hue's Prison' in which this prince once confined his own son for some act of disorder and disobedience. "His end-for it cannot correctly be called his death-was singular and mysterious. At one of those splendid 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 their 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 Mayday 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 first beams of the rising sun were just gilding the lofty summit of Glenaa, when the waters near the eastern shore of the lake became suddenly and violently agitated, though all the rest of its surface lay smooth and still as a tomb of polished marble. The next moment a foaming wave darted forward, and like a proud high-crested war-horse, exulting in his strength, rushed across the lake towards Toomies mountain. Behind this wave appeared a stately warrior, fully armed, mounted upon a milk-white steed: his snowy plume waved gracefully from a helmet of polished steel, and at his back fluttered a light-blue scarf. The horse, apparently exulting in his noble burthen, sprung after the wave along the water, which bore him up like firm earth, while showers of spray, that glittered brightly in the morning sun were dashed up at every bound. "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'Donoghue, 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. Misson, who travelled in Italy in the beginning of the last century, speaks of May there in these terms. "The present season of the year inspires all the world with joy and good humour; and this month is every where particularly remarkable for sports and festivals: but I never saw a more diverting object than troops of young girls, who regaled us with dances and songs on all this road; though perhaps the rarity of the sex might, in some measure, contribute to heighten the pleasure we took in seeing these merry creatures. Five or six of the prettiest and best attired girls of the village meet together, and go from house to house singing, and wishing every where a merry May. All their songs consist of a great number of wishes, which are commonly very pleasant; for they wish you may at once enjoy all the pleasures of youth, and of the blooming season: that you may be still possessed with an equal love, morning and evening: that you may live a hundred and two years: that every thing you may eat may be turned to sugar and oil: that your clothes and lace may never wear old: that nature may smile eternally, and that the goodness of its fruits may surpass the beauty of its flowers, &c. And then come their spiritual wishes: that the lady of Loretto may pour down her favours upon you: that the soul of St. Anthony of Padua may be your guardian angel: that St. Katharine of Sienna may intercede for you. And, for the burthen of the song, after every stanza, 'Allegro Magio, Allegro Magio:' a merry, merry, merry May." To this picture of gladness might be added scenes from other countries, which testify the general rejoicing under the genial influence of the month. All gentle hearts confess the quick'ning spring, Hark now the merry minstrels of the grove Gawin Douglas, by Fawkes. and sixty-six brethren-there are no fewer of us-who have the honour, in the words of the good old Song, to call the Sun our Dad. You have done the rest of our family the favour of bestowing an especial compliment upon each member of it individually-I mean, as far as you have gone; for it will take you some time before you can make your bow all roundand I have no reason to think that it is your intention to neglect any of us but poor Me. Some you have hung round with flowers; others you have made fine with martyrs' palms and saintly garlands. The most insignificant of us you have sent away pleased with some fitting apologue, or pertinent story. What have I done, that you dismiss me without mark or attribute? What though I make my public appearance seldomer than the rest of my brethren? I thought that angels' visits had been accounted the more precious for their very rarity. Reserve was always looked upon as dignified. I am seen but once, for four times that my brethren obtrude themselves; making their presence cheap and contemptible, in comparison with the state which I keep. 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. 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 cherrycoloured 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 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 Except in Leap Year, that's the time I need not set down the rhyme which should follow; I dare say you know it very well, though you were pleased to leave it out. These indignities demand The Every-Day-but-one-Book. 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 he slew St. Oswald, archbishop of York honours" he is welcome; in the year 992, 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 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. he may May 2. his name having been affixed to the creed which contains his doctrines. He died St. Athanasius, Patriarch of Alexandria, in 373. Alban Butler says, the creed A. D. 373. St. Athanasius. This learned doctor of the church, was patriarch of Alexandria; he is celebrated for his opposition to the Arians, and from was compiled in Latin in the fifth century. CHRONOLOGY. 