t Yates would have travelled
fifty miles to witness; "the like of that's what I now hear every day.
Hang that fellow Chantee, or Cantee, or what you call him; I wish he
had never been born!" The Ashbourne people are naturally proud of the
monument. With them it is a kind of idol, to which every stranger is
required to do homage. Among others, when Prince Leopold passed through
Ashbourne, and inquiries were made by some of his royal highness's suite
as to the "lions" of the neighbourhood--"We have one of our own, Sir,"
was the ready reply; "a noble piece of sculpture in the church." To the
church the royal mourner was on the very point of repairing, when Sir
Robert Gardiner suddenly inquired the description to which the sculpture
in question belonged. "It is a monument, Sir, no one passes through
without seeing it; for its like is not to be met with in England--it is
a monument to an only child, whose mother died--" "Not now," said the
prince faintly; "not now. I too have lost--" and he turned away from
the carriage in tears.

MR. CANNING.

It may be observed, too, by the way, that to Ashbourne the late Mr.
Canning was remarkably partial. Near it lived a female relative to whom
he was warmly attached, and under whose roof many of his happiest hours
were spent. It is stated, that a little poem, entitled, "A Spring
Morning in Dovedale," one of the earliest efforts of his muse, is still
in existence; and I have good reasons for knowing, that but a very few
weeks previous to his death, he stated, in conversation, what delight
he should feel in "going into that neighbourhood, and revisiting haunts
which to him had been scenes of almost unalloyed enjoyment." I could
scarcely believe, so exquisitely tranquil is the scene, the very murmur
of the stream which flows around seems to soften itself in unison with
the stillness of the landscape--that Ashbourne had ever been other than
the abode of rural peace and comfort; and yet I was assured that during
the war there was scarcely any limit to the bustle and gaiety which
pervaded it.

MR. MOORE, THE POET.

At Mayfield, near Ashbourne, is a cottage where Moore, it is stated,
composed _Lalla Rookh_. "For some years this distinguished poet
lived at the neighbouring village of Mayfield; and there was no end to
the pleasantries and anecdotes that were floating about its coteries
respecting him; no limit to the recollections which existed of the
peculiarities of the poet, of the w