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different towns, ringing a loud and dismaltoned bell at the corner of each street, every Sunday evening during the month; and calling upon the inhabitants to remember the deceased suffering the expiatory flames of purgatory, and to join in prayer for the repose of their souls.*"


Mr. John M'Creery, to whose press Mr. Roscoe committed his "History of Leo X.," and the subsequent productions of his pen, has marked this day by dating a beautiful poem on it, which all who desire to seize the "golden grains" of time, will do well to learn and remember daily.


FOR MY DAUGHTERS' HOUR-GLASS. Mark the golden grains that pass Brightly thro' this channell❜d glass, Measuring by their ceaseless fall Heaven's most precious gift to all! Busy, till its sand be done, See the shining current run; But, th' allotted numbers shed, Another hour of life hath fled! Its task perform'd, its travail past, Like mortal man it rests at last!Yet let some hand invert its frame And all its powers return the same, Whilst any golden grains remain 'Twill work its little hour again.But who shall turn the glass for man, When all his golden grains have ran? Who shall collect his scatter'd sand, Dispers'd by time's unsparing hand?Never can one grain be found, Howe'er we anxious search around! Then, daughters, since this truth is plain, That Time once gone ne'er comes again. Improv'd bid every moment pass— See how the sand rolls down your glass. Nov. 2. 1810. J. M. C.

Mr. M'Creery first printed this little effusion of his just and vigorous mind on a small slip, one of which he gave at the time to the editor of the Every-Day Book, who if he has not like

the little busy bee

Improved each shining hour,

is not therefore less able to determine the value of those that are gone for ever; nor therefore less anxious to secure each that may fall to him; nor less qualified to enjoin on his youthful readers the importance of this truth, "that time once gone, ne'er comes again." He would bid them remember, in the conscience - burning words of one of our poets, that

"Time is the stuff that life is made of."

Brady's Clavis Calendaria.


Winter Cherry. Physalis. Dedicated to St. Marcian.

November 3.

St. Malachi, Abp. of Armagh, A. D. 1148. St. Hubert, Bp. of Leige, A. D. 727. St. Wenefride, or Winefride. St. Papoul, or Papulus, 3d. Cent. St. Flour, A. D. 389. St. Rumwald.

Without being sad, we may be serious; and continue to-day the theme of yesterday.

poetical works several citations have alMr. Bowring, from whose former ready glistened these pages, in a subsequent collection of effusions, has versified to our purpose. He reminds us thatMan is not left untold, untaught,

Untrain'd by heav'n to heavenly things;
No! ev'ry fleeting hour has brought
Lessons of wisdom on its wings;
And ev'ry day bids solemn thought
Soar above earth's imaginings.

In life, in death, a voice is heard,
Speaking in heaven's own eloquence,
That calls on purposes deferr'd,

On wand'ring thought, on wild'ring sense,
And bids reflection, long interr'd,
Arouse from its indifference.

Another poem is a translation


Ach wie nichtig, ach wie füchtig!
O how cheating, O how fleeting
Is our earthly being!
'Tis a mist in wintry weather,
Gather'd in an hour together,
And as soon dispers'd in ether.

O how cheating, O how fleeting

Are our days departing!
Like a deep and headlong river
Flowing onward, flowing ever-
Tarrying not and stopping never.

O how cheating, O how fleeting

Are the world's enjoyments!
All the hues of change they borrow,
Bright to-day and dark to-morrow-
Mingled lot of joy and sorrow!
O how cheating, O how fleeting
Is all earthly beauty!
Like a summer flow'ret flowing,
Scattered by the breezes, blowing
O'er the bed on which 'twas growing.

O how cheating, O how fleeting

Is the strength of mortals!
On a lion's power they pride them,
With security beside them-

Yet what overthrows betide them!

O how cheating, O how fleeting

Is all earthly pleasure!
"Tis an air-suspended bubble,
Blown about in tears and trouble,
Broken soon by flying stubble.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
Is all earthly honour!

He who wields a monarch's thunder,
Tearing right and law asunder,
Is to-morrow trodden under.

O how cheating. O how fleeting
Is all mortal wisdom!
He who with poetic fiction
Sway'd and silenced contradiction,
Soon is still'd by death's infiction.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
Is all earthly music!
Though he sing as angels sweetly,
Play he never so discreetly,
Death will overpower him fleetly.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
Are all mortal treasures!
Let him pile and pile untiring,
Time, that adds to his desiring,
Shall disperse the heap aspiring.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
Is the world's ambition!
Thou who sit'st upon the steepest
Height, and there securely sleepest,
Soon wilt sink, alas! the deepest.

O how cheating, O how fleeting
Is the pomp of mortals!
Clad in purple-and elated,
O'er their fellows elevated,
They shall be by death unseated.

