Ireland,” that there are romantic remains of antiquity connected with the celebration of May-day in that country of imagination. "Munimers in Ireland," says the author, "are clearly a family of the same race with those festive bands, termed Morrice-dancers, in England. They appear at all seasons in Ireland, but Mayday is their favourite and proper festival. They consist of a number, varying according to circumstances, of the girls and young men of the village or neighbourhood, usually selected for their good looks, or their proficiency,—the females in the dance, the youths in hurling and other athletic exercises. They march in procession, two abreast, and in three divisions; the young men in the van and the rear, dressed in white or other gaycoloured jackets or vests, and decorated with ribbons on their hats and sleeves; the young women are dressed also in light-coloured garments, and two of them bear each a holly bush, in which are hung several new hurling balls, the May-day present of the girls to the youths of the village. The bush is decorated with a profusion of long ribbons or paper cut in imitation, which adds greatly to the gay and joyous, yet strictly rural, appearance of the whole. The procession is always preceded by music; sometimes of the bagpipe, but more commonly of a military fife, with the addition of a drum or tamboureen. A clown is, of course, in, attendance: he wears a frightful mask, and bears a long pole, with shreds of cloth nailed to the end of it, like a mop, which ever and anon he dips in a pool of water, or puddle, and besprinkles such of the crowd as press upon his companions, much to the delight of the younger spectators, who greet his exploits with loud and repeated shouts and laughter. The Mummers, during the day, parade the neighbouring villages, or go from one gentleman's seat to another, dancing before the mansion-house, and receiving money. The evening, of course, termi. nates with drinking. May-eve is considered a time of peculiar danger. The good people,' are supposed then to possess the power and the inclination to do all sorts of mischief without the slightest restraint. The evil eye' is then also deemed to have more than its usual vigilance and malignity; and the nurse who would walk in the open air with a child in her

Published in 1825, fc. 8vo.

arms, would be reprobated as a monster. Youth and loveliness are thought to be especially exposed to peril. It is therefore a natural consequence, that not one woman in a thousand appears abroad: but it must not be understood that the want of beauty affords any protection. The grizzled locks of age do not always save the cheek from a blast; neither is the brawny hand of the roughest ploughman exempt from a similar visitation. The blast is a large round tumour, which is thought to rise suddenly upon the part affected, from the baneful breath cast on it by one of the good people' in a moment of vindictive or capricious malice. May-day is called la na" Beal tina, and May-eve neen na Beal tina,—that is, day and eve of Beal's fire, from its having been in heathen times, consecrated to the god Beal, or Belus; whence also the month of May is termed in Irish Mi na Beal-tine.' The ceremony practised on May-eve, of making the cows leap over lighted straw, or faggots, has been generally traced to the worship of that deity. It is now vulgarly used in order to save the milk from being pilfered by the good people.'-Another custom prevalent on May-eve is the painful and mischievous one of stinging with nettles. In the south of Ireland it is the common practice for school-boys, on that day, to consider themselves privileged to run wildly about with a bunch of nettles, striking at the face and hands of their companions, or of such other persons as they think they may venture to assault with impunity."

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.

In an age so distant that the precise period is unknown, a chieftain named O'Donoghue ruled over the country which surrounds the romantic Lough Lean, now called the lake of Killarney. Wisdom, beneficence, and justice distinguished his reign, and the prosperity and happiness of his subjects were their natural results. He is said to have been as renowned for his warlike exploits as for his pacific virtues; and as a proof that his domestic administration was not the less rigorous because it was mild, a rocky island is pointed out to strangers, called 'O'Donog

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 mys terious. 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

May 2.

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 fuligi nous 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.