off in less than no time.' 'I'm doing no harm,' says I, 'only holding on hard by the reaping-hook, lest I fall off.' 'That's what you must not do, Dan,' says he. 'Pray, sir,' says I, 'may I ask how many you are in family, that you would not give a poor traveller lodging: I'm sure 'tis not so often you're troubled with strangers coming to see you, for 'tis a long way.' 'I'm by myself, Dan,' says he; 'but you'd better let go the reaping-hook.' 'Faith, and with your leave,' says I, 'I'll not let go the grip.' 'You had better, Dan,' says he again. 'Why, then, my little fellow,' says I, taking the whole weight of him with my eye from head to foot, 'there are two words to that bargain; and I'll not budge, but you may if you like.' 'We'll see how that is to be,' says he; and back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him (for it was plain he was huffed), that I thought the moon and all would fall down with it.

"We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking up out of the water. 'Ah! my lord,' said I to the goose, for I thought it best to keep a civil tongue in my head any way, 'fly to land if you please.' 'It is impossible, you see, Dan,' said he, 'for a while, because you see we are going to Arabia.' 'To Arabia,' said I; 'that's surely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose: why then, to be sure, I'm a man to be pitied among you.' 'Whist, whist, you fool,' said he, 'hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia is a very decent sort of place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like another, only there is a little more sand there.'

"Just as we were talking, a ship hove in sight, scudding so beautiful before the wind: 'Ah! then, sir,' said I, 'will you drop me on the ship, if you please?' 'We are not fair over it,' said he. 'We are,' said I. 'We are not,' said he: 'If I dropped you now, you would go splash into the sea.' I would not,' says I; 'I know better than that, for it is just clean under us, so let me drop now at once.'

"'Get up,' said she again: 'and of all places in the parish, would no place sarve your turn to lie down upon but under the ould walls of Carrigaphooka? an uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.' And sure enough I had; for I was fairly bothered out of my sense with eagles, and men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through bogs, and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the great ocean. If I was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I'd lie down in the same spot again, I know that."

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Asiatic Globeflower. Trollius Asiaticus.
Dedicated to St. John of Beverley.

May 8.

The Apparition of St. Michael the Archangel. St. Peter, Abp. of Tarentaise, or Monstiers, A.D. 1174. St. Victor, A.D. 303. St. Wiro, Bp. 7th Cent. St. Odrian, Bp. of Waterford. St. Gybrian, or Gobrian, 8th Cent.

ST. MICHAEL. THE ARCHANGEL.

St. Michael is further represented in catholic books as engaged with weighing souls in a pair of scales. A very curious spiritualizing romance, originally in French, printed in English by Caxton, in the reign of Edward V., exemplifies the office of St. Michael in this capacity; the work is entitled—"The Pilgremage of the Sowle." The author expresses himself under "the similitude of a dream," which, he says, befell him on a St. Laurence' night sleeping in his bed. He thought himself travelling towards the city of Jerusalem, when death struck his body and soul asunder; whereupon Satan in a foul and horrible form came towards the soul, which being in great terror, its warden, or guardian angel, desired Satan to flee away and not meddle with it. Satan refuses, alleging that God had permitted that no soul which had done wrong should, on its passage, escape from being "snarlyd in his trappe;" and he said, that the guardian angel well knew that he, the said guardian, could never withdraw the soul from evil, or induce it to follow his good counsel; and that even if he had, the soul would not have thanked him for it; Satan, therefore, knew not why the angel should interfere, and begged he would let him alone to do with the soul what he had a right to do, and could not be prevented from doing. The parley continued, until they agreed to carry the soul before Michael, the provost of heaven, and abide his award on Satan's claim.

The soul was then lifted between them both into the transparent air, wherein the spirits of the newly dead were passing thickly on every side, to and fro, as motes flitting in the sun-beam. They tarried not until they arrived at a marvellous place of bright fire, shining with a brilliant light, surrounded by a great multitude of souls attending there for a like purpose. The guardian angel entered, leaving Satan without, and also the soul, who could hear the voice of his warden speaking in his behalf, and acquainting Michael that he had brought from earth a pilgrim, who was without, and with him Satan his accuser, abiding judgment.

Then Satan began to cry out and said, "Of right he is mine, and that I shall prove; wherefore deliver him to me by judgment, for I abide naught else." This caused proclamation to be made by sound of trumpet in these words:—"All ye that are without, awaiting your judgment, present yourselves before the provost to receive your doom; but first ye that have longest waited, and especially those that have no great matter and are not much troubled; for the plain and light causes shall first be determined, and then other matters that need greater tarrying."

After Satan's complaint, the soul heard within the curtain, "a longe parlament;" and, at the last, there was another proclamation ordered by sound of trumpet, as follows:—All ye that are accustomed to come to our judgments, to hear and to see, as assessors, that right be performed, come forth immediately and take your seats; ye well knowing your own assigned places. Ye also that are without, waiting the sitting of the court, present yourselves forthwith to the judgment thereof, in order as ye shall be called; so that no one hinder another, or interrupt another's discourse. Ye pilgrims, approach the entrance of this curtain, awaiting without; and your wardens, because they are our equals, belonging to our company, are to appear, as of right they ought, within our presence."

After this proclamation was observed, the guardian angel said,—"Provost Michael! I here present to you this pilgrim, committed to my care in the world below: he has kept his faith to the last, and ought to be received into the heavenly Jerusalem, whereto his body hath long been travelling."—Satan answered—"Michael! attend to my word and I shall tell you another tale." The soul being befriended throughout by St. Michael, finally escapes the dreadful doom of eternal punishment.

On St. Michael's contention with the devil about the body of Moses, more may be seen in the volume on "Ancient Mysteries," from which the present notice is extracted, or in "Bishop Marsh's translation of Michaeli's Introduction to the New Testament."

The managers of an institution for the encouragement of British talent, less versed in biblical criticism than in art, lately offered a prize to the painter who should best represent this strange subject.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lily of the Valley. Convallaria majalis
Dedicated to St. Selena.

Canonbury Tower.

People methinks are better, but the scenes
Wherein my youth delighted are no more.
I wander out in search of them, and find
A sad deformity in all I see.
Strong recollections of my former pleasures,
And knowledge that they never can return,
Are causes of my sombre mindedness:
I pray you then bear with my discontent.

*

We got to Canonbury. Geoffrey Crayon's "Poor Devil Author" sojourned here:—

Now for this and some other descriptions, I have a quarrel with the aforesaid Geoffrey Crayon, gent. What right has a transatlantic settler to feelings in England? He located in America, but it seems he did not locate his feelings there; if not, why not? What right has he of New York to sit "solitary" in Raleigh's house at Islington, and "muse" on our "old times;" himself clearly a pied animal, mistaking the pied bull for a "black" bull. There is "black" blood between us. By what authority has he a claim to a domicile at Canonbury? Under what international law laid down by Vattel or Martens, or other jurist, ancient or modern, can his pretension to feel and muse at sir Walter's or queen Elizabeth's tower, be admitted? He comes here and describes as if he were a real Englishman; and claims copyright in our courts for his feelings and descriptions, while he himself is a copyist; a downright copyist of my feelings, who am and Englishman, and a forestaller of my descriptions—bating the "black" bull. He has left me nothing to do.

To Canonbury Tower.

As some old, stout, and lonely holyhock,
Within a desolate neglected garden,
Doth long survive beneath the gradual choke
Of weeds, that come and work the general spoil;
So, Canonbury, thou dost stand awhile:
Yet fall at last thou must; for thy rich warden
Is fast "improving;" all thy pleasant fields
Have fled, and brick-kilns, bricks, and houses rise
At his command; the air no longer yields
A fragrance—scarcely health; the very skies
Grow dim and townlike; a cold, creeping gloom
Steals into thee, and saddens every room:
And so realities come unto me,
Clouding the chambers of my mind, and making me—like thee.

*

Rogation Sunday.

This is the fifth sunday after Easter. "Rogation" is supplication, from the Latin rogare, to beseech.

Rogation Sunday obtained its name from the succeeding Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, which are called Rogation-days, and were ordained by Mammertus, archbishop of Vienne, in Dauphiné; about the year 469 he caused the litanies, or supplications, to be said upon them, for deliverance from earthquakes, fires, wild beasts, and other public calamities, which are alleged to have happened in his city; hence the whole week is called Rogation-week, to denote the continual praying.* [Butler]

Shepherd, in his "Elucidation of the Book of Common Prayer," mistaking Vienne for Vienna the capital of Germany, says: "The example of Mammertus was followed by many churches in the West, and the institution of the Rogation-days, soon passed from the diocese of Vienna into France, and from France into England."

Rogation-week is also called grass-week, from the appetite being restricted to salads and greens; cross-week, from the cross being more than ordinarily used; procession-week, from the public processions during the period; and gant-week, from the ganging, or going about in these processions.* [Brand.]

May 9.

St. Gregory Nazianzen, A.D. 389, or 391. St. Hermas, 1st Cent. St. Nicholas, Bp. A.D. 1391.

May Morning.

The sun is up, and 'tis a morn of May
Round old Ravenna's clear-shown towers and bay,
A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen
Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night,
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,
And there's a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze;
The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees;
And when you listen, you may hear a coil
Of bubbling springs about the grassy soil;
And all the scene, in short—sky, earth, and sea
Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.

Leigh Hunt.

A benevolent lover of nature,[doubledagger][Dr. Forster.]—and who that loves nature is not benevolent—observes, in a notice of this day, that "the Swift, which arrives in England about this time, in the morning and in the evening comes out in quest of food, and utters, while rapidly flying, its peculiar scream, whence it is called Squeaker. In a warm summer morning these birds may be seen flying round in small companies, and all squeaking together: in the evening they come forth again; but there are times in the middle of the day when few or none of these birds are seen. We have already observed," continues Dr. Forster, "that the scenery of a May morning is particularly beautiful; a serene sky, a refreshing fragrance arising from the face of the earth, and the melody of the birds, all combine to render it inexpressibly delightful, to exhilarate the spirits, and call forth a song of grateful adoration.

How fresh the breeze that wafts the rich perfume
And swells the melody of waking birds!
The hum of bees beneath the verdant grove,
And woodman's song, and low of distant herds!

Green fields, and shady groves, and crystal springs
And larks, and nightingales, are odious things.
But smoke and dust, and noise and crowds, delight;
And to be pressed to death, transports her quite:
Where silvery rivulets play through flowery meads,
And woodbines give their sweets, and limes their shades,
Black kennels' absent odours she regrets,
And stops her nose at beds of violets;
Nor likes to leave her bed at early dawn,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Solomon's Seal. Convallaria multiflora
Dedicated to St. Gregory of Nazianzen.