O how cheating, O how fleeting All-yes! all that's earthly! Every thing is fading-flying— Man is mortal-earth is dyingChristian! live on Heav'n relying.

The same writer truly pictures our fearful estate, if we heed not the silent progress of "the enemy," that by proper attention we may convert into a friend.


On! on our moments hurry by
Like shadows of a passing cloud,
Till general darkness wraps the sky,
And man sleeps senseless in his shroud.

He sports, he trifles time away,

Till time is his to waste no more: Heedless he hears the surges play;

And then is dash'd upon the shore.

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These "memorabilia" are from a threeshilling volume, entitled " Hymns, by John Bowring," intended as a sequel to the "Matins and Vespers." Mr. Bowring does not claim that his "little book" shall supply the place of similar productions. "If it be allowed," he says, " to add any thing to the treasures of our devotional poetry; if any of its pages should be hereafter blended with the exercises of domestic and social worship; or if it shall be the companion of meditative solitude, the writer will be more than rewarded." All this gentleman's poetical works, diversified as they are, tend" to mend the heart."


Primrose. Primula vulgaris. Dedicated to St. Flour.

November 4.

St. Charles Borromeo, Cardinal, Abp. of Milan, A. D. 1584. Sts. Vitalis and Agrtcola, A. D. 304. St. Joannicius, Abbot, A. D. 845. St. Clarus, A. D. 894. St. Brinstan, Bp. of Winchester, A. D. 931.


So say our almanacs, directly in opposition to the fact, that king William III. did not land until the next day, the 5th: we have only to look into our annals and be assured that the almanacs are in error. Rapin says, "The fourth of November being Sunday, and the prince's birthday. now (in 1688) thirty-eight years of age. was by him dedicated to devotion; the fleet still continuing their course, in order to land at Dartmouth, or Torbay. in the night, whether by the violence of the wind, or the negligence of the plot, the fleet was carried beyond the desired ports without a possibility of putting back, such was the fury of the wine But soon after, the wind turned to the south. which happily carried the fleet P Tato Tor


bay, the most convenient place for landing the horse of any in England. The forces were landed with such diligence and tranquillity, that the whole army was on shore before night. It was thus that the prince of Orange landed in England, without any opposition, on the 5th of November, whilst the English were celebrating the memory of their deliverance from the powder-plot about fourscore years before," &c. Hume also says, "The prince had a prosperous voyage, and Landed his army safely in Torbay on the 5th of November, the anniversary of the gunpowder treason." These historians ground their statements on the authority of bishop Burnet, who was on board the fleet, and from other writers of the period, and their accuracy is provable from the public records of the kingdom, notwithstanding the almanac-makers say to the contrary. It must be admitted, however, that the fourth is kept as the anniversary of the landing of king William, a holiday at different public offices.


Strawberry-tree. Arbutus.
Dedicated to St. Brinstan.

November 5.

St. Bertille, Abbess of Chelles, A. D. 692.

Powder Plot, 1605.

This is a great day in the calendar of the church of England: it is duly noticed by the almanacs, and kept as a holiday at the public offices. In the "Common Prayer Book," there is "A Form of Prayer with Thanksgiving, to be used yearly upon the Fifth day of November; for the happy deliverance of King JAMES I., and the three Estates of England, from the most Traiterous and bloody-intended Massacre by Gunpowder: And also for the happy Arrival of His late Majesty (King WILLIAM III.) on this Day, for the Deliverance of our Church and Nation."


There cannot be a better representation of "Guy Fawkes," as he is borne about the metropolis, " in effigy," on the fifth of November, every year, than the drawing to this article by Mr. Cruikshank. It is not to be expected that poor boys should be well informed as to Guy's history, or be

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particular about his costume. With them "Guy Fawkes-day," or, as they as often call it, "Pope-day," is a holiday, and as they reckon their year by their holidays, this, on account of its festivous enjoyment, is the greatest holiday of the season. They prepare long before hand, not Guy," but the fuel wherewith he is to be burnt, and the fireworks to fling about at the burning: "the Guy" is the last thing thought of, "the bonfire" the first. About this time ill is sure to betide the owner of an ill-secured fence; stakes are extracted from hedges, and branches torn from trees; crack, crack, goes loose paling; deserted buildings yield up their floorings; unbolted flip-flapping doors are released from their hinges as supernumeraries; and more burnables are deemed lawful prize than the law allows. These are secretly stored in some enclosed place, which other "collectors" cannot find, or dare not venture to invade. Then comes the making of " the Guy," which is easily done with straw, after the materials of dress are obtained: these are an old coat, waistcoat, breeches, and stockings, which usually as ill accord in their proportions and fitness, as the parts in some of the new churches. His hose and coat are frequently "a world too wide;" in such cases his legs are infinitely too big, and the coat is "hung like a loose sack about him." A barber's block for the head is "the very thing itself;" chalk and charcoal make capital eyes and brows, which are the main features, inasmuch as the chin commonly drops upon the breast, and all deficiencies are hid by "buttoning up :" a large wig is a capital achievement. Formerly an old cocked hat was the reigning fashion for a "Guy;" though the more strictly informed "dresser of the character" preferred a mock-mitre; now, however, both hat and mitre have disappeared, and a stiff paper cap painted, and knotted with paper strips, in imitation of ribbon, is its substitute; a frill and ruffles of writing-paper so far completes the figure. Yet this neither was not, nor is, a Guy, without a dark lantern in one hand, and a spread bunch of matches in the other. The figure thus furnished, and fastened in a chair, is carried about the streets in the manner represented in the engraving; the boys shouting forth the words of the motto with loud huzzas, and running up to passengers hat in hand, with "pray remem ber Guy! please to remember Guy

