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Then in a willful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now, with treble soft,
The redbreast whistles from a garden croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the
skies.

The village inn, at this particular season of the year, was, in days gone by, and to some extent is so still, the great center of attraction. Our engraving represents an old English inn, as it existed in the days of the "magnanimous Goldsmith," whose charming description of it is well known to all classes of readers. Here is another tribute to autumn, from the pen of Jonathan Freke Slingsby:

THE Autumn light is sleeping
Upon the yellow plain;
The harvest-men are reaping

The swarths of golden grain;
The merry maids the furrows throng,
And bind the sheaves with cheerful song,
While children stoop the ears to glean
That fall the maidens' hands between.

At length, with day's declining,

The westering sun sinks bright; The harvest moon, now shining,

Floods heaven with mellow light; Upon the greensward merrily, To notes of rustic minstrelsy, Young men and maidens, free from care, Dance in the evening autumn air.

Now sere the leaves are growing

With many a russet streak, Just like the death-bloom glowing On a dying maiden's cheek.

Now bleakly blows the autumn breeze,
And sweeps the leaves from moaning trees,
And rain by day and frost by night
O'er spread the flowers and fields with blight.

But though the leaves are dying,

And flowers have lost their bloom, Though blight on earth is lying,

And heaven is fill'd with gloom, O trustful heart! be of good cheer, For time brings round the rolling year; When winter, and spring, and summer are o'er The golden autumn will teem once more.

stray fancies, what chance musings, and recovered associations, he may have thus dear mother earth, and bound together in picked up from the green bosom of his bundles with the beautiful thread of poesy? On this occasion he talked as if this were the natural process of his mind; and stopping suddenly, he exclaimed, " Pardon me; that is too fine a one to be passed by." "He was doing this," said Mr. Quillinan, "when I first encountered him, thirty years ago." And here we are, meditating

THE GRAVES OF WORDSWORTH AND among the remarkable cluster of graves in

HIS RELATIVES.

the Grasmere church-yard. The principal one, with the name of William Words

E shall never forget, says a writer in worth on it, and nothing more, is as

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whom the light of genius flared up so fitfully that the clay which held it soon became scorched and shivered; and, once more, the grave of the gifted but wayward Hartley Coleridge. Poor Hartley! What tides of hereditary eloquence have poured from his lips, while we have sat by and wondered! How has he suddenly drawn up his bent and degraded-looking figure into the dignity of an intellectual man, while the dull eye has startingly told of the power that was chained within! We have grounds for the hope that, in the quiet of that chamber of death, the captive was in every sense set free, and the contrite spirit received into the glorious liberty of the redeemed.

IN

THE LOTTERY TICKET.

N a remote part of the city of Padua, near the ancient church of Santa Sofia, was, and is probably there still, an old house, inclosed by walls, and approached by large gates, which were seldom or never opened; the mode of ingress being by a small wicket gate at the side.

The outer aspect of the house was dull and gloomy, for almost all the windows opened on to an inner court, which was surrounded on the four sides by the building.

The open staircase was in one corner of the edifice, and the different rooms above stairs were approached by open balconies, in the old Italian fashion. Few of the apartments had fire-places, and seldom was smoke seen to issue from the funnelshaped chimneys, common in Padua and other localities near Venice, which seemed designed rather for the admission of rain and snow than for the exit of smoke.

The owner and occupier of this silent and gloomy dwelling was an elderly man, of retired and penurious habits. Giuseppe Balducci, for such was his name, inherited from his father a small independence, which was believed greatly to exceed his expenditure. His parsimonious habits increased with his years, and from being at first only economical, he became miserly. He had but few friends, and an acquaintance seldom crossed his threshold. Indeed, such was his reputation for stinginess, that it was a common saying of his tenants to whom he gave receipts (the only thing he was ever known to give) for the rent they owed him, that in order to save ink, he would neither cross at nor dot an i.

At the period to which my story relates, his whole establishment consisted of one female servant, who had attained' the mature age of fifty. Bettina had been brought up by the mother of Balducci, and, after the death of her mistress, had been transferred to the ménage of the son, in which she had faithfully discharged the duties of cook, housekeeper, and maid of all work, for upward of twenty years, and had attained, as far as it was possible for any one to attain, the confidence of her master. She was active and industrious, and long habit had familiarized her with the miserly ways of Balducci. Bettina had also another advantage in the eyes of her master she was so plain that Balducci had never been annoyed by suitors for the hand of his servant, and it was currently reported that Bettina had never had a lover.