May 10.

St. Antoninus, or Little Antony, Abp. A.D. 1459. Sts. Gordian, A.D. 362, and Epimachus, A. D. 250. St. Isidore, Patron of Madrid, A.D. 1170. St. Comgall, Irish abbot, A.D. 601. St. Cataldus, Bp. of Tarentum.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Slender-leaved Piony. Pœonia Tennifolia.
Dedicated to St. Comgall.

THE DOTTEREL.

(For the Every-Day Book.)

In May and June this bird is to be found on Gogmagog-hills and the moors adjacent. It is caught with nets, by people using a whistle made to imitate its note; the bird is so simple and fond of imitation, it suffers itself to be approached, and the net dropped over it. There is a tradition current here, that king James I. was very fond of seeing dotterels taken; and when he came to Newmarket, used to accompany the birdcatchers to the Gogmagog-hills and moors, for that purpose. It is said, a needy clergyman residing in the parish of Sawston, who was very expert in dotterel-catching, attended the king; his majesty was pleased with his skill, and promised him a living: the clergyman waited some years, till, concluding that the king "had remembered to forget his promise," he went to London and appeared at court, where too he was unnoticed and forgotten; at length, approaching the king, and making the same signs as he was wont to do when catching dotterels with the king near Cambridge, his majesty exclaimed, "Why, here is my reverend dotterel-catcher," and instantly gave him the long-delayed living:—

T. N.

Cambridge, May 18, 1825.

May 11.

St. Mammertus, Abp. of Vienne, A.D. 477. St. Maieul, or Majolus, Abbot, A.D. 994.

BEES AND BIRDS.

A Warwicksire correspondent says, that in that county "the first swarm of bees is simply called a swarm, the second from the same hive is called a cast, and the third from the same hive a spindle. It is a saying in this county, that

"A swarm of bees in May
Is worth a load of hay;
A swarm of bees in June
Is worth a silver spune (spoon;)
A swarm of bees in July
Is not worth a fly.

"In Warwickshire, also, there is a different version of verses about the swallow, &c.

"The robin and the wren
Are God Almighty's cock and hen;
The martin and the swallow
Are God Almighty's bow and arrow."

CHRONOLOGY.

King James Il. and his queen arrived in Scotland on Old May-day, 1590, it being then according to the old style the first day of May, in order to be at the queen's coronation. The entry and coronation were conducted with great ceremony; the pageant on the latter occasion is an example of splended dramatic effect, which in this country no longer prevails on such occasions. According to the account printed at London, in black letter, A. D. 1590, these are the particulars:—

1778. William Pitt, the great earl of Chatham, died in the House of Lords, aged 70 years.

1782. Richard Wilson, the eminent English landscape painter, died, neglected, at the age of 68 years; for in his lifetime his labours were unappreciated. He was accustomed to say, that posterity would do him justice; and now his pictures produce astonishing sums.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lancashire Asphodel. Asphodelus Luteus.
Dedicated to St. Mammertus.

May 12.

Holy Thursday, holiday at the Public Offices, except Excise, Stamp, and Custom.

Sts. Nereus and Achilleus. St. Flavia Domitilla. St. Pancras, A.D. 304. St. Epiphanius, Abp. A. D. 403. St. Germanus, Patriarch of Constantinople, A. D. 733. St. Rictrudes, Abbess, A.D. 688.

Holy Thursday,

Or Ascension Day.

The anniversary of Christ's Ascension as kept by the Romish church, is set forth in the "Popish Kingdome," thus:

It is sufficient for the present to observe of Holy Thursday, that with us on this day it is a common custom of established usage, for the minister of each parish, with the parochial officers and other inhabitants of the parish, followed by the boys of the parish school, headed by their master, to go in procession to the different parish boundaries; which boundaries the boys strike with peeled willow wands that they bear in their hands, and this is called "beating the bounds." More, concerning this and other practices connected with the day, is purposely deferred till the subject be properly set forth hereafter.

Rule of Health for May.

The month of May is called a "trying" month, to persons long ailing with critical complaints. It is common to say, "Ah, he'll never get up May-hill!" or, "If he can climb over May-hill he'll do." "As a rule of health for May," says Dr. Forster, "we may advise early rising in particular, as being essentially conducive to that blessing. Every thing now invites the sluggard to leave his bed and go abroad. Milton has given such a lively description of morning scenes as must rouse every lover of the country from his couch:—

Lines from l'Allegro

To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing, startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the sweet-brier, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin;
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before.
Oft listening now the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill:
Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate
Where the great sun begins his state,
Robed in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his sithe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilst the landscape round it measures;
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains, on whose barren breast,
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pide,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide:
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.

MANNERS IN IRELAND.

Not as a picture of general manners, but as sketches of particular characters in certain parts of Ireland, the following anecdotes are extracted from one of the "Letters from the Irish Highlands," dated in May, 1823.

"This story reminds me of a circumstance which has taken place within these few days, and in which the chief actor was one of the remaining branches of a numerous family, among the second-rate gentry, who are here distinguished by the title of buckeens. Originally supported in a state of comparative ease and indulgence, partly by their share in the contraband trade, partly by their close connection and alliance with the principal families in the country, their incomes have gradually sunk with the change of circumstances, which has, in a great measure, dissolved this ancient bond of fellowship, as well as destroyed their more illegitimate sources of revenue. Many of these, without seeking employment for themselves, or education for their children, still cling to customs which have now passed away; and, when reduced almost to a state of mendicity, continue their former boast of being 'gentlemen.'

Francis Grose, Esq. F. S. A. etc.

This gentleman died on the 12th of May, 1791; he was son of Francis Grose, esq. jeweller at Richmond, who fitted up the coronation crown of George II. He was a captain in the Surrey militia, an eminent antiquary, and a right worthy man. His "Antiquities of England and Wales, Scotland and Ireland," are more generally known perhaps than other topographical works of more profound inquiry. They were commenced in numbers, and published by "Master Samuel Hooper," so he called his bookseller, to whom he was a steady and affectionate friend, though he says, in one of his letters, "he never did any one thing I desired him." His "Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue," Mr. Nichols says, "it would have been for his credit to have suppressed." The truth of this observation is palpable to every one who is not sophisticated by the wretchedly mischievous line, that

"Vice, to be hated, needs but to be seen."

"Now Grose, like bright Phœbus, has sunk into rest,
Society droops for the loss of his jest;
Antiquarian debates, unseason'd with mirth,
To Genius and Learning will never give birth.
Then wake, Brother Member, our friend from his sleep,
Lest Apollo should frown, and Bacchus should weep.

He was remarkably corpulent, as the engravings show. In a letter to the rev. James Granger, he says, "I am, and ever have been, the idlest fellow living, even before I had acquired the load of adventitious matter which at present stuffs my doublet." On the margin of this letter Mr. Granger wrote, "As for the matter that stuffs your doublet, I hope it is all good stuff; if you should double it, I shall call it morbid matter and tremble for you. But I consider it as the effect of good digestion, pure blood, and laughing spirits, coagulated into a wholesome mass by as much sedentariness (I hate this long word) as is consistent with the activity of your disposition." In truth, Grose was far from an idle man; he had great mental activity, and his antiquarian knowledge and labours were great. He was fond however of what are termed the pleasures of the table; and is represented in a fine mezzotinto, drawn and engraved by his friend Nathaniel Hone, with Theodosius Forrest, the barrister, and Hone himself, dressed in the character of monks, over a bowl, which Grose is actively preparing for their carousal. He died of apoplexy in Mr. Hone's house in Dublin, at the age of fifty-two. In reference to his principal works, the following epitaph, quoted by Mr. Nichols in his "Anecdotes," was proposed for him in the "St. James's Chronicle:"—

Here lies Francis Grose.
On Thursday, May 12, 1791,
Death put an end to
His views and prospects.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

German Fleur de lis. Iris Germanica.
Dedicated to St. Germanus.

May 13.

St. John the Silent, Bp. A.D. 558. St. Peter Regalati, A.D. 1456. St. Servatus, Bp. of Tongres, A.D. 384.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Common Comfrey. Symphetum officinale.
Dedicated to St. John the Silent.

May 14.

St. Boniface, A.D. 307. St. Pachomius, Abbot, A. D. 348. St. Pontius, A.D. 258. St. Carthagh, or Mochudu, Bp. of Lismore, A.D. 637 or 638.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Common Piony. Pœonia officinalis.
Coralline Piony. Pœonia corallina.
Dedicated to St. Pontius.

May 15.

St. Peter, Andrew, and Companions, Martyrs, A. D. 250. St. Dympna, 7th Cent. St. Genebrard or Genebern.

For the Every-Day Book.

A "SEASONABLE STORY."

'Tis hard, you'll tell me, but tis true—
Thanks to that heathen dog, Mahomet—
In Turkey if you want to woo—
But, by the bye, you'd best keep from it—
The object of your love must hide
Her face from every idle gazer—
A wholesome check on female pride
I think; and what's your notion, pray sir?

"Two swains were smoking," tales, you know,
Of love begin and end in vapour—
"Beside a purling stream, when lo!
By came a maiden, slim and taper.
Her eyes were like two stars at night"—
No matter how I came to know it—
The one beholds her with delight
And all at once becomes a poet.

"Why sits they soul within those eyes?"
The other asks, "resume your smoking,"
The lover hears him with surprise
And answers, "Set aside all joking,
The pipe has now no charms for me;
My heart is, as a fig, transported
To the thick foliage of some tree,
And there a bright-eyed bird has caught it."

Now hear a moral! Love's a sly
And roguish fellow: look about ye
Watch all he does with careful eye,
Or else 'tis ten to one he'll flout ye.
Give him an inch he'll take an ell;
And, if he once make conquest o'er ye,
Then sense, wit, reason, will, farewell!—
Thus ends this seasonable story.

Δ

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Welsh Poppy. Papaver Cambrieum.
Dedicated to St. Dympna.

May 16.

St. John Nepomueen, A.D. 1383. St. Simon Stock, A.D. 1265. St. Ubaldus, A.D. 1160. St. Honoratus, Bp. A.D. 660. St. Abdjesus, or Hebedjesus, Bp. St. Abdas, Bp. St. Brendan the Elder, Abbot of Clonfert, A.D. 578.

Last day of Easter Term, 1825; it commenced 20th of April.

A PASTORAL RECESS.

The season is coming on wherein the heart will court retreat to such a scene of natural beauty.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Great Star of Bethlehem. Ornithogalum Umbrellatum.
Dedicated to St. John Nepomueen.

May 17.