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like Froissart's knights" upon adventures." An enterprise of this sort was called "going to smug a Guy," that is, to steal one by "force of arms," fists, and sticks, from its rightful owners. These partisans were always successful, for they always attacked the weak.

In such times, the burning of "a good Guy" was a scene of uproar unknown to the present day. The bonfire in Lincoln's Inn Fields was of this superior order of disorder. It was made at the Great Queen-street corner, immediately opposite Newcastle-house. Fuel came all day long, in carts properly guarded against surprise old people have remembered when upwards of two hundred cart-loads were brought to make and feed this bonfire, and more than thirty "Guys" were burnt upon gibbets between eight and twelve o'clock at night.

At the same period, the butchers in Clare-market had a bonfire in the open space of the market, next to Bear-yard, and they thrashed each other" round about the wood-fire," with the strongest sinews of slaughtered bulls. Large parties of butchers from all the markets paraded the streets, ringing peals from marrow-bones-and-cleavers, so loud as to overpower the storms of sound that came from the rocking belfries of the churches. By ten o'clock, London was so lit up by bonfires and fireworks, that from the suburbs it looked in one red heat. Many were the overthrows of horsemen and carriages, from the discharge of handrockets, and the pressure of moving mobs inflamed to violence by drink, and fighting their way against each other.

This fiery zeal has gradually decreased. Men no longer take part or interest in such an observance of the day, and boys carry about their "Guy" with no other sentiment or knowledge respecting him, than body-snatchers have of a newlyraised corpse, or the method of dissecting it; their only question is, how much they shall get by the operation to make merry with. They sometimes confound their confused notion of the principle with the mawkin, and for "the Guy," they say, "the Pope." Their difference is not by the way of distinction, but ignorance. "No popery," no longer ferments; the spirit is of the lees.

The day is commonly called Gunpowder treason, and has been kept as an No. 46.

anniversary from 1605, when the plot was discovered, the night before it was to have been put in execution. The design was to blow up the king, James I., the prince of Wales, and the lords and commons assembled in parliament. One of the conspirators, being desirous of saving lord Monteagle, addressed an anonymous letter to him, ten days before the parliament met, in which was this expression, "the danger is past, so soon as you have burnt the letter." The earl of Salisbury said it was written by some fool or madman; but the king said, "so soon as you have burnt the letter," was to be interpreted, in as short a space as you shall take to burn the letter. Then, comparing the sentence with one foregoing," that they should receive a terrible blow, this parliament, and yet should not see who hurt them," he concluded, that some sudden blow was preparing by means of gunpowder. Accordingly, all the rooms and cellars under the parliament-house were searched; but as nothing was discovered, it was resolved on the fourth of November, at midnight, the day before the parliament met, to search under the wood, in a cellar hired by Mr. Percy, a papist. Accordingly sir Thomas Knevet, going about that time, found at the door a man in a cloak and boots, whom he apprehended. This was Guy Fawkes, who passed for Percy's servant. On removing the wood, &c. they discovered thirty-six barrels of gunpowder, and on Guy Fawkes being searched, there were found upon him, a dark lantern, a tinder-box, and three matches. Instead of being dismayed, he boldly said, if he had been taken within the cellar, he would have blown up himself and them together. On his examination, he confessed the design was to blow up the king and parliament, and expressed great sorrow that it was not done, saying, it was the devil and not God that was the discoverer. The number of persons discovered to have been in the conspiracy were about thirteen; they were all Roman catholics, and their design was to restore the catholic religion in England. It appears that Guy Fawkes and his associates had assembled, and concerted the plot at the old King's-head tavern, in Leadenhall-street. Two of the conspirators were killed, in endeavouring to avoid apprehension; eight were executed. Two jesuits, Oldcorn and Garnet, also suffered death; the former for saying, "the ill success of the conspiracy did not

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