VII.

I see thee in thy beauty! with thy waving hair at rest, And thy busy little fingers folded lightly on thy breast: But thy merry dance is over, and thy little race is run, And the mirror that reflected two, can now give back

but one.

VIII.

I see thee in thy beauty! with thy mother by thy side, But her loveliness is faded, and quelled her glance of

pride;

The smile is absent from her lip, and absent are the

pearls,

And a cap, almost of widowhood, conceals her envied

curls.

IX.

I see thee in thy beauty! as I saw thee on that day,
But the mirth that gladdened then thy home, fled with

thy life away.

I see thee lying motionless upon the' accustomed floor, But my heart hath blinded both mine eyes-and I can

see no more!

Z. M. W.

THE UNION FLAG OF ENGLAND.

BY J. F. HOLLINGS.

ABOVE the walled and castled height,
Above the guarded line,

O'er seas, where sports the tempest's might,
And waves in wrath combine,—

Queen of the stern and martial North!
How fairly streams that Banner forth-

Thy pure and stainless sign;
Against the battle and the blast
In unappalled defiance cast!

Linked with that sanguine Cross of Red,

That bright and snowy Field,

And the deep hue which erst was shed

On Albyn's dinted shield,

How many an unforgotten name,
How many a deed of light and fame

There lives, and shines revealed,
Amidst the beams of cloudless skies,
Which dally with those floating dyes!-

The proud array-the ocean fight—

The camp-the 'leaguered hold; The shout-the charge-the sulphurous night

O'er closing myriads rolled

And Rout, and Tumult, and Despair,—
Such are the themes engraven there,

And such the import told
To all in whose revering eyes
That storm-contemning symbol flies.

O, fair in friendship as in wrath!
Where'er that sign is shewn,
Or o'er a stern or peaceful path,
Be Glory still thine own!

And high Renown, with tuneful breath,
And Valour, faithful to the death,

To all thy might make known;

The tried, the emulous, the free,
Who dare the flood or strife for thee!

And Victory's undiminished light

Be on thee, as of old,

Thou terror of the oppressor's might,

And triumph of the bold!

Till War's unhallowed reign is past,

And wasting Hate hath raged its last

Beneath that blazoned fold,

And Earth's frail seed have learned, at length,

A holier power and nobler strength.

THE LOTTERY TICKET.

THAT once fruitful source of pleasing, although delusive hopes, the Lottery, is now no more. A despotic act of parliament has given the death-blow to thousands of happy pictures of the imagination, that were hitherto wont to amuse, for a time at least, those earnest suitors of Fortune, who, if they did not actually enjoy her smiles, flattered themselves that they were on the high road to her favours. A stern moralist, indeed, may expatiate on the baneful influence of Lotteries, not only as a species of gambling, but as tending to cherish expectations, which, in a fearful majority of cases, must terminate in disappointment. Yet the very same persons scruple not to hold out as incentives to good conduct examples of success, that must create hopes equally deceptive. The apprentice is taught to cherish the idea, that however humble his fortune, he may one day become Lord Mayor; the midshipman is excited to emulation by the example of Nelson, and told that he ought not to

despair of rising to the highest honours in his profession; and whatever be the career in which the youthful adventurer starts for fortune or for fame, it is considered not merely pardonable, but meritorious in him, to propose to himself the attainment of the greatest prize it has to bestow. There is a Russian proverb which says, 'He is a bad soldier that does not expect to become a general;' yet were a whole army to consist of individuals combining the talents of an Alexander, a Cæsar, and a Napoleon, it would be as impossible that all should be commanders, as that in a Lottery every speculator should gain the grand prize.

But, the "Lucky Corner" is gone; or, rather, though the identical house stands there yet, it no longer conjures up in the passers-by, dreams of sudden affluence, and of hoards of gold. There, at the forked triple way, Fortune seemed with open arms to invite all who approached the spot, pointing with one hand to the Bank, and with the other to the wealthy Lombard-land. The Lottery, too, whatever be alleged against it in other respects, must be admitted to have frequently furnished an expedient to the novelist and dramatist, and enabled them to extricate a hero from poverty and raise him at once to affluence, without killing a distant relative, or bringing an old uncle from India. A Lottery ticket has, also, without doubt, given rise to many a strange incident, and it is hoped that the one I am now about to relate will not be found wholly unamusing.