St. Paschal Babylon, A.D. 1592. St. Possidius, Bp. of Calama, in Numidia, A.D. 430. St. Maden, or Madern. St. Maw. St. Cathan, 6th or 7th Cent. St. Silave, or Silan, Bp. A.D. 1100.

CHRONOLOGY.

1817. Died at Heckington, aged sixty-five, Mr. Samuel Jessup, an opulent grazier, of pill-taking memory. He lived in a very eccentric way, as a bachelor, without known relatives; and at his decease possessed of a good fortune, notwithstanding a most inordinate craving for physic, by which he was distinguished for the last thirty years of his life, as appeared on a trial for the amount of an apothecary's bill, at the assizes at Lincoln, a short time before Mr. Jessup's death, wherein he was defendant. The evidence on the trial affords the following materials for the epitaph of the deceased, which will not be transcended by the memorabilia of the life of any man:—In twenty-one years (from 1791 to 1816) the deceased took 226,934 pills, supplied by a respectable apothecary at Bottesford; which is at the rate of 10,806 pills a year, or twenty-nine pills each day; but as the patient began with a more moderate appetite, and increased it as he proceeded, in the last five years preceding 1816, he took the pills at the rate of seventy-eight a day, and in the year 1814 he swallowed not less than 51,590. Notwithstanding this, and the addition of 40,000 bottles of mixture, and juleps and electuaries, extending altogether to fifty-five closely written columns of an apothecary's bill, the deceased lived to attain the advanced age of sixty-five years.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Early Red Poppy. Papaver Argemone[.]
Dedicated to St. Paschal Babylon.

May 18.

St. Eric, King of Sweden, A.D. 1151. St. Theodotus, Vintner, and Seven Virgins, Martyrs, A.D. 303. St. Venantius, A.D. 250. St. Potamon, Bp. of Heraclea, in Egypt, A.D. 341.

CHRONOLOGY.

MANURES.

Rambling in cultivated spots renders one almsot forgetful of cultivating friends. On the subject of "manure," the editor of the Every-Day Book has no competent knowledge; he has not settled in his own mind whether he would decide for "long straw or short straw," and as regards himself would willingly dispose of the important question by "drawing cuts;" all he can at present do for his country readers, is to tell them what lord Bacon affirms; his lordship says that "muck should be spread." This would make a capital text or vignette for a dissertation; but there is no space here to dissertate, and if Messrs. Taylor and Hessey's London Magazine, for May, had not suggested the subject, it would scarcely have occurred. There the reviewer of "Gaieties and Gravities" has extracted some points from that work, which are almost equal to the quantity of useful information derivable from more solid books—here they are:—

"Residing upon the eastern coast, and farming a considerable extent of country, I have made repeated and careful experiments with this manure; and as the mode of burial in many parts of the Continent divides the different classes into appropriated portions of the church yard, I have been enabled, by a little bribery to sextons and charnel-house men, to obtain specimens of every rank and character, and to ascertain with precision their separate qualities and results for the purposes of the farmer, botanist, or common nurseryman. These it is my purpose to communicate to the reader, who may depend upon the caution with which the different tests were applied, as well as upon the fidelity with which they are reported.

It is noticed by Dr. Forster, that about this time the purple goatsbeard tragopogon porrifolius and the yellow goats-beard tragopogon pratensis begin to blow; and that of all the indices in the HOROLOGIUM FLORÆ the above plants are the most regular: they open their flowers at sunrise, and shut them so regularly at mid-day, that they have been called by the whimsical name of go to bed at noon. They are as regular as a clock, and are mentioned as such in the following verses:—

RETIRED LEISURE'S DELIGHT.

To sit and smoke between two rows of Limes,
Along the wall of some neat old Dutch town,
In noontide heat, and hear the jingling chimes
From Stadhouse Steeple; then to lay one down
Upon a Primrsoe bank, where Violet flowers
Smell sweetly, and the meads in bloomy prime,
'Till Flora's clock, the Goat's Beard, mark the hours,
And closing says, Arise, 'tis dinner time;
Then dine on Pyes and Cauliflower heads,
And roam away the afternoon in Tulip Beds.

To give an idea of the general face of nature at this period, Drl. Forster composed the subjoined

Catalogue of Plants which compose the VERNAL FLORA in the Garden.

COMMON PEONY Paeonia officinalis in full blow.

SLENDERLEAVED PEONY P. tenuifolia going off.

CRIMSON PEONY P. peregrina.

DWARF PEONY P. humilis.

TULIP Tulipa Gesneriana in infinite varieties.

MONKEY POPPY Papaver Orientale.

WELCH POPPY P. Cambricum.

PALE POPPY P. nudicaule.

EUROPEAN GLOBEFLOWER Tollius Europaeus.

ASIATIC GLOBEFLOWER Trollius Asiaticus.

BACHELOR'S BUTTONS Ranunculus aeris plenus.

BIFLOWERED NARCISSUS N. biflorus.

POETIC NARCISSUS N. poeticus.

GERMAN FLEUR DE LIS Iris Germanica, two varieties.

LURID IRIS Iris lurida.

WALLFLOWER Chieranthus cheiri numerously, both single and double sorts.

STOCK GILLIFLOWER Chiranthus frutioulosus beginning. Of this plant there are red, white, and purple varieties; also double Stocks.

YELLOW ASPHODEL Asphodelus luteus.

COLUMBINE Aquilegia vulgaris begins to flower, and has several varieties in gardens.

GREAT STAR OF BETHLEHEM Ornitholgalum umbellatum.

PERUVIAN SQUILL Scilla Peruviana.

YELLOW AZALEA Azalea Pontica.

SCARLET AZALEA Azalea nudiflora.

PURPLE GOATSBEARD Tragopogon porifolins.

YELLOW GOATSBEARD Tragopogon pratensis.

MOTHERWORT Hesperis matronalis begins to blow.

GREAT LEOPARD'S BANE Doronicum pardalianches

LESSER LEOPARD'S BANE Doronicum plantagineum.

RAMSHORNS OR MALE ORCHIS O. mascula still blows.

FEMALE ORCHIS Orchis morio still flowers

In the Fields.

THE HAREBELL Scylla Nutans makes the ground blue in some places.

BULBOUS CROWFOOT Ranunculus bulbosus.

CREEPING CROWFOOT R. repens now common.

UPRIGHT MEADOW CROWFOOT R. acris the latest of all.

ROUGH CROWFOOT R. hirsutus not so common as the above. The fields are quite yellow with the above genus.

MEADOW LYCHNIS Lychnis Flos Cuculi.

CAMPION LYCHNIS Lychnis dioica under hedges in our chalky soils.

GERMANDER SPEEDWELL Veronica chamaedris on banks, covering them with its lively blue, comparable only to the Borage, or the Cynoglossum Omphalodes, still blowing and luxuriant in gardens.

MOUSEAR SCORPION GRASS Myosotus Scorpioides

OUR LADY'S SMOCK Cardamine pratensis

BITTER LADY'S SMOCK Cardamine amara.

HEDGE GERANIUM Geranium Robertianum; also several other wild Geraniums.

KIDLOCK Sinapis arvensis.

CHARLOCK Raphanus Raphanistrum.

STICHWORT Stellaria Holostea.

YELLOW WATER LILY Nuphar luteum in ponds and rivers.

WHITE WATER LILY Nymphea alba in the same.

The nations among whom a taste for flowers was first discovered to prevail in modern times, were China, Persia, and Turkey. The vegetable treasures of the eastern world were assembled at Constaninople, whence they passed into Italy, Germany, and Holland, and from the latter into England; and since botany has assumed the character of a science, we have laid the whole world under contribution for trees, and shrubs, and flowers, which we have not only made our own, but generally improved in vigour and beauty. The passion for flowers preceded that of ornamental gardening. The Dutch system of straight walks, enclosed by high clipped hedges of yew or holly, at length prevailed; and tulips and hyacinths bloomed under the sheltered windings of the "Walls of Troy," most ingeniously traced in box and yew. A taste for gardening, which, however, formal, is found at length to be preferable to the absurd winding paths, and the close imitation of wild nature by art, which modern garden-makers have pretended to of late years. The learned baron Maseres used to say, "Such a garden was to be had every where wild in summer, and in a garden formality was prefereable."

Proverbs relating to May.

A cold May and a windy
Makes a fat barn and a findy.

A hot May makes a fat churchyard.

Proverbs relating to the Weather and Seasons generally.

Collected by Dr. Forster.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Mouse Ear. Hieracium Pilosella.
Dedicated to St. Eric.

May 19.

St. Peter Celestine, Pope, A.D. 1296. St. Pudentiana. St. Dunstan, Abp. of Canterbury, A.D. 988.

St. Dunstan.

He was born at Glastonbury, of which monastery he became abbot, and died archbishop of Canterbury in 988.* [Butler.]

The legend of St. Dunstan relates many miracles of him, the most popular of which is to this effect; that St. Dunstan, as the fact really was, became expert in goldsmith's work; it then gives as a story, that while he was busied in making a chalice, the devil annoyed him by his personal appearance, and tempted him; whereupon St. Dunstan suddenly seized the fiend by the nose with a pair of iron tongs, burning hot, and so held him while he roared and cried till the night was far spent.

There is an engraved portrait of St. Dunstan thus detaining the devil in bondage, with these lines, or lines to that effect beneath; they are quoted from memory:—

St. Dunstan, as the story goes,
Once pull'd the devil by the nose
With red-hot tongs, which made him roar,
That he was heard three miles or more.

A SPEECH BY ST. DUNSTAN.

Waked with this musick from my silent urn,
Your patron DUNSTAN comes t' attend your turn.
AMPHION and old ORPHEUS playing by,
To keep our forge in tuneful harmony.
These pontifical ornaments I wear,
Are types of rule and order all the year:
In these white robes none can a fault descry,
Since all have liberty as well as I:
Nor need you fear the shipwreck of your cause,
Your loss of charter or the penal laws,
Indulgence granted by your bounteous prince,
Makes for that loss too great a recompence.
This charm the Lernæan Hydra will reclaim;
Your patron shall the tameless rabble tame.
Of the proud CHAM I scorn to be afear'd;
I'll take the angry SULTAN by the beard.
Nay, should the DEVIL intrude amongst your foes,    [Enter Devil.

Devil. What then?
St. Dunstan. ————Snap, thus, I have him by the nose!

The most prominent feature in the devil's face being held by St. Dunstan's tongs, after the prelate had duly spurned the submission of the cham of Tartary and the grand sultan, a silversmith with three other workmen proceeding to the great anvil, commenced working a plate of massy metal, singing and keeping time upon the anvil. * [Hone, on Ancient Mysteries.]

CHRONOLOGY.

