The ploughman hears its humming rage begin, In the "Raven's Almanacke for 1609," by Thomas Decker, there is a quaint description "Of Autumne, or the full of the leafe"-the season which continues into this month-" Autumne, the Barber of the yeare, that sheares bushes, hedges, and trees; the ragged prodigall that consumes al and leaves himself nothing; the arrantest beggar amongst al the foure quarters, and the most diseased, as being alwaies troubled with the falling sicknesse; this murderer of the Spring, this theef to Summer, and bad companion to Winter; seemes to come in according to his old custome, when the Sun sits like Justice with a pair of scales in his hand, weying no more houres to the day then he does to the night, as he did before in his vernall progresse, when he rode on a Ram; but this bald-pated Autumnus wil be seen walking up and down groves, medows, fields, woods, parks and pastures, blasting of fruites, and beating leaves from their trees, when common high-wayes shall be strewed with boughes in mockery of Summer and in triumph of her death; and when the doores of Usurers shall be strewed with greene hearbs, to doe honour to poor Brides that have no dowrie (but their honestie) to their marriage: when the world lookes like olde Chaos, and that Plentie is turned into Penurie, and beautie into uglinesse : when Men ride (the second time) to Bathe-and when unthriftes fly amongst Hen-sparrowes, yet bring home all the feathers they carried out: Then say that Autumne raignes, then is the true fall of the leafe, because the world and the yeare turne over a new leafe.' CLARE'S Shepherd's Calendar. From these amusing conceits we turn for better thoughts to the following instructive passages by Dr. Drake in his Evenings in Autnmn": 66 No period of the year is better entitled to the appellation of The Season of Philosophic Enthusiasm, than the close of Autumn. There is in the aspect of every thing which surrounds us, as the sun is sinking below the horizon, on a fine evening of October (or November), all that can hush the troubled passions to repose, yet all which, at the same time, is calculated to elevate the mind, and awaken the imagination. The gently agitated and refreshing state of the atmosphere, though at intervals broken in upon by the fitful and protracted moaning of the voiceful wind; the deep brown shadows which are gradually enveloping the many-coloured woods, and diffusing over the extended landscape a solemn and not unpleasing obscurity; the faint and farewell music of the latest warblers, and the waning splendor of the western sky, almost insensibly dispose the intellectual man to serious and sublime associations. It is then we people the retiring scene with more than earthly forms; it is then we love to listen to the hollow sighs Through the half-leafless wood that breathes the gale. For at such hours the shadowy phantom pale Oft seems to fleet before the Poet's eyes; Strange sounds are heard, and mournful melodies As of night-wanderers who their woes bewail. Charlotte Smith. It is scarcely possible not to prostrate ourselves with deep humility before the throne of that Almighty being who wields, directs, and limits the career of an element which, if let loose on this firm globe, would winnow it to dust. When we behold the birds that wing their way through this immeasurable void, through what vast tracts and undiscovered paths they seek their distant food; with what love and gratitude should we not reflect, that if he in mercy has become their pilot and their guide, how much more will he prove to us a sure and never failing protector. And when we turn our eyes from earth, its falling leaves and fading aspect, its gathering gloom and treacherous meteors, to that great and glorious vault where burn the steady lamps of heaven, or where, shooting into interminable space, flow streams of inextinguishable lustre, we are almost instinctively reminded, that here our days are numbered, that on this low planet brief is the time the oldest being lives, and that, passing from this transitory state, we are destined to pursue our course in regions of ever-during light, in worlds of never-changing beauty. It is owing to these, and similar reflections, which it has been the business of this paper to accumulate, that autumn has been ever felt as more peculiarly the Season of Religious Hope. Amid vicissitude and decay, amid apparent ruin and destruction, we behold the seeds of life and renovation; for he who pervades and dwells with all things, the unchangeable and immortal Spirit, has so ordained the course of organized nature, that not only is life the precursor of death, but the latter is essential to the renewal of existence, a chain and catenation, a cycle, as it were, of vitality, which tells us, in the strongest language of analogy, that if such seem the destiny of irrational nature, if thus she die to live again, how assured should be the hope of intellectual being. To him who views the temporary desolation of the year with no consolatory thought-who sees not, in the seeming ruin which surrounds him, any hope or emblem of a better world, who hears not the accents of dying nature responding to the voice of revelation, and telling of a Spring beyond the grave-to him who is insensible to reliances such as these, to hopes which can whisper peace, and soothe the evils of mortality, how stale, flat, and unprofitable must appear all the uses of this feverish existence. He may be told, in the language of the poet, in the language of faith and heartfelt consolation, To you the beauties of the autumnal year Where crimes and miseries, each producing each, That should in death bring comfort. Oh, my friend, With the strong eye that sees the promised day Southey. ALIMENTARY CALENDAR. Though November is proverbially the gloomiest month in the year, it is conspicuously rich in beef, mutton, veal, pork, and house-lamb, as well as in