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3rd Round.-10 D stitches over the 10 in last row, 3 chain, 9 long under the 5 chain, D° under the 3 chain, repeat from,* 4 times more, 3 chain, repeat from beginning.

4th Round.-10 D over the 10 in last row,* 3 chain, 2 long, both on 4th long stitch, I chain, I long into next loop, 1 chain, 2 long into next loop, repeat from,* 4 times more, 3 chain, repeat from beginning.

5th Round.-1 long on 1st De stitch, 2 chain, 1 long into 3rd loop, 2 chain, 1 long into 3rd loop, 2 chain, 1 long into 3rd loop, 2 chain, *9 long, the 1st into 3rd loop from De stitch in last row, 3 chain, miss 1 loop, repeat from,* 4 times more, 2 chain, repeat from beginning.

6th Round.-*7 long, the 1st on the 2nd of the 1st 9 long in last row, 3 chain, 7 long, the 1st on 2nd long, 3 chain, repeat from,* 3 times more, 3 chain, 1 long on long, 2 chain, 1 long on long, 2 chain, 1 long on long, 2 chain, 1 long on long, 3 chain, repeat from beginning.

7th Round.—*5 long, the 1st on the 2nd long of the 1st 7, 5 chain, miss 5 loops, repeat from,* 4 times more, 5 chain, 1 long on 2nd long, 2 chain, 1 long on next long, 5 chain, repeat from beginning.

8th Round.-*3 long, the 1st on the 2nd long of the 1st 5 in last row, 7 chain, miss 7 loops, repeat from,* 4 times more, 5 chain, 4 De stitches, the 1st on the 1st long, 5 chain, repeat from beginning.

9th Round.-*1 long on centre long of the 1st 3 long in last row, 5 chain, 3 De stitches, the 1st into the 4th loop, 5 chain, repeat from,* 4 times more, 5 chain, 4 D on D, 5 chain, repeat from beginning. After washing and starching very highly, and ironing smoothly with a linen cloth over, this must be sewed slightly to the inside rim of the round piece.

THE SPIRIT OF NEEDLEWORK.

"Oh! talk not of it lightly, in a tone of scornful mirth,
It brings to me glad visions of the calm and quiet hearth,
Of seasons of retirement from the world's obtrusive eyes,
Of freedom from absorbing toil, of dear domestic ties."
Mrs. Abdy.

"IF we look to that feminine employment," says a modern author, "which adds most to the comforts and conveniences of life, as well as its elegances, it is Needlework." The word elegance, including beyond a doubt that peculiar branch which we call fancy-work. Where it is necessary," she goes on to say, "preparing the habiliments of those dependent on ussewing with a view to the comfort of another, insignificant as the occupation may appear, the motive hallows it. And so we maintain, only of course in a lesser degree, in those cases where the necessity not existing, the offering is made the more freely.

There are a numberless variety of pretty and not unuseful tokens of remembrance, the manufacture of which occupy many an hour that might otherwise be often less innocently and certainly less pleasantly employed. Trifles, it may be, but full of home-memories, and sweet domestic affections, to be duly treasured by those for whom they are destined. Fingers and thoughts equally busy, we work and think, and think and work; until the charm is wound up at length in the familiar shape perhaps of an ottoman, or a screen-the world sees nothing more; but we have toiled for loving hearts who will know how to value it-viewing in every link, in every flower, a remembrance and an association.

Foster is reported to have said, upon being shewn a piece of worsted work with a great deal of red in it, "that it was red with the blood of murdered time!" A powerful expression, for Foster is always in earnest even about trifles; but a man's idea. In all probability it was time redeemed. Of course there are exceptions to every general rule. It is astonishing how much may be done by merely taking up a piece of such work while waiting for dinner, or in the intervals of social relaxation, when

working never hinders talking. We think it is Miss Martineau, who says that "it takes a contented mind to go cheerfully down a long seam." And the same rule holds good throughout. We mostly find that it is the quiet and gentle-spirited—the homeloving-who delight in such tasks. Let the mind grow restless, and the needle is flung aside twenty times a day. The unhappy are mostly the idle. The industrious sing as they work; or they may be silent, and yet none the less happy, haunted by sweet thoughts.

Needlework has been called, "Woman's pretty excuse for thought." "It also," says another author, "shews a white hand to perfection; and is exceedingly becoming to long eyelashes, and a well-turned neck!" Neither is it altogether so mechanical as some assert. In many kinds of ornamental work there is great room for genius to exert itself-the genius of a painter, for instance, in the selection, arrangement, combination, and exquisite blending of shades and colors; as well as many graceful and fanciful designs, depending in a great measure for their beauty, on the taste and skill of the fair artist.