1519. Leonardo da Vinci, the painter, died. 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 thev cross the road to watch her coming forth on the other side, they receive a puf No. 20. from the re-elevating mast; this fulignous rebuke is inspiring. A Legal Lament. Ye Richmond Navigators bold all on the liquid plain, When from the bridge we envied you, Why could you be so cruel as with pleasure mix'd with pain, 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. dation, after the decease of fallen majesty the house wherein Sharp, the engraver, lived after his removal from Acton, and died-the tomb of Hogarth, in Chiswick church-yard "Brentford town of mud," so immortalized by one of our poets, from whence runs Bostonlane, wherein dwelt the good and amiable The steam-boat is a good half hour in Granger, who biographized every Engclearing the port of London, and arriving_lishman of whom there was a portrait— at Westminster; this delay in expedition and numerous spots remarkable for is occasioned by "laying to" for "put their connection with some congenial offs" of single persons and parties, in sentiment or person. Thames wherries. If the day be fine, the passage is very pleasant. The citizen sees various places wherein he has enjoyed himself, he can point out the opening to Fountain-court, wherein is the "coal-hole," the resort of his brother "wolves," a club of modern origin, renowned for its support of Mr. Kean; on the left bank, he shows the site of "Cuper's-gardens," to which he was taken when a boy by his father's foreman, and where the halfpenny-hatch stood; or he has a story to tell of the "Fox-under-the-hill," near the Strand, where Dutch Sam mustered the fighting Jews, and Perry's firemen, who nightly assisted John Kemble's "What d'ye want," during the "O. P. row," at Covent-garden theatre. Then he directs his attention to the Mitre, at Stangate, kept by "independent Bent," a house celebrated for authors who "flourish " there, for "actors of all work," and artists of less prudence than powers. He will tell you of the capital porter-shops that were in Palace-yard before the old coffee-houses were pulled down, and he directs you to the high chimney of Hodges's distillery, in Church -street, Lambeth. He stands erect, and looks at Cumberland-gardens as though they were his freehold-for there has he been in all his glory; and at the Red-house, at Battersea, he would absolutely go ashore, if his wife and daughters had not gone so far in geography as to know that Richmond is above Battersea-bridge. Here he repeats after Mathews, that Battersea-steeple, being of copper, was coveted by the emperor of Russia for an extinguisher; that the horizontal windmill was a case for it; and that his imperial majesty intended to take them to Russia, but left them behind from forgetfulness. Others see other things. The grounds from which the. walls of Brandenburgh-house were rased to the foun The Aits, or Osier Islands, are picturesque interspersions on the Thames. Its banks are studded with neat cottages, or elegant villas crown the gentle heights; the lawns come sweeping down like carpets of green velvet, to the edge of its soft-flowing waters, and the grace of the scenery improves till we are borne into the full bosom of its beauty-the village of Richmond, or as it was anciently called, Sheen. On coming within sight of this, the most delightful scene in our on board the sea-girt isle, the band steam-boat plays "the lass of Richmondhill," while the vesse! glides on the translucent water, till she curves to the bridge-foot, and the passengers disembark. Ascending the stone stairs to the street, a short walk through the village brings us to the top of the far-famed hill, from whence there is a sudden sight of one of the loveliest views in the world. Here, unless an overflowing purse can command the preference of the "Star and Garter,' enter the pleasant and comfortable "Roebuck" inn, which has nothing to recommend it but civil treatment and domestic conveniences. The westward room on the second floor is quiet, and one of the pleasantest in the house. The walls of this peaceful apartment have no ornament, unless so can be called a mezzotinto engraving by Watson, after Reynolds, of Jeffery, lord Amherst, in armour, with a countenance remarkably similar to the rev. Rowland Hill's in his younger days. The advantage of this room is the delightful view from its windows. Hither come ye whose hearts are saddened, or whose nerves are shattered by the strife of life, or the disturbances of the world; inhale the pure air, and gaze awhile on a prospect more redolent of beauty than Claude or Poussin ever painted or saw. Whatever there be of soothing charm in scenery, is here exuberant. we De |