1536. Anne Boleyn, queen of Henry VIII., fell a victim to his brutal passions by the hands of the executioner.

1692. The great sea battle off la Hogue.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Monk's hood. Aconitum Napellus.
Dedicated to St. Dunstan.

May 20.

St. Bernardin of Sienna, A.D. 1444. St. Ethelbert, King of the East Angles, A.D. 793. St. Yvo, Bp. of Chartres, A.D. 1115.

ON BEING CONFINED TO SCHOOL ONE PLEASANT MORNING IN SPRING.

How gladly would my soul forego
All that arithmeticians know,
Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach,
Or all that industry can reach,
To taste each morn of all the joys
That with the laughing sun arise;
And unconstrain'd to rove along
The bushy brakes and glens among;
And woo the muse's gentle power,
In unfrequented rural bower!
But, ah! such heaven-approaching joys
Will never greet my longing eyes;
Still will they cheat in vision fine,
Yet never but in fancy shine.

Oh, that I were the little wren
That shrilly chirps from yonder glen
Oh, far away I then would rove,
To some secluded bushy grove;
There hop and sing with careless glee,
Hop and sing at liberty;
And till death should stop my lays,
far from men would spend my days.

In the "Perennial Calendar," Dr. Forster with great taste introduces a beautiful series of quotations adapted to the season from different poets:—

Lucretius on Spring and the Seasons, translated by Good.

Milton makes the most heavenly clime to consist of an eternal spring:—

The birds that quire apply; airs, vernal airs,
Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune
The trembling leaves, while universal Pan,
Knit with the graces, and the hours in dance,
Led on the eternal spring.

From Atherstone's Last Days of Herculaneum.

Soft tints of sweet May morn, when day's bright god
Looks smiling from behind delicious mists;
Throwing his slant rays on the glistening grass,
Where 'gainst the rich deep green the Cowslip hangs
His elegant bells of purest gold:— the pale
Sweet perfumed primrose lifts its face to heaven,
Like the full, artless gaze of infancy:—
The little ray-crowned daisy peeps beneath,
When the tall neighbour grass, heavy with dew,
Bows down its head beneath the freshening breeze;
Where oft in long dark lines the waving trees
Throw their soft shadows on the sunny fields;
Where, in the music-breathing hedge, the thorn
And pearly white May blossom, full of sweets,
Hang out the virgin flag of spring, entwined
With dripping honey-suckles, whose sweet breath
Sinks to the heart—recalling, with a sigh,
Dim recollected feelings of the days
Of youth and early love.

From Spring, by Kleist

Who thus, O tulip! thy gay-painted breast
In all the colours of the sun has drest?
Well could I call thee, in thy gaudy pride,
The queen of flowers; but blooming by thy side
Her thousand leaves that beams of love adorn,
Her throne surrounded by protecting thorn,
And smell eternal, form a juster claim,
Which gives the heaven-born rose the lofty name,
Who having slept throughout the wintry storm
Now through the opening buds displays her smiling form.
Between the leaves the silver whitethorn shows
Its dewy blossoms, pure as mountain snows.
Here the blue hyacinth's nectareous cell
To my charmed senses gives its cooling smell.
In lowly beds the purple violets bloom,
And liberal shower around their rich perfume.
See, how the peacock stalks yon beds beside,
Where rayed in sparkling dust and velvet pride,
Like brilliant stars, arranged in splendid row,
The proud auriculas their lustre show:
The jealous bird now shows his swelling breast,
His many-coloured neck, and lofty crest;
Then all at once his dazzling tail displays,
On whose broad circle thousand rainbows blaze.
The wanton butterflies, with fickle wing,
Flutter round every flower that decks the spring
Then on their painted pinions eager haste,
The luscious cherry's blood to taste.

Prognostics of Weather and Horologe of Flora.

FOR SPRING AND SUMMER.
From the "Perennial Calendar."

Chickweed.—When the flower expands boldly and fully, no rain will happen for four hours or upwards: if it continues in that open state, no rain will disturb the summer's day: when it half conceals its miniature flower, the day is generally showery; but if it entirely shuts up, or veils the white flower with its green mantle, let the traveller put on his great coat, and the ploughman, with his beasts of drought, expect rest from their labour.

Siberian sowthistle.—If the flowers of this plant keep open all night, rain will certainly fall the next day.

Trefoil.—The different species of trefoil always contract their leaves at the approach of a storm: hence these plants have been termed the husbandman's barometer.

African marygold.—If this plant opens not its flowers in the morning about seven o'clock, you may be sure it will rain that day, unless it thunders.

The convolvulus also, and the pimpernel anagalis arvensis, fold up their leaves on the approach of rain: the last in particular is termed the poor man's weather-glass.

Besides the above, there are several plants, especially those with compound yellow flowers, which nod, and during the whole day turn their flowers towards the sun: viz. to the east in the morning, to the south at noon, and to the west towards evening; this is very observable in the sowthistle sonchus arvensis: and it is a well-known fact, that a great part of the plants in a serene sky expand their flowers, and as it were with cheerful looks behold the light of the sun; but before rain they shut them up, as the tulip.

The flowers of the alpine whitlow grass draba alpina, the bastard feverfew parthenium, and the wintergreen trientalis, hang down in the night as if the plants were asleep, lest rain or the moist air should injure the fertilizing dust.

Besides affording prognostics, many plants also fold themselves up at particular hours, with such regularity, as to have acquired the particular names from this property. The following are among the more remarkable plants of this description:—

Goatsbeard.— The flowers of both species of tragopogon open in the morning at the approach of the sun, and without regard to the state of the weather regularly shut about noon. Hence it is generally known in the country by the name of go to bed at noon.

The princesses' leaf, or four o-clock flower, in the Malay Islands, is an elegant shrub so called by the natives, because their ladies are fond of the grateful odour of its white leaves. It takes its generic name from its quality of opening its flowers at four in the evening, and not closing them in the morning till the same hour returns, when they again expand in the evening at the same hour. Many people transplant them from the woods into their gardens, and use them as a dial or a clock, especially in cloudy weather.

The tamarind tree parkinsonia, the nipplewort lapsana communis, the water lily nymphaea, the marygolds calendulae, the bastard sensitive plant aeschynomene, and several others of the diadelphia class, in serene weather, expand their leaves in the daytime, and contract them during the night. According to some botanists, the tamarind-tree enfolds within its leaves the flowers or fruit every night, in order to guard them from cold or rain.

The flower of the garden lettuce, which is in a vertical plane, opens at sevel o'clock, and shuts at ten.

The cerea, a native of Jamaica and Vera Cruz, expands an exquisitely beautiful coral flower, and emits a highly fragrant odour, for a few hours in the night, and then closes to open no more. The flower is nearly a foot in diameter; the inside of the calyx, of a splendid yellow; and the numerous petals are of a pure white. It begins to open about seven or eight o'clock in the evening, and closes before sunrise in the morning.

The flower of the dandelion possesses very peculiar means of sheltering itself from the heat of the sun, as it closes entirely whenever the heat becomes excessive. It has been observed to open, in summer, at half an hour after five in the morning, and to collect its petals towards the centre about nine o'clock.

Linnæus has enumerated forty-six flowers, which possess this kind of sensibility: he divides them into three classes.—1. Meteoric flowers, which less accurately observe the hour of folding, but are expanded sooner or later according to the cloudiness, moisture, or pressure of the atmosphere. 2. Tropical flowers, that open in the morning and close before evening every day, but the hour of their expanding becomes earlier or later as the length of the day increases or decreases. 3. Equinoctial flowers, which open at a certain and exact hour of the day, and for the most part close at another determinate hour.

On Flora's Horologe, by Charlotte Smith.

In every copse and sheltered dell,
Unveiled to the observant eye,
Are faithful monitors, who tell
How pass the hours and seasons by.

The green-robed children of the Spring
Will mark the periods as they pass,
Mingle with leaves Time's feathered wing,
And bind with flowers his silent glass.

Mark where transparent waters glide,
Soft flowing o'er their tranquil bed;
There, cradled on the dimpling tide,
Nymphæa rests her lovely head.

But conscious of the earliest beam,
She rises from her humid nest,
And sees reflected in the stream
The virgin whiteness of her breast.

Till the bright Daystar to the west
Declines, in Ocean's surge to lave:
Then, folded in her modest vest,
She slumbers on the rocking wave.

See Hieracium's various tribe,
Of plumy seed and radiate flowers,
The course of Time their blooms describe,
And wake or sleep appointed hours.

Broad o'er its imbricated cup
The Goatsbeard spreads its golden rays,
But shuts its cautious petals up,
Retreating from the noontide blaze.

Pale as a pensive cloistered nun,
The Bethlem Star her face unveils,
When o'er the mountain peers the Sun,
But shades it from the vesper gales.

Among the loose and arid sands
The humble Arenaria creeps;
Slowly the Purple Star expands,
But soon within its calyx sleeps.

And those small bells so lightly rayed
With young Aurora's rosy hue,
Are to the noontide Sun displayed,
But shut their plaits against the dew.

On upland slopes the shepherds mark
The hour, when, as the dial true,
Cichorium to the towering Lark
Lifts her soft eyes serenely blue.

And thou, "Wee crimson tipped flower,"
Gatherest thy fringed mantle round
Thy bosom, at the closing hour,
When nightdrops bathe the turfy ground.

Unlike Silene, who declines
The garish noontide's blazing light;
But when the evening crescent shines,
Gives all her sweetness to the night.

Thus in each flower and simple bell,
That in our path betrodden lie,
Are sweet remembrancers who tell
How fast their winged moments fly.

Dr. Forster remarks that towards the close of this month, the cat's ear hypochœris radicata is in flower every where; its first appearance is about the 18th day. This plant, as well as the rough dandelion, continues to flower till after Midsummer. The lilac, the barberry tree, the maple, and other trees and shrubs, are also in flower. The meadow grasses are full grown and flowering. The flowers of the garden rose, in early and warm years, begin to open.

On a Young Rosebud in May, from the German of Goëthe.

The child exclaimed, "My hands shall dare,
Thee, Rose, from off they stem to tear:"
The Rose replied, "If I have need,
My thorns shall make thy fingers bleed—
Thy rash design give o'er."
My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!
My Rose that blooms the roadside near!

Regardless of its thorny spray,
The child would tear the Rose away;
The Rose bewailed with sob and sigh,
But all in vain, no help was nigh
To quell the urchin's pow'r.
My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!
My Rose that bloomed the roadside near!

New Monthly Magazine.

From Dr. Aikin's "Natural History of the Year," the ensuing passages regarding the season will be found agreeable and useful.

The gardens now yield an agreeable though immature product in the young gooseberries and currants, which are highly acceptable to our tables, now almost exhausted of their store of preserved fruits.