fish, poultry, game, and wild fowl. Thus, by an admirable provision in the economy of nature, at the season when the human appetite is increasing in strength, the means of gratifying it are multiplied. Among the infinite variety of dishes formed, or compounded of these elements, it is difficult to distinguish any one which peculiarly belongs to this division of the year; the difference of taste or choice being most observable at the period when its objects are most diversified. Yet pork during the winter months is in universal request, not only as being of itself an excellent plain dish either roast or boiled, but as affording the chief ingredient in the composition of sausages, &c. When boiled its usual escort is peas-pudding. Hare-soup may be noticed as a rich and seasonable luxury. There is now also a great consumption of oysters, as well in their simple state as scolloped, stewed, roasted, or served up in sauce for fowls, beef-steaks, &c. The season for sprats commences on Lord Mayor's day, the 9th of November, which is more eminently distinguished by the magnificent and sumptuous dinner given in Guildhall, in honor of the new chief magistrate of the city of London, when the choicest dishes in season, and every delicacy which wealth can procure, or culinary skill devise, are produced in a style worthy the great occasion. ALL SAINTS, OR ALL HALLOWS. Mr. Britton observes, in his "Cathedral Antiquities," that many popish superstitions are visible throughout all the principality of Wales. In the county of Monmouth, more particularly, a custom prevails among the lower classes of the inhabitants, both catholics and protestants, of begging bread for the souls of the departed on the first of November, or All Saints day: the bread thus distributed is called dole bread. Another ancient custom is still prevalent in Monmouthshire, that of strewing the graves of the departed and the church-yard with flowers and evergreens, on festive and holy days. November 1, 1726, died Lewis Maximilian Mahomet, a Turk, who had been taken by the Imperialists in Hungary, with Mustapha, his countryman. Mahomet was supposed to be the son of a bashaw. They both went into the service of George Lewis, then electoral prince of Hanover, whose life they are supposed to have saved, at the raising of the siege of Vienna, in 1685, when the prince was wounded. This mussulman became a christian, and received his baptismal name of Lewis from his patron, who was one of his godfathers, and Maximilian, from the prince Maximilian, who also honored him as a sponsor. When prince George Lewis ascended the British throne as George I., Mahomet and Mustapha came with him to England, and the former was always about the royal person. By some they are called pages of the back stairs; by others, attendants in the privy chamber. They certainly were admitted into great familiarity, and their influence was so great, that, in a dispatch of Count Broglio to the king of France, they are mentioned as possessing a large share of His Majesty's confidence.These two foreigners," says Mr. Coxe, "obtained considerable sums of money for recommending to places." Mahomet died of a dropsy, and in the "Historical Register" he is called, " valet de chambre to His Majesty." He left a family by a Hanoverian of good birth, who survived him, and well provided for them. It has been asserted, upon good authority, that after Mahomet came to England, he paid the debts of above three hundred persons who lay confined for petty sums, and released them from prison. Forty years, attendance upon courts, those nurseries of flattery and deceit, made not the least impression upon him. "He deserved power, for no other acts of his are known, than those of beneficence and humanity, which, upon every occasion, he exercised in their full degree. In him the distressed never wanted a friend. Never did he burden the royal ear with complaints; nor ever presume to ask a favor, though at the most awful distance, for himself." Pope thus records Mahomet's worth in a poetical epistle :— From peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing To draw the man who loves his God or king. Alas! I copy (or my draught would fail) From Honest Mah'met, or plain Parson Hale. There is a portrait of Mahomet, and another of Mustapha, on the great staircase of Kensington-palace, painted by Kent.* JOHN FRANSHAM, John Fransham, a learned and eccentric schoolmaster at Norwich, was born in that city in March 1730, and died there on the 1st of February, 1810. His father was sexton of St. George's parish; and there he was educated as boys in his condition usually are, with the addition of Latin from Mr. Pagan: in consideration of his dawning talents, he derived much gratuitous instruction from Dr. John Taylor. While quite a boy he composed some sermons, which the Rev. Dr. Salter, then Noble. minister of St. George's, presented to the dean, who expressed his approbation of their language and manner. He applied himself to a course of preparatory study for the University, with a view to go into the church, in which design he was encouraged by pecuniary aid from a relation, who promised to continue it while he remained at college. Before Fransham could be entered, this relation died; and, his friends not being able to afford even his ordinary maintenance, he was placed with another relation, a cooper, at Wymondham, to learn the art and mystery of making tubs and barrels. He deserted this employment in about three weeks, and resorted to various expedients for maintaining himself by his pen. None of these were successful, and, on his father observing that he could not supply him with clothing, for that in the article of shoes only he had of late been very expensive, the son immediately resolved to discard shoes and stockings. His persistence in this resolution for nearly three years, with other eccentricities, induced his father to suspect that his