Balducci was not more indulgent to Bettina's female acquaintance than he would have been to her friends of the other sex. He admitted none of them within his house; for he had a horror of gossiping, and was so far conscious of his eccentricities as to be unwilling to afford opportunities of their becoming a subject of conversation to his neighbors. Bettina, however, made up for her silence and solitude at home, by the good use she made of her tongue and ears when going to, or returning from, mass or market.

One morning Bettina went to purchase provisions at the market held in the Piazza in front of the Palazzo della Ragione, the ancient Town-hall of Padua. The morning was cloudy, and just as she had finished her marketing the rain, which' had been threatening all the morning, began to fall.

Now, when it rains in Italy, especially during the autumn, and this was in the month of November, it rains in earnest. There are none of your half-measuresScotch mists or gentle showers-but regu-' lar downright rain, falling straight as a plumb-line, not in drops, but in streams, as if it had been poured out of a bucket; a rain that would almost wet a man to the skin before he could open his umbrella. Bettina was not exactly prepared for such a rain as this; she hoped, in fact, to reach home before the rain came, for she could not carry at the same time her heavy basket, and one of the large and clumsy umbrellas, covered with waxed cloth, gen

erally used by the lower orders in Lombardy. The white muslin shawl with which her head was covered was no protection against such weather as this; and as her high-heeled shoes covered her toes only, leaving the heels bare, her clean white stockings would soon be plastered with mud.

The sides of the Piazza where the market was held were skirted with arcades formed by the projection of the upper stories over the basement. In consequence of their vicinity to the market, the space beneath the arcades was occupied as open shops, a narrow passage being left for the convenience of the passengers. Bettina had a friend, Monna Lisetta, who kept a draper's shop in this locality; with her the housekeeper took shelter from the rain, and awaited the chance of the rain ceasing, or of some acquaintance going her way with an umbrella, which was sure to be large enough to cover her as well as the owner.

Monna Lisetta gave her visitor a seat, and found room for her heavy basket in the shop. The two women were soon engaged in conversation. There was no lack of subjects: when they had discussed the weather and the affairs of their neighbors, there were still the shop goods to talk about. Monna Lisetta had many pretty gown-pieces which she tried to induce her visitor to purchase; but, although Bettina liked to look at pretty things, she was in no humor to buy. She shook her head and pleaded poverty.

"You need not be poor long if you will do as Gian Sarpi has done. If you have only half his good luck, you will be a rich

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Why, he has bought a ticket in the Lottery, and drawn a prize of twenty thousand zwanzigers!"

"Indeed! He's a lucky fellow," said Bettina.

"Why don't you try your luck? and if you get a prize, you can buy this dress, and any others you please."

As Lisetta spoke, she pointed to a wide placard on the walls of the Palazzo della Ragione, announcing, in very large letters, that certain numbers had turned up prizes in the Imperial and Royal Lottery, and that many tickets were yet undisposed of.

"I am thinking of buying a ticket myself," added Lisetta. "Look, there is Maso Ferrari now coming out of the office. I wonder whether he has purchased one. Let us ask." She beckoned to a man who, covered with a large green umbrella, was then crossing the road.

"What have you been doing over yonder ?" asked Lisetta, as he shook his umbrella preparatory to closing it, and stepped into the shop.

"Buying a lottery ticket," said he.

"Ah! I thought you could not resist, after you had heard of Gian Sarpi's good fortune. I am thinking of trying my luck, and I want Monna Bettina to do the same."

"If I thought I was sure of getting a prize," said Bettina, doubtingly. "One is all but sure," answered Lisetta.

"There are two prizes of one hundred thousand zwanzigers each to be drawn soon, and if I should be lucky enough to get one of them," said Maso, clasping his hands, while his eyes sparkled with anticipated happiness, why, my fortune will be made, and I may ride in my coach, instead of carrying this green umbrella over my head in the rain, and tramping through the mud."