Early in the month the latest species of the summer birds of passage arrive, generally in the following order: fern-owl or goat-scuker, fly-catcher, and sedge-bird.

This is also the principal time in which birds hatch and rear their young. The assiduity and patience of the female during the task of sitting are admirable, as well as the conjugal affection of the male, who sings to his mate, and often supplies her place; and nothing can exceed the parental tenderness of both when the young are brought to light.

Several species of insects are this month added to those which have already been enumerated; the chief of which are the great white cabbage butterfly, capilio brassicæ; the may-chaffer, the favourite food of the fern-owl; the horse-fly, or forest-fly, so great a plague to horses and cattle; and several kinds of moths and butterflies.

About the same time the glow-worm shines. Of this species of insect the females are without wings and luminous, the males are furnished with wings, but are not luminous; it is probable, therefore, that this light may serve to direct the male to the haunts of the female, as Hero of Sestos is said to have displayed a torch from the top of a high tower to guide her venturous lover Leander in his danterous passage across the Hellespont:—

You (i.e. the Sylphs)
Warm on her mossy couch the radiant worm,
Guard from cold dews her love-illumined form,
From leaf to leaf conduct the virgin light,
Star of the earth, and diamond of the night.

Darwin.

These little animals are found to extinguish their lamps between eleven and twelve at night.

Old May-day is the usual time for turning out cattle into the pastures, though frequently then very bare of grass. The milk soon becomes more copious, and of finer quality, from the juices of the young grass; and it is in this month that the making of cheese is usually begun in the dairies. Cheshire, Wiltshire, and the low parts of Gloucestershire, are the tracts in England most celebrated for the best cheese.

This month is not a very busy season for the farmer. Some sowing remains to be done in late years; and in forward ones, the weeds, which spring up abundantly in fields and gardens, require to be kept under. The husbandman now looks forward with anxious hope to the reward of his industry:—

Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious man
Has done his part. Ye fost'ring breezes, blow!
Ye soft'ning dews, ye tender show'rs descend;
And temper all, thou world-receiving sun,
Into the perfect year!

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

The Horse-chestnut. Æschylus Hippocastanum.
Dedicated to St. Barnardine of Sienna.

May 21.

Holiday at the Public Offices.

St. Felix of Cantalicio. A.D. 1587. St. Godrick, Hermit, A.D. 1170. St. Hospitius, A.D. 681.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Ragged Robin. Lychnis flos cuculi.
Dedicated to St. Felix.

May 22.

St. Yvo, A.D. 1303. St., Basiliscus, Bp. A. D. 312. Sts. Castus and Æmilius, A.D. 250. St. Bobo, A.D. 985. St. Conall, Abbot.

Thomson.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Yellow Star of Bethlehem. Tragopogon pratensis.
Dedicated to St. Yvo.

May 23.

St. Julia, 5th Cent. St. Desiderius, Bp. of Langres, 7th Cent. St. Desiderius, Bp. of Vienne, A.D. 612.

Whitsuntide.

ODE, WRITTEN ON WHIT-MONDAY.

Hark! how the merry bells ring jocund round,
And now they die upon the veering breeze;
Anon they thunder loud
Full on the musing ear.

Wafted in varying cadence, by the shore
Of the still twinkling river, they bespeak
A day of jubilee,
An ancient holiday.

And, lo! the rural revels are begun,
And gaily echoing to the laughing sky,
On the smooth-shaven green
Resounds the voice of Mirth—

Alas! regardless of the tongue of Fate,
That tells them 'tis but as an hour since they,
Who now are in their graves,
Kept up the Whitsun dance;

And that another hour, and they must fall
Like those who went before, and sleep as still
Beneath the silent sod,
A cold and cheerless sleep.

Yet why whould thoughts like these intrude to scare
The vagrant Happiness, when she will deign
To smile upon us here,
A transient visitor?

Mortals! be gladsome while ye have the power,
And laugh and seize the glittering lapse of joy;
In time the bell will toll
That warns ye to your graves.

I to the woodland solitude will bend
My lonesome way—where Mirth's obstreperous shout
Shall not intrude to break
The meditative hour;

There will I ponder on the state of man,
Joyless and sad of heart, and consecrate
This day of jubilee
To sad Reflection's shrine;

And I will cast my fond eye far beyond
This world of care, to where the steeple loud
Shall rock above the sod,
Where I shall sleep in peace.

H. K. White.

Whitsuntide at Greenwich.

I have had another holiday—a Whitsuntide holiday at Greenwich: it is true that I did not take a run down the hill, but I saw many do it who appeared to me happier and healthier for the exercise, and the fragrant breezes from the fine May trees of the park.

————save by the ear
Of her alone who wanders here, or sits
Intrelissed and enchanted as the Fair
Fabled by him of yore in Comus' song,
Or rather like a saint in a fair shrine
Carved by Cellini's hand.

        whatever fair
High fancy forms or lavish hearts could wish,

yet she was all that to Jack; and all that she seemed to love or care for, were "our house," and the "flower-pots," and the "bed-post," and "Jack."

"Orpheus play'd so well, he moved old Nick,
But thou mov'st nothing but thy fiddle-stick."

This player so "imitated Orpheus," that he moved the very bowels, uneasiness seemed to seize on all who heard his discords. He was seated on the grass, in the garb of a sailor. At his right hand lay a square board, whereon was painted "a tale of woe," in letters that disdained the printer's art; at the top, a little box, with a glass cover, discovered that it was "plus" of what himself was "minus;" its inscription described its contents—"These bones was taken out of my leg." I could not withstand his claim to support. He was effecting the destruction of "Sweet Poll of Plymouth," for which I gave him a trifle more than his "fair" audience usually bestowed, perhaps. He instantly begged I would name my "favourite;" I desired to be acquainted with his; he said he could not "deny nothing to so noble a benefactor," and he immediately began to murder "Black-eyed Susan." If the man at the wall of the Fishmongers' almshouses were dead, he would be the worst player in England.

The fair, or at least such part of it as was suffered to be continued, was held in the open space on the right hand of the street leading from Greenwich to the Creek bridge. "The Crown and Anchor" booth was the great attraction, as indeed well it might. It was a tent, three hundred and twenty-three feet long, and sixty feet wide. Seventy feet of this, at the entrance, was occupied by seats for persons who chose to take refreshment, and by a large space from whence the viands were delivered. The remaining two hundred and fifty feet formed the "Assembly room" wherein were boarded floors for four rows of dancers throughout this extensive length; on each side were seats and tables. The price of admission to the assembly was one shilling. The check ticket was a card, whereon was printed,

VAUXHALL.
CROWN AND ANCHOR,
WHIT MONDAY.

NIGHT

The late Henry Kirke White, in a fragment of a poem on "Time," beautifully imagines the slumbers of the sorrowful. Reader, bear with its melancholy tone. A summer's day is not less lovely for a passing cloud.

The Sluice-house.

Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch
Leviathans that swim within the stream
Of this fam'd River, now no longer New,
Yet still so call'd, come hither to the Sluice-house!
Here, largest gudgeons live, and fattest roach
Resort, and even barbel have been found.
Here too doth sometimes prey the rav'ning shark,
Of streams like this, that is to say, a jack.
If fortune aid ye, ye perchance shall find
Upon an average within one day,
At least a fish, or two; if ye do not,
This will I promise ye, that ye shall have
Most glorious nibbles: come then, haste ye here,
And with ye bring large stock of baits and patience.

He was the great progenitor of all
That war upon the tenants of the stream,
He neither stumbled, stopt, nor had a fall
When he essay'd to war on dace, bleak, bream,
Stone-loach or pike, or other fish, I deem.

The Sluice-house is a small wooden building, distant about half a mile beyond Highbury, just before the river angles off towards Newington. With London anglers it has always been a house of celebrity, because it is the nearest spot wherein they have hope of tolerable sport. Within it is now placed a machine for forcing water into the pipes that supply the inhabitants of Holloway, and other parts adjacent. Just beyond is the Eel-pie house, which many who angle thereabouts mistake for the Sluice-house. To instruct the uninformed, and to gratify the eye of some who remember the spot they frequented in their youth, the preceding view, taken in May 1825, has been engraved. If the artist had been also a portrait painter, it would have been well to have secured a sketch of the present keeper of the Sluice-house; his manly mien, and mild expressive face, are worthy of the pencil: if there be truth in physiognomy, he is an honest, good-hearted man. His dame, who tenders Barcelon nuts and oranges at the Sluice-house door for sale, with fishing-lines from two-pence to six-pence, and rods at a penny each, is somewhat stricken in years, and wholly innocent of the metropolis and its manners. She seems of the times—

"When our fathers pluck'd the blackberry
And sipp'd the silver tide."

An etching of the eccentric individual, from whence the present engraving is taken, was transmitted by a respectable "Cantab," for insertion in the Every-Day Book, with the few particulars ensuing:—

James Gordon was once a respectable solicitor in Cambridge, till "love and liquor"

"Robb'd him of that which once enriched him,
And made him poor indeed!"

Jemmy Gordon.

Gordon meeting a gentleman in the streets of Cambridge who had recently received the honour of knighthood, Jemmy approached him, and looking him full in the face, exclaimed,

"The king, by merely laying sword on,
Could make a knight of Jemmy Gordon."

At a late assize at Cambridge, a man named Pilgrim was convicted of horse-stealing, and sentenced to transportation. Gordon seeing the prosecutor in the street, loudly vociferated to him, "You, sir, have done what the pope of Rome cannot do; you have put a stop to Pilgrim's Progress!"

Some months ago, Jemmy had the misfortune to fall from a hay-loft, wherein he had retired for the night, and broke his thigh; since then he has reposed in a workhouse. No man's life is more calculated

"To adorn a moral, and to point a tale."

N.

These brief memoranda suffice to memorialize a peculiar individual. James Gordon at one time possessed "fame, wealth, and honours:" Now—his "fame" is a hapless notoriety; all the "wealth" that remains to him is a form that might have been less careworn had he been less careless; his honour is "air—thin air," "his gibes, his jests, his flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar," no longer enliven the plenteous banquet:—

"Deserted in his utmost need by men his former bounty fed,"

the bitter morsel for his life's support is parish dole. "The gayest of the gay" is forgotten in his age—in the darkness of life; when reflection on what was, cannot better what is. Brilliant circles of acquaintance sparkle with frivolity, but friendship has no place within them. The prudence of sensuality is selfishness.

The Cambridge communication concerning James Gordon is accompanied by an amusing list of names derived from "men and things."

Personages and their Callings at Cambridge in 1825.