Needlework is a home-spirit, and therefore to be prized. She weaves her bright spells by the cheerful hearth. She sits contentedly by the fireside in winter, and in the summer sunlight; always busy, yet always ready to enter into the thoughts and sympathies of those around her. She raises her quiet eyes, her nimble fingers working all the while, and there is a world of calm and happy thoughts mirrored on her open brow-the warm, glad charities of daily life. Happy are the dwellings wherein she takes up her peaceful abode ! its inmates will have the less temptation to wander forth in search of pleasures far less pure and enduring.

We can not only think, and talk, and sing over our work; but we may hold converse through some dear, familiar voice, with the genius of past ages. The poem read aloud on those evenings of quiet enjoyment, how we prize it ever after-the work, and the voice, and the poetry, all strangely blended together in our memories. True, we may frequently at the time, forget to work in listening; and then resume it again to hide our fast falling tears-tears that have no sorrow in them, but only a pleasant sympathy. Or we may lay it down to laugh, or help to play the critic; or to steal a glance at the kind faces around

us.

Needlework beguiles us of many a weary interval. It gives us leisure to commune with our own spirits, and be still. It passes

away the solitary hours of domestic life, pleasantly, and even happily-working for the beloved one. It enables us to be generous without being rich; depend upon it those who give their time willingly, would give gold also, if they had it. It affords an elegant occupation, or a pleasant idleness. It promotes sociability, and ministers to the wants-or at least to the gratification of others.

Mrs. Abdy, says—or rather sings

"When I view the tasteful ottoman, or richly fancied screen,

I ever picture to my mind, a sweet and social scene

A group of sisters, young and fair, rejoicing to unite

In bringing every blooming flower, and vivid fruit to light."

How many a sister-band have thus gathered together, working and talking, and perhaps singing; or laying fairy plans for the future, while bud and flower grew beneath their nimble fingers : and after years of mingled joy and sorrow, estranged and parted from each other by new ties and sympathies, return, it may be, to their father's house, to weep over the flowers, faded like their own bright hopes. To them, that listless canvass, with its dimmed wreath, has a silent language, none else can understand. And how often do they repeat one to another that saddest, and yet sweetest of all sentences--" Don't you remember ?"

Who that has ever read it will have forgotten the old legend of "The Five Sisters of York?" so charmingly related by a celebrated living author. They lived, we are told, at the commencement of the fifteenth century, and when Henry the fourth sat upon the throne of England. They were all loving and beautiful; but the youngest even more so than the rest. At the beginning of the legend we find them seated at the embroidery frames, laughing and talking joyously together; until the shadow of an old Monk falls upon the scene. He chides them harshly for time mis-spent. And then the youngest, lifts up her sweet voice, and tells him how their sainted MotherHeaven rest her soul!' (at which the Monk, as in duty bound, adds an Amen!') had said, that if in harmless mirth, and maidenly pursuits they passed the hours together, those hours would prove the happiest and most peaceful of all their lives;and that, if in after times, they went forth into the world, and mingled with its cares and trials-if allured by its temptations, and dazzled by its glitter, they ever forgot that love and duty which should bind in holy ties the children of one loved parent, a glance at the old work of their common girlhood would

awaken good thoughts of by-gone days, and soften their hearts to affection and love."

"Years passed away, bringing with them earth's heritage— change and sorrow! The sisters again met-all but one, and she, we are told, is in heaven! They bring out the five frames of work; and at the last, tears gush forth, and all exclaim involuntarily God bless her! Again falls the shadow of the Monk, pointing mockingly to the pale ghosts of the hopes of earlier years.' But oh! if those sisters loved them thenhow much more now! We are told in conclusion, that they sent abroad to artists of great celebrity in those times, and having obtained the sanction of the church to their work of piety, caused to be executed in five large compartments of richly stained glass, a faithful copy of their old embroidery work. These were fitted into a large window, until that time bare of ornament, and when the sun shone brightly, as she had so well loved to see it, the familiar patterns were reflected in their original colors, and thowing a stream of brilliant light upon the pavement, fell warmly on the name of the lost one!"

"Time has softened down the colors, but the same stream of light still falls upon the forgotten tomb; of which no trace remains;-and to this day the stranger is shewn in York Cathedral, an old window called The Five Sisters.'

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We have quoted this legend in many parts word for word; feeling that our own language fell far short of the exquisite simplicity in which it has been clothed by a living genius. The moral needs not to be pointed out, but will come home to every one-appealing in behalf of needlework. How many such tales there are of which Fame keeps no record. How many that are never printed, save in the hidden volume of the human heart. But not all so sad.

Hester, was the merriest, busiest little creature imaginable! Always employed about something or other-painting with the needle or the brush; and singing over her ingenious trifling. But in the quiet of her own chamber, she had other work, and cut out and made clothes for half the little children in the neighbourhood; carrying them herself, and giving kind words and smiles in exchange for the poor mother's thanks and blessings. No wonder she was so happy! But the world had nothing to do with all this; seeing her only at her fancy-work, and it is of that we are about to write.

Bye-and-by, Hester grew more silent, but not the less gladhearted; and would work quietly on as though thankful for so

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