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“And you can buy a dress for your wife off this piece of stuff," said Lisetta, who had always an eye to business. "Isn't it a beauty ?" She displayed the cloth, gathering it up in her hand like the folds of a dress, and holding it in as good a light as she could command; then she turned it toward Bettina.

"It is very pretty, certainly," said the housekeeper, thus directly appealed to; "I should like it very much, but I cannot afford it."

"Ah! you'll tell a different tale when you have drawn a prize in the lottery." "Stuff and nonsense! I don't mean to buy a ticket."

Bettina advanced to the entrance of the arch, and looked this way and that to see whether the rain had abated; and, not trusting to her eyes alone, she held out her hand to feel.

"The rain is abating," said she; “] must hasten home. If you are going my way, Maso, will you give me shelter under your umbrella ?"

"With pleasure," replied Maso. Bettina took up her basket, and after bidding

Lisetta good-by, and gathering her dress above her ankles to keep it clean, she walked in company with Maso as far as the gate of Balducci's house; where, thanking him for his civility, she let herself in and secured the door.

The hour was so late that Bettina had scarcely time to prepare for dinner; but when her work was done, and she sat down to her evening occupation of knitting | a cotton stocking, she had leisure to think about the lottery ticket. The hope of suddenly acquiring riches, and of stepping at one jump from poverty to wealth, is always a great temptation, and it requires The a strong mind to resist the impulse. more Bettina thought about the lottery ticket, the brighter and more alluring appeared the prizes, while the blanks seemed entirely to be forgotten. Why should not she get a prize as well as Gian Sarpi? She thought she would try. But what if her ticket should not turn up a prize? Well, then, she should lose a few florins, and, thanks to the Madonna and "the Santo," "* that would not ruin her. She could afford to lose a few. She would try. As she plied her knitting needle, her thoughts busied themselves in castlebuilding, and she formed many plans for the disposal of the prize which she now made sure of obtaining.

The next day, without saying a word to her master, or even to Lisetta, she went to the lottery office and purchased a ticket.

Full of hope and expectation, Bettina returned to the house, and as she folded up the clean white muslin shawl, with which, according to the custom of the country, she had covered her head when she left home, bright visions of zwanzigers and florins floated before her, and although she went about her work as usual, the lottery ticket absorbed all her thoughts.

Bettina now resolved to tell her master what she had done, and only waited for a favorable occasion. One day, when Balducci had eaten his dinner and appeared particularly amicable, Bettina informed her master of her purchase. But the poor woman little anticipated the reception her communication would meet with, and she was totally unprepared for the volley of

St. Antonio is always spoken of in and around Padua as "Il Santo," the saint par excellence.

reproaches which Balducci lavished on her folly in thus squandering away her savings.

"A lottery ticket!" he exclaimed: "you must be mad, quite mad! Would any person in his senses have purchased a lottery ticket? Do you know that for every prize there are hundreds of blanks? that the chances are nearly a thousand to one against you? If the blanks were not greatly more numerous than the prizes, do you think the government could afford to carry on the lotteries?"

"But somebody must win, and why should not I?" observed Bettina.

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Many must lose," replied Balducci, parodying her expression, "and why should you not be one of them ?"

Bettina's countenance fell. Her friends had shown her only the bright side of the picture, and, simple-minded as she was, she had given implicit credence to their representations. Balducci had torn the vail rudely from her eyes, and she began to think that she might not only lose her money, but her master's favor, for she had never seen him so much excited. Tue poor woman did not hazard a reply; she was leaving the kitchen, where her master took his meals, when Balducci called her back.

"What is the number of your ticket?" he inquired.

"4444," replied Bettina.

Balducci quietly took a piece of charcoal from the fire, and marked the number on the chimney-piece.

"That is all; you may go now. Let me hear no more of this foolish business." Bettina left the room, and busied herself about her work. How different now were her feelings from what they had been only half an hour before, when, elated with hope and the pleasing anticipation of success, she had made known her purchase to Balducci !

She was startled from her work by an unusual noise. Her ear told her that the sound proceeded from the pantry. Thither she hurried, and Balducci, who had also been attracted by the noise, followed her. On opening the door the cause of the clamor soon became evident. Bettina, whose thoughts were bent on her lottery ticket, had gone into the pantry to put away the remains of the dinner, and not perceiving that the cat-for, miser as he was, Balducci kept a cat; at least if he can be

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