intellects were disordered. This was a mistake.Fransham was prevailed on to accept the situation of writing clerk in the office of Mr. Marshall, an attorney, where he found little of philosophy or literature, in compensation for laborious confinement and monotonous drudgery. He quitted the attorney's to learn weaving under Daniel Wright, a journeyman, with whom he continued two years, and supported himself almost wholly by the loom. There was a peculiar bent in Fransham's inclinations. He had early resolved to devote himself to philosophy and the muses, and detested every species of manual employment which hindered him from either thinking or conversing upon his favorite subjects. The hammer of the cooperage, and the copying of conveyances, restrained him from both, but, Daniel as a weaver, he was happy. Wright was after his own heart-a selftaught man of talent, unaided by the smiles of fortune or the assistance of the great. Wright had acquired considerable knowledge, and reflected deeply. Fransham used to say he was one who could discourse well on the "nature and fitness of things he possessed a fine philosophical spirit-a soul well purified from vulgar errors." The nature of their employment allowed them to converse together for several hours in the div Fransham placed his loom opposite to Wright's, and while at their occupation they discoursed without interruption to their employment. Wright died; and Fransham was again unsettled. He lost a friend of kindred spirit, who stimulated his exertions, encouraged his progress, and rewarded his labors: and, soon after this bereavement, Fransham formed the resolution of visiting the Highlands. He had acquired a high esteem for the Scottish character, and seemed to consider Scotland as a country happily placed between riches and poverty. He was now about eighteen, and he desired to place himself under able professors of the University of Edinburgh or Glasgow, as long as his finances would permit, and afterwards explore the Highlands. He strolled to Yarmouth, whence he embarked for North Shields, with an intention of walking to the Highlands; but at Newcastle his means of proceeding failed, and there he enlisted for a soldier into the Old Buffs, from which regiment he was soon discharged, because he was too bandylegged for the service. Without further resources he could not go to Scotland; and he walked back to Norwich, with three half-pence in this pocket, and a plaid he had bought on the way. It was probably about this time that-strange to say-Fransham joined a company of strolling players, who were accustomed to perform in a barn at Aylesham, in Norfolk. He was deemed the fittest person to perform Acasto, in the OrphanFoigard in the Beaux Stratagem-lago in Othello-and Shylock in the Merchant of Venice. The performances did not "draw," and the manager paid his company with turnips. Fransham had proffered his services for whatever value the manager might set upon them. He expressed himself perfectly satisfied with turnips and water, till one of the performers, aware of Fransham's honesty and his rising merits as an actor, told him the turnips were stolen from the neighbouring fields. It proved to be a fact, and Fransham indignantly threw up his articles. Fransham now engaged himself as a private tutor to the children of Mr. Leman, a farmer at Hellesdon: this was about the year 1750. At the end of two or three years this source of support failed him, and he once more had recourse to the occupation of writing for attorneys and authors. In this latter capacity, he was employed by the Rev. Samuel Bourne, formerly minister of the Octagon Chapel at Norwich. He was then twentyfour years of age, and became a member of a society established about that period in Norwich, among men of original minds and small incomes, for their mutual improvement in mathematics and experi mental philosophy. There he formed an acquaintance with John Barnard, a humble weaver, distinguished for high attainments in the mathematical sciences; and with Clover, a skilful veterinary surgeon, who excelled in mathematics and natural philosophy. Clover's knowledge of mathematics was superior to that of Fransham, but Fransham was Clover's superior in the classics; they discovered that they could be of service to each other, and formed a friendly connexion. At Clover's farriery they worked Latin exercises, and mathematical problems, upon a slate hung against the forge. Thus each was tutor and pupil to the other. After correcting a theme, or discussing the properties of the circle, Fransham earned his frugal meal by conducting home the horses which Clover had shod. The meal was not, however, bestowed as a reward for this sort of service. His kindness to animals in general, and his attachment to horses in particular, prompted him to earnestly entreat that he might be allowed the liberty of leading home-for he would not be so cruel as to ride-the horses after they were shod, that he might save them from sufferings he had often seen inflicted. His constant and kind performance of this duty procured him the ill will of Clover's workmen, and for this offensive humanity they avenged themselves by purposely throwing hot horseshoes about the shop, with which Fransham, owing to the nakedness of his feet, several times burnt himself. His sufferings on these occasions convinced him that he must either wear shoes and stockings, or forego the pleasure of befriending his favorite animals; and, rather than forego the pleasures of pure benevolence, he submitted to once more cover his legs and feet. The torture which he saw at Clover's, by what he emphatically denominated in his writings "the English, but brutal and barbarous customs of horsedocking and horse-nicking," filled him with astonishment and horror; and the adoption or rejection of the practice, by any individual, was to him a criterion of the character of the man; insomuch, that |