A King ... is ... a brewer
A Bishop ... a tailor
A Baron ... a horse-dealer
A Knight ... a turf-dealer
A Proctor ... a tailor
A Marshall ... a cheesemonger
An Earl ... a laundress
A Butler ... a picture-frame maker
A Page ... a bookbinder

A Pope ... an old woman
An Abbott ... a bonnet-maker
A Monk ... a waterman
A Nun ... a horse-dealer
A Moor ... a poulterer
A Savage ... a carpenter
A Scott ... an Englishman
A Rose ... a fishmonger
A Lilly ... a brewer

A Crab ... a butcher
A Salmon ... a linendraper
A Leech ... a fruiterer
A Pike ... a milkman
A Sole ... a shoemaker

A Wood ... a grocer
A Field ... a confectioner
A Tunnell ... a baker
A Marsh ... a carrier
A Brook ... a turf-dealer
A Greenwood ... a baker

A Lee ... an innkeeper
A Bush ... a carpenter
A Grove ... a shoemaker
A Lane ... a carpenter
A Green ... a builder
A Hill ... a butcher
A Haycock ... a publican
A Barne ... a grocer
A Shed ... a butler
A Hutt ... a shoeblack
A Hovel ... a draper

A Hatt ... a bookseller
A Capp ... a gardener
A Spencer ... a butcher

A Bullock ... a baker
A Fox ... a brazier
A Lamb ... a sadler
A Lion ... a grocer
A Mole ... a town-crier
A Roe ... an engraver
A Buck ... a college gyp.
A Hogg ... a gentleman

A Bond ... a grocer
A Binder ... a fruiterer

A Cock ... a shoemaker
A Hawk ... a paperhanger
A Drake ... a dissenting minister
A Swan ... a shoemaker
A Bird ... an innkeeper
A Peacock ... a lawyer
A Rook ... a tailor
A Wren ... a bricklayer's labourer
A Falcon ... a gentleman
A Crow ... a builder

A Pearl ... a cook
A Stone ... a glazier
A Cross ... a boatwright

A Barefoot ... an innkeeper
A Leg ... a mantua-maker

White ... a shoemaker
Green ... a carpenter
Brown ... a fishmonger
Grey ... a painter
Pink ... a publican

Tall ... a printer
Short ... a tailor
Long ... a shopkeeper

Christmas ... an ironmonger
Summer ... a carpenter
Sad ... a barber
Grief ... a glazier
Peace ... a carpenter
Bacon ... a tobacconist.

A Hard-man
A Wise-man
A Good-man
A Black-man
A Chap-man
A Free-man
A New-man
A Bow-man
A Spear-man
A Hill-man
A Wood-man
A Pack-man
A Pit-man
A Red-man
A True-man.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lilac. Syringa vulgaris.
Dedicated to St. Julia.

May 24.

St. Vincent of Lerins, A.D. 450. Sts. Donatian and Rogatian, A.D. 287. St. John de Prado.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Monkey Poppy. Papaver Orientale.
Dedicated to St. Vincent.

May 25.

St. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi, A.D. 1607. St. Urban, Pope, A.D. 223. St. Adhelm, or Aldhelm. St. Gregory VII., Pope, A.D. 1085. Sts. Maximus, or Mauxe, and Venerand, Martyrs in Normandy, 6th Cent. St. Dumhade, Abbot, A.D. 717.

St. Aldhelm.

He founded the abbey of Malmesbury, and was the first Englishman who cultivated Latin and English or Saxon poesy. Among his other mortifications, he was accustomed to recite the psalter at night, plunged up to the shoulders in a pond of water. He was the first bishop of Sherborne, a see which was afterwards removed to Salisbury, and died in 709.* [Butler.]

He turned a sunbeam into a clothes-peg; at least, so say his biographers: this was at Rome. Saying mass there in the church of St. John de Lateran, he put off his vestment; the servant neglecting to take it, he hung it on a sunbeam, whereon it remained, "to the wonderful admiration of the beholders."† [Porter, Golden Legend.]

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Common Avens. Geum Urbanum.
Dedicated to St. Urban

May 26.

St. Philip Neri, A.D. 1595. St. Augustine, Abp. of Canterbury, A.D. 604. St. Eleutherius, Pope, A. D. 192. St. Quadratus, Bp. A.D. 125. St. Oduvald, Abbot, A.D. 698.

St. Philip Neri.

He was born at Florence in 1515, became recluse when a child, dedicated himself to poverty, and became miraculously fervent. "The divine love," says Alban Butler, "so much dilated the breast of our saint, that the gristle which joined the fourth and fifth ribs on the left side was broken, which accident allowed the heart and the larger vessels more play; in which condition he lived fifty years." According to the same authority, his body was sometimes raised from the ground during his devotions some yards high. Butler relates the same of St. Dunstan, St. Edmund, and many other saints, and says that "Calmet, an author still living, assures us that he knows a religious man who, in devout prayer, is sometimes involuntarily raised in the air, and remains hanging in it without any support; also that he is personally acquainted with a devout nun to whom the same had often happened." Butler thinks it probable that they themselves would not determine whether they were raised by angels, or by what other supernatural operation. He says, that Neri could detect hidden sins by the smell of the sinners. He died in 1595: the body of such a saint of course worked miracles.

Oratorios.

The Oratorio commenced with the fathers of the Oratory. In order to draw youth to church, they had hymns, psalms, and spiritual songs, or cantatas, sung either in chorus or by a single favourite voice. These pieces were divided into two parts, the one performed before the sermon, and the other after it. Sacred stories, or events from scripture, written in verse, and by way of dialogue, were set to music, and the first part being performed, the sermon succeeded, which the people were induced to stay and hear, that they might be present at the performance of the second part. The subjects in early times were the good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son, Tobit with the angel, his father, and his wife, and similar histories, which by the excellence of the composition, the band of instruments, and the performance, brought the Oratory into great repute; hence this species of musical drama obtained the general appellation of Oratorio.

St. Augustine.

St. Augustine came to a certain town, inhabited by wicked people, who "refused hys doctryne and prechyng uterly, and drof hym out of the towne, castyng on hym the tayles of thornback, or lyke fisshes; wherefore he besought Almyghty God to shewe hys jugement on them; and God sent to them a shamefull token; for the chyldren that were born after in the place, had tayles, as it is sayd, tyll they had repented them. It is said comynly that this fyll at Stode in Kente; but blyssed be Gode, at thys daye is no such deformyte."* [Golden Legend.] It is said, however, that they were the natives of a village in Dorsetshire who were thus tail-pieced.† [Porter's Flowers]

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 26th of May, 1555, was a gay May-game at St. Marttin's-in-the-fields [sic], with giants and hobby-horses, drums and guns, morrice-dances, and other minstrels.* [Strype's Memorials]

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Rhododendron. Rhododendrum Ponticum.
Dedicated to St. Augustine.
Yellow Azalea. Azalea pontica.
Dedicated to St. Philip Neri.

May 27.

St. John, Pope, A.D. 526. St. Bede, A.D. 735. St. Julius, about A.D. 302.

St. John, Pope.

St. Bede

The life of "Venerable Bede" in Butler, is one of the best memoirs in his biography of the saints. He was an Englishman, in priest's orders. It is said of him that he was a prodigy of learning in an unlearned age; that he surpassed Gregory the Great in eloquence and copiousness of style, and that Europe scarcely produced a greater scholar. He was a teacher of youth, and, at one time had six hundred pupils, yet he exercised his clerical functions with punctuality, and wrote an incredible number of works in theology, science, and the polite arts. It is true he fell into the prevailing credulity of the early age wherein he flourished, but he enlightened it by his erudition, and improved it by his unfeigned piety and unwearied zeal.

Not to ridicule so great a man, but as an instance of the desire to attribute wonderful miracles to distinguished characters, the following silly anecdote concerning Bede is extracted from the "Golden Legend." He was blind, and desiring to be led forth to preach, his servant carried him to a heap of stones, to which, the good father, believing himself preaching to a sensible congregation, delivered a noble discourse, whereunto, when he had finished his sermon, the stones answered and said "Amen!"

Wordsworth.

THE SEASON.

MAY, 1825.

All hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!
How joyous thy steeds from the ocean have sprung!
The clouds and the waves smile to see the returning,
And young zephyrs laugh as they gambol along.

No more with the tempest the river is swelling,
No angry clouds frown, and no sky darkly lowers;
The bee winds his horn, and the gay news is telling,
That spring is arrived with her sunshine and flowers.

From her home in the grass see the white primrose peeping,
While diamond dew-drops around her are spread,
She smiles through her tears, like an infant, whose weeping
To laughter is changed when its sorrows are fled.

In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining,
And nature with blossoms is wreathing the trees,
The white and the green, in rich clusters entwining,
Are sprinkling their sweets on the wings of each breeze.

Then hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!
Triumphant ride on in thy chariot of light;
The earth, with thy bounties her forehead adorning,
Comes forth, like a bride, from the chamber of night.

E. C.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Buttercups. Ranunculus acris.
Dedicated to St. John, Pope.
Yellow Bachelor's Buttons. Ranunculus acris plenus.
Dedicated to St. Bede.

May 28.

St. Germanus, Bp. of Paris, A.D. 576. St. Caraunus, also Caranus and Caro, (in French, Cheron.)

CHRONOLOGY.

The sanguinary spirit of these times has disappeared, and we look upon what remains to us of the individuals who suffered, or acted under its influence, as memorials of such crimes and ciminals as we in a milder age dare not imagine our country can be again afflicted with. The sight of cardinal Beaton's house in the Cowgate, at Edinburgh, may have induced useful reflections on past intolerance, and increased charitable dispositions in some whose persuasions widely differ. If this be so, a representation of it in this sheet may not be less agreeable to the moralist than to the lover of antiquities. The drawing from whence the engraving on the next page is taken, was made on the spot in 1824.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lurid Fleur-de-lis. Irid Lurida.
Dedicated to St. Germain.

May 29.

St. Maximinus, Bp. of Friers, A.D. 349. St. Cyril. St. Conon and his son, of Iconia in Asia, about A. D. 275. Sts. Sisinnius, Martyrius, and Alexander, A.D. 397.

Restoration Day.

Charles II. himself wrote a narrative of his remakable "Escape." From this it appears that while journeying with the Penderells, "he wore a very greasy old grey steeple-crowned hat, with the brims turned up, without lining or hatband: a green cloth coat, threadbare, even to the threads being worn white, and breeches of the same, with long knees down to the garter; with an old leathern doublet, a pair of white flannel stockings next to his legs, which the king said were his boot stockings, their tops being cut off to prevent their being discovered, and upon them a pair of old green yarn stockings, all worn and darned at the knees, with their feet cut off; his shoes were old, all slashed for the ease of his feet, and full of gravel: he had an old coarse shirt, patched both at the neck and hands; he had no gloves, but a long thorn stick, not very strong, but crooked three or four several ways, in his hand; his hair cut short up to his ears, and hands coloured; his majesty refusing to have any gloves, when father Hodlestone offered him some, as also to change his stick."

