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father, and an honest man! Sir, there is a real pleasure in contributing to the happiness of such excellent people. As to John's debts I will pay them, and will enable bim besides to take up his trade again decently. Let this money remain for the children, who have cost their father dear; and let it be divided between them as soon as they are capable of doing for themselves. Till then keep it in your hands, and speak to them at times of it as of the strongest proof of a father's affection. I will pay for interest for it, to be joined with the capital; for I wish to have some part in this sacred deposit.” The worthy Curate was too much affected to be able to answer Mr Churchill. The latter understood the force of bis silence, and squeezing him by the hand, took his leave.

All his designs in favour of John have been executed. John, being safe retumed, enjoys an easiness of circumstances which he never experienced before, and would be the happiest of men, but for his grief for the loss of Margaret. He finds no other comfort, than in talking of her constantly with Susan. This worthy woman looks upon herself as his sister, and as a mother to his children. Little Jack never lets a single day pass without going to his mother's grave. He has made so good a use of Me Churchill's generosity, in improving himself, that this excellent gentleman has it in view to establish him in the most advantageous manner. He has taken the same care of John's younger son, and he never mounts his horse with out recalling to mind this affecting incident. Whenever he meets any subject of chagrin, he goes to see the persens whom he has made happy, and always returns home re Lieved of every uneasy sensation.

Natural appearances in November. * Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, * Now green' in youth, now with’ring on the ground: Another race the following spring supplies; . ..

They fall successive, and successive rise: . 't So generations in their course decay ;

So flourish these, when those are pass'd away." HOMER*** CHE preceding month was marked by the change, and his is 'distinguished by the fall, of the leaf. The whole eclining season of the year is often, in common language, amed THE FALL. There is something extremely melancholy í this gradual process, by which the trees are stripped of heir beauty, and left monuments of decay and desolation.

This loss of verdure, together with the shortened days, he diminishing warmth, and frequent ains, justify the itle of gloomy to the month of November; and other aninals seem to sympathize with man in feeling it as such.

Intervals of clear and pleasant weather, however, frequently occur. In fair weather, the mornings are somewhat frosty; but the hoar-frost soon vanishes after sun-rise.

High winds frequently happen in November, which at ince strip the trees of their faded leaves, and reduce then o their winter-state of nakedness. Flocks of wood-pigeons, ir stock-doves, the latest birds of passage in their arrival, visit us in this month. Salmons now begin to ascend the ivers to spawn: Their force and agility in leaping over cataricts, and other obstacles to their ascent, are very surprising.

The farmer strives during this month, to finish all his ploughing of fallows. Cattle and horses are taken out of the exhausted pastures, and kept in the house or yard. Hogs are put up to fatten. Sheep are turned into the turnip-field, or, in stormy weather, fed with hay at the rick. Bees now require to be moved under shelter; anel the pigeons in the dove-house to be fed.,

The Fall of the Leaf. W E perceive the effects of approaching winter in the woods and gardens. Almost all the plants are losing their leaves, their chief ornament. The most natural way this can be accounted for is from the cold; for the leaves are no sooner covered with frost, than they begin to fall in abundance, and all the vegetables are stripped of their clothing. It cannot be otherwise, as the cold causes the sap to stagnate in the plants. But the cold is not the only cause of the leaves falling; for they fall when it does not freeze the whole winter, and when the trees are even put into greenhouses to preserve them from cold. It is therefore probable that other causes also contribute to atrip the trees. But we must not suppose, that these fallen leaves are entirely lost, and of no use. Reason and experience teach the contrary. These leaves which grow rotten when they are fallen, make manure for the ground. The snow and rain wash the salts out of them, and convey them to the roots of the trees. These strewed leaves, heaped together upon the young plants, preserve their roots. They cover also the seeds, and keep them warm and moist. This is more particularly observed in respect to the oak-leaves. They afford excellent manure, not only to the tree itself, but also to its shoots; and are also very useful for forest-pasture, as they increase the growth of the grass on which they fall and rot. Leaves are spread in stables instead of straw, and make a good litter for cattle, or are mixed with common dung. This mould is particularly useful in gardens, where they make layers of it, which assist greatly the growth of fruit and young trees. | Thus fallen leaves have their uses in administering to the comforts and necessities of man, while to his mind, the fall of the leaf is an emblem of this life, and the frailty of all earthly things.

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The beginning of Winter. , THE sun is now taking leave of the world. Every thing is changed with us. The earth, which was lately so beantiful and fruitful, is now becoming gradually barren and poor. We no longer behold that fine enamel of the trees in blossom; the charms of spring, the magnificence of summer, those different tints and shades of verdure in the woods and meads, the purple grapes, not the golden harvests which crowned our fields. The trees have lost their elotbing; the pines, the elms, and oaks, bend with the force of the northern blasts. The rays of the sun are too feeble now to warm the atmosphere or earth. The fields, which have bestowed so much upon us, are at last exhausted, and promise no more this year. But in the midst of these melancholy prospects, let us still observe, that nature faithfully fulfils the eternal law prescribed to her, of being useful at all times and seasons of the year. Winter draws nigh; the flowers are going; and even when the sun shines, the earth no longer appears with its usual beauty. Yet the country, stripped and desart as it is, still presents to a feeling mind the image of happiness. We may recollect with gratitude to Heaven, that the fields which are now: barren were once covered with corn and plentiful harvest. It is true, that the orchards and gardens are now stripped, but the remembrance of what they bestowed upon us may make us content to bear the northern blasts which at present We feel'so sharp. The leaves are fallen from the fruit trees; the grass of the field is withered; dark clouds fill the sky, and fall in lieavy rains. The unthinking man complains at this, but the wise man beholds the earth moistened with rain; and beholds it with a sweet satisfaction. Though the earth has lost its beauty and exterior charms, and is exposed to the murmurs of those it lias nourished and che red, it has

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already begun again to labour secretly within its bosom for their future welfare. But why is not the moral world equally faithful to fulfil its destination as the natural world? The acorn always produces an oak, and the vine produces grapes; why then do not the children of a great man always resemble him. Why do virtuous parents produce wicked and bad children? In reflecting on this difference, we may find several natural causes for it; and we may see that it must happen in the moral, as it does sometimes in the natural world. The best vine, for want of a good temperature, produces sour bad grapes; and parents respectable for their virtues have children that degenerate from them. In carrying my reflections farther, I look back upon my self. Perhaps our lot in this world has its seasons; if it be so, I will in the dull winter of my life have recourse to the provisions laid up in the days of my prosperity ; and endeavour to make a good use of the fruits of my education and experience. Happy, if at the close of life, I carry with me to the grave the merit of having been useful te society. Pre

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THE INQUISITION.

To the Editors of The Cheap Magazine, ".

GENTLEMEN,

HERE las not happened a more remarkable event, among the remarkable events which this age of Wone ders and Revolutions has produced, than the abolishing the Inquisition by the CORTEs, in Spain; and yet, that edict, which does these illustrious men immortal honour, deserves to be recorded in letters of gold, and at which every true friend to religious freedom and liberty of conscience should rejoice, has been passed over by many as "a tale that is told;" and if some of those publications which profess to treat of intellis

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