"We went," he says, "towards Shoreham, four miles off a place called Brighthelmstone, taking the master of the ship with us, on horseback, behind one of our company, and came to the vessel's side, which was not above sixty tons. But it being low water, and the vessel lying dry, I and my lord Wilmot got up with a ladder into her, and went and lay down in the little cabin, till the tide came to fetch us off.

"But I was no sooner got into the ship, and lain down upon the bed, but the master came in to me, fell down upon his knees, and kissed my hand; telling me, that he knew me very well, and would venture life, and all that he had in the world, to set me down safe in France.

"So, about seven o'clock in the morning, it being high-water, we went out of the port; but the master being bound for Pool, loaden with sea-coal, because he would not have it seen from Shoreham that he did not go his intended voyage, but stood all the day, with a very easy sail, towards, the Isle of Wight (only my lord Wilmot and myself, of my company, on board.) And as we were sailing, the master came to me, and desired me that I would persuade his men to use their endeavours with me to get him to set us on shore in France, the better to cover him from any suspicion thereof. Upon which, I went to the men, which were four and a boy, and told them, truly, that we were two merchants that had some misfortunes, and were a little in debt; that we had some money owing us at Rouen, in France, and were afraid of being arrested in England; that if they would persuade the master (the wind being very fair) to give us a trip over to Dieppe, or one of those ports near Rouen, they would oblige us very much, and with that I gave them twenty shillings to drink. Upon which, they undertook to second me, if I would propose it to the master. So I went to the master, and told him our condition, and that if he would give us a trip over to France, we would give him some consideration for it. Upon which he counterfeited difficulties, saying, that it would hinder his voyage. But his men, as they had promised me, joining their persuasions to ours, and, at last, he yielded to set us over.

"So, about five o'clock in the afternoon, as we were in sight of the Isle of Wight, we stood directly over to the coast of France, the wind being then full north; and the next morning, a little before day, we saw the coast. But the tide failing us, and the wind coming about to the south-west, we were forced to come to an anchor within two miles of the shore, till the tide of flood was done.

"We found ourselves just before an harbour in France, called Fescamp; and just as the tide of ebb was made, espied a vessel to leeward of us, which, by her nimble working, I suspected to be an Ostend privateer. Upon which, I went to my lord Wilmot, and telling him my opinion of that ship, proposed to him our going ashore in the little cock-boat, for fear they should prove so, as not knowing, but finding us going into a port of France, (there being then a war betwixt France and Spain,) they might plunder us, and possibly carry us away and set us ashore in England; the master also himself had the same opinion of her being an Ostender, and came to me to tell me so, which thought I made it my business to dissuade him from, for fear it should tempt him to set sail again with us for the coast of England: yet so sensible I was of it, that I and my lord Wilmot went both on shore in the cock-boat; and going up into the town of Fescamp, staid there all day to provide horses for Rouen. But the vessel which had so affrighted us, proved afterwards only a French hoy.

"The next day we got to Rouen, to an inn, one of the best in the town, in the fish-market, where they made difficulty to receive us, taking us, by our clothes, to be some thieves, or persons that had been doing some very ill thing, until Mr. Sandburne, a merchant, for whom I sent, came and answered for us.

"One particular more there is observable in relation to this our passage into France; that the vessel that brought us over had no sooner landed me, and I given her master a pass, for fear of meeting with any of our Jersey frigates, but the wind turned so happily for her, as to carry her directly for Pool, without its being known that she had ever been upon the coast of France.

An antiquary, a century ago, mentions the "Royal Oak" as standing in his time. "A bow-shoot from Boscobel-house, just by a horse-track passing through the wood, stood the royal oak, into which the king and his companion, colonel Carlos, climbed by means of the hen-roost ladder, when they judged it no longer safe to stay in the house; the family reaching them victuals with the nut-hook. The tree is now inclosed in with a brick wall, the inside whereof is covered with laurel, of which we may say, as Ovid did of that before the Augustan palace, 'mediamque tobere quercum.' Close by its side grows a young thriving plant from one of its acorns. Over the door of the inclosure, I took this inscription in marble:— 'Felicissimam arborem quam in asylum potentissimi Regis Caroli II. Deus O. M. per quem reges regnant hic crescere voluit, tam in perpetuam rei tantæ memoriam, quam specimen fermæ in reges fidei, muro cinctam posteris commendant Basilius et Jana Fitzherbert.

"'Quercus amica Jovi.'"* [Stukeley, Itiner. Curios. 1724.]

A letter from an obliging correspondent, whose initials are affixed, claims a place here, in order to correct a literal inaccuracy, and for the facts subsequently mentioned.

To the Editor of the Every-day Book.

Sir,
As the "Royal Oak day" will form a prominent subject in your interesting work, I beg to call your attention to the fact, that colonel William Carlos was the companion of his majesty, in his concealment in the tree in Boscobel wood, and to hope that you will point out the right mode of spelling his name; Lord Clarendon, and others who copy from him, always call him colonel Careless, which is a vile misnomer. When a man does an action worthy of record, it is highly grievous to have his name spelt wrong:

"Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt
In a despatch. I knew a man whose loss
Was printed Grove, altho' his name was Grose."

Lord Byron.

A coat of arms and a grant of ballast-age dues were made to the colonel; but the latter interfering with the rights of the Trinity-house, was given up. A son of the colonel is buried at Fulham church. The book of "Boscobel," first printed in 1660, contains accurate particulars of the event I refer to: this little work you have no doubt seen. I have seen a print of W. Pendrill, in an oval, encircled within the foliage of an oak tree, (as we may still see king Charles's head on some alehouse signs,) with a copy of verses, in which the name of the colonel is correctly spelt.

I am, Sir, &c.
E. J. C.

April 16, 1825.

The "Royal Oak" at Boscobel perished many years ago, but another tree has been raised in its stead to mark the spot.

Another correspondent, "Amicus," who writes to the editor under his real name, favours the readers of this work with an account of a usage still preserved, on "Royal Oak day," in the west of England.

To the Editor of the Every-day Book.

I am, sir, yours, most obediently,

AMICUS.

It has been customary on this day to dress the statue of Charles II. in the centre of the Royal Exchange with oaken boughs. As the removal of this statue has been contemplated, it may interest merchants and persons connected with the corporation, to be informed of the means adopted for placing it there. A correspondent, H. C. G., has enabled the editor to do this, by favouring him with the original precept issued by the court of aldermen on the occasion.

SMITH, MAYOR.

"Martis Vndecimo Die Novembr', 1684, Annoque Regni Regis CAROLI Secudi, Angl', &c. Tricessimo Sexto.

"Whereas the statue of King CHARLES the First (of Blessed Memory) is already Set up on the Royal Exchange, And the Company of Grocers have undertaken to Set up the Statue of His present MAJESTY, And the Company of Clothworkers that of King JAMES, And the Companies of Mercers and Fishmongers the Statues of Queen MARY and Queen ELIZABETH, And the Company of Drapers that of EDWARD the Sixth, This Court doth Recommend it to the several Companies of the City hereafter named, (viz. The Companies of Goldsmiths, Skinners, Merchant-Taylors, Haberdashers, Salters, Ironmongers, Vintners, Dyers, Brewers, Leathersellers, Pewterers, Barber-Chirurgeons, Cutlers, Bakers, Waxchandlers, Tallowchandlers, Armourers, Girdlers, Butchers, Sadlers,) to raise Money by Contributions, or otherwise, for Setting up the Statues of the rest of the KINGS of England (each Company One) beginning at the CONQUEROR, as the Same were There Set up before the Great Fire. And for the better Order in Their proceeding herein, the Master and Wardens, or some Members of the said respective Companies, are desired within some Convenient time to Appear before This Court, and receive the further Directions of This Court therein.

"Wagstaffe."

It is affirmed of Charles II. that he was mightily delighted with these beautiful stanzas,

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate.
Death lays his icy hands on Kings:
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield,
They tame but one another still.
Early or late,
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they pale captives creep to Death.

The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds:
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

'The King. —How the devil have I got here? The knaves have sold every cloak in the wardrobe.

'Rochester. —Those knaves are fools. That is a part of dress, which, for their own sakes, your majesty ought never to be without.

'The King. —Pshaw! I'm vexed!

'Rochester. —I hate still life—I'm glad of it. Your majesty is never so entertaining as when—

'The King. —Ridiculous! I believe the English are the most intractable people upon earth.

'Rochester. —I must humbly beg your majesty's pardon, if I presume in that respect.

'The King. —You would find them so, were you in my place, and obliged to govern.

'Rochester. —Were I in your majesty's place, I would not govern at all.

'The King. —How then?

'Rochester. —I would send for my good lord Rochester, and command him to govern.

'The King. —But the singular modesty of that nobleman.

'Rochester. —He would certainly conform himself to your majesty's bright example. How gloriously would the two grand social virtues flourish under his auspices!

'The King. —O, prisca fides! What can these be?

'Rochester. —The love of wine and women!

'The King. —God bless your majesty!

'Rochester. —These attachments keep the world in good humour, and therefore I say they are social virtues. Let the bishop of Salisbury deny it if he can.

'The King. —He died last night. Have you a mind to succeed him?

'Rochester. —On condition that I shall neither be called upon to preach on the 30th of January or the 29th of May.

'The King. —Those conditions are curious. You object to the first, I suppose, because it would be a melancholy subject; but the other—

'Rochester. —Would be a melancholy subject too.

'The King. —That is too much—

'Rochester. —Nay, I only mean that the business would be a little too grave for the day. Nothing but the indulgence of the two grand social virtues could be a proper testimony for my joy upon that occasion.

'The King. —Thou art the happiest fellow in my dominions. Let me perish if I do not envy thee thy impudence!'

"It is in such strain of conversation, generally, that this prince passes off his chagrin; and he never suffers his dignity to stand in the way of his humour."

This showing is in favour of Charles, on whose character, as a king of England, posterity has long since pronounced judgment. A slave to his passions, and a pensioner to France, he was unworthy of the people's "precious diadem." He broke his public faith, and disregarded his private word. To the vessel of the state he was a "sunk rock," whereon it had nearly foundered.

Trinity Sunday.

In the Romish church this was a splendid festival, with processions and services peculiar to its celebration; devotions were daily addressed to every person of the Trinity: as the other festivals commemorated the Unity in Trinity, so this commemorated the Trinity in Unity.* [Shepherd.]

In the Lambeth accounts are church-wardens' charges for garlands and drink for the children, for garnishing-ribbons, and for singing men in the procession on Trinity-Sunday-even.† [Lysons in Brand.]

In Curll's "Miscellanies, 1714," 8vo. is an account of Newnton, in North Wiltshire; where, to perpetuate the memory of the donation of a common to that place by king Athelstan and of a house for the hayward, i. e. the person who looked after the beasts that fed upon this common, the following ceremonies were appointed: "Upon every Trinity Sunday, the parishioners being come to the door of the hayward's house, the door was struck thrice, in honour of the Holy Trinity; they then entered. The bell was rung; after which, silence being ordered, they read their prayers aforesaid. Then was a ghirland of flowers (about the year 1660, one was killed striving to take away the ghirland) made upon an hoop, brought forth by a maid of the town upon her neck, and a young man (a bachelor) of another parish, first saluted her three times, in honour of the Trinity, in respect of God the Father. Then she puts the ghirland upon his neck, and kisses him three times, in honour of the Trinity, particularly God the Son. Then he puts the ghirland on her neck again, and kisses her three times, in respect of the Holy Trinity, and particularly the Holy Ghost. Then he takes the ghirland from her neck, and, by the custom must give her a penny at least, which, as fancy leads, is now exceeded, as 2s. 6d. or &c. The method of giving this ghirland is from house to house annually, till it comes round. In the evening every commoner sends his supper up to this house, which is called the Eale-house: and having before laid in there equally a stock of malt, which was brewed in the house, they sup together, and what was left was given to the poor."

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Blue Bottle. Centauria montana.
Dedicated to St. Cyril.

May 30.

St. Felix I., Pope, A.D. 274. St. Walstan, Confessor, A.D. 1016. St. Ferdinand III., Confessor, King of Castile and Leon, A.D. 1252. St. Maguil, in Latin, Madelgisilus, Recluse in Picardy, about A.D. 685.

Trinity Monday.

Deptford Fair.

Of late years a fair has been held at Deptford on this day. It originated in trifling pastimes for persons who assembled to see the master and brethren of the Trinity-house, on their annual visit to the Trinity-house, at Deptford. First there were jingling matches; then came a booth or two; afterwards a few shows; and, in 1825, it was a very considerable fair. There were Richardson's, and other dramatic exhibitions; the Crown and Anchor booth, with a variety of dancing and drinking booths, as at Greenwich fair this year, before described, besides shows in abundance.

Brethren of the Trinity-house.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Dear Sir,

Though I have not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance, I know enough to persuade me that you are no every-day body. The love of nature seems to form so prominent a trait in your character, that I, who am also one of her votaries, can rest no longer without communicating with you on the subject. I like, too, the sober and solitary feeling with which you ruminate over by-gone pleasures, and scenes wherein your youth delighted: for, though I am but young myself, I have witnessed by far too many changes, and have had cause to indulge too frequently in such cogitations.

I am a "Surrey-man," as the worthy author of the "Athenæ Oxon." would say: and though born with a desire to ramble, and a mind set on change, I have never till lately had an opportunity of strolling so far northward as "ould Iselton," or "merry Islington:"—you may take which reading you please, but I prefer the first. But from the circumstance of your "walk out of London" having been directed that way, and having led you into so pleasant a mood, I am induced to look for similar enjoyment in my rambling excursions through its "town-like" and dim atmosphere. I am not ashamed to declare, that my taste in these matters differs widely from that of the "great and good" Johnson; who, though entitled, as a constellation of no ordinary "brilliance," to the high sounding name of "the Great Bear," (which I am not the first to appropriate to him,) seems to have set his whole soul on "bookes olde," and "modern authors" of every other description, while the book of nature, which was schooling the negro-wanderer of the desert, proffered nothing to arrest his attention! Day unto day was uttering speech, and night unto night showing knowledge; the sun was going forth in glory, and the placid moon "walking in brightness;" and could he close his ears, and revert his gaze?—"De gustibus nil disputandum" I cannot say, for I do most heartily protest against his taste in such matters.

"The time of the singing of birds is come," but, what is the worst of it, all these "songsters" are not "feathered." There is a noted "Dickey" bird, who took it into his head, so long ago as the 25th of December last, to "sing through the heavens,"* [Vide a Christmas Carol, by Richard Ryan, in Time's Telescope for the present year.] —but I will have nothing to do with the "Christemasse Caroles" of modern day. Give me the "musical pyping" and "pleasaunte songes" of olden tyme, and I care not whether any more "ditees" of the kind are concocted till doomsday.

But I must not leave the singing of birds where I found it: I love to hear the nightingales emulating each other, and forming, by their "sweet jug jug," a means of communication from one skirt of the wood to the other, while every tree seems joying in the sun's first rays. There is such a wildness and variety in the note, that I could listen to it, unwearied, for hours. The dew still lies on the ground, and there is a breezy freshness about us: as our walk is continued, a "birde of songe, and mynstrell of the woode," holds the tenor of its way across the path:—but it is no "noiseless tenor." "Sweet jug, jug, jug," says the olde balade:—

"Sweet jug, jug, jug,
The nightingale doth sing,
From morning until evening,
As they are hay-making."

Was this "songe" put into their throats "aforen yt this balade ywritten was?" I doubt it, but in later day Wordsworth and Conder have made use of it; but they are both poets of nature, and might have fancied it in the song itself.

I look to my schoolboy days as the happiest I ever spent: but I was never a genius, and laboured under habitual laziness, and love of ease: "the which," as Andrew Borde says, "doth much comber young persones." I often rose for a "lark," but seldom with it, though I have more than once "cribbed out" betimes, and always found enough to reward me for it. But these days are gone by, and you will find below all I have to say of the matter "collected into English metre:"—

Years of my boyhood! have you passed away?
Days of my youth and have you fled for ever?
Can I but joy when o'er my fancy stray
Scenes of young hope, which time has failed to sever
From this fond heart:—for, tho' all else decay,
The memory of those times will perish never.—
Time cannot blight it, nor the tooth of care
Those wayward dreams of joyousness impair.

But I must sympathize with you in your reflections, amid those haunts which are endeared by many a tie, on the decay wrought by time and events. An old house is an old friend; a dingy "tenement" is a poor relation, who has seen better days; "it looks, as it would look its last," on the surrounding innovations, and wakes feelings in my bosom which have no vent in words. Its "imbowed windows," projecting each story beyond the other, go to disprove Bacon's notion, that "houses are made to live in, and not to look on:" they give it a brow-beating air, though its days of "pomp and circumstance" are gone by, and have left us cheerlessly to muse and mourng over its ruins:—

Oh! I can gaze, and think it quite a treat,
So they be old, on buildings grim and shabby;
I love within the church's walls to greet
Some "olde man" kneeling, bearded like a rabbi,
Who never prayed himself, but has a whim
That you'll "orate," that is—"praye" for him.

But this has introduced me to another and an equally pleasing employ; that of traversing the aisles of our country churches, and "meditating among the tombs." I dare not go farther, for I am such an enthusiast, that I shall soon write down your patience.

You expressed a wish for my name and address, on the cover of your third part; I enclose them: but I desire to be known to the public by no other designation than my old one.

I am, dear sir,
Yours, &c.
LECTOR.

Camberwell.

CHRONOLOGY.

1431. Joan of Arc, the maid of Orleans was burnt. This cruel death was inflicted on her, in consequence of the remarkable events hereafter narrated. Her memory is revered by Frenchmen, and rendered more popular, through a poem by Voltaire, eminent for its wit and licentiousness. One of our own poets, Dr. Southey, has an epic to her honour.

Fountain

Erected in the old Market-place at Rouen, on the spot whereon

Joan of Arc

WAS BURNT.

Joan was sent to Blois, where a large convoy was prepared for the supply of Orleans, and an army of ten thousand men, under the command of St. Severe, assembled to escort it; she ordered all the soldiers to confess themselves before they set out on the enterprise; and she displayed in her hands a consecrated banner, whereon the Supreme Being was represented, grasping the globe of earth, and surrounded with flower-de-luces.

The duke of Bedford, who was regent during the minority of Henry VI., endeavoured to revive the declining state of his affairs by bringing over the young king of England, and having him crowned and anointed at Paris. The maid of Orleans, after the coronation of Charles, declared to the count of Dunois, that her wishes were now fully gratified, and that she had no farther desire than to return to her former condition and to the occupation and course of life which became her sex: but that nobleman, sensible of the great advantages which might still be reaped from her presence in the army, exhorted her to persevere, till, by the final expulsion of the English, she had brought all her prophecies to their full completion. In pursuance of this advice, she threw herself into the town of Compiegne, which was at that time besieged by the duke of Burgundy, assisted by the earls of Arundel and Suffolk; and the garrison, on her appearance, believed themselves thenceforth invincible. But their joy was of short duration. The maid, next day after her arrival (25th of May,) headed a sally upon the quarters of John of Luxembourg; she twice drove the enemy from their intrenchments; finding their numbers to increase every moment, she ordered a retreat; when hard pressed by the pursuers, she turned upon them, and made them again recoil; but being here deserted by her friends, and surrounded by the enemy, she was at last, after exerting the utmost valour, taken prisoner by the Burgundians. The common opinion was, that the French officers, finding the merit of every victory ascribed to her, had, in envy to her renown, by which they themselves were so much eclipsed, willingly exposed her to this fatal accident.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lesser Spearwort[.] Ranunculus flammula.
Dedicated to St. Ferdinand.

May 31.

St. Petronilla, 1st Cent. St. Cantius and Cantianus, brothers, and Cantianilla, their sister, A.D. 304.

St. Petronilla.

"Her name," says "Butler, "is the feminine, and diminutive of Peter, and she is said to have been a daughter of the apostle St. Peter, which tradition is confirmed by certain writings, quoted by the Manichees, in the time of St. Austin, which affirm, that St. Peter had a daughter whom he cured of the palsy; but it seems not certain whether she was more than the spiritual daughter of that apostle." Ribadeneira refers to these Manichæan writings, by which, according to Butler, the "tradition is confirmed," and unluckily for Butler, he says, that St. Augustine calls these writings apocryphal. Ribadeneira carefully adds though, that Augustine "doth not therefore reprove it as false." Yet it is curious to find this jesuit telling of Augustine, that he teacheth, "that without prejudice of charity we may chastise the body of our enemy, the heretic, for the salvation of his soul." This saying of Augustine's is wholly uncalled for by any thing that Ribadeneira says regarding Petronilla; it is a hot puff of a fiery spirit.

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Yellow Turkscap Lily. Lilium Pomponicum flavum.
Dedicated to St. Petronilla.