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5th Row.-5th shade, D° on D 3 chain, 3 long under the 7 chain, 3 chain, repeat.

This forms one Circle.

There should be 24 circles, the diameter of each being about 2 inches, join 12 of these circles on one side of a stripe, and 12 on the other, then sew the other stripes on each side of the circles, work some chain stitches from one Green edge to the other of the stitches at each end of the covering, catching up the points of the circles, about 24 stitches will be found sufficient, fasten in the ends securely into the cotton stripes, then with the Green Wool work a row of long stitches, one stitch into every loop to correspond with the sides, then commence at one end and work up the side thus, 1 long, 2 chain, miss 2 loops, repeat this 44 times more, then turn back, work 1 long on long, 2 chain, repeat, work forwards and back till there are 4 rows, do this on both sides.

For the Border on both ends.

1st Row. Take the Green, make 7 chain, De into 6th loop, then with the darkest Scarlet commence on the 1st D stitch of the Green, 5 chain, 5 long under the 7 chain,* 5 chain, Dc under next 7, 5 chain, Do under next 7, 5 chain, 5 long under next 7, repeat from.*

2nd Row. Next shade, D° into 2nd loop, 5 chain,* De on 1st long, 5 chain, De on last long, 5 chain, 5 long under the 5 chain, 5 chain, repeat from.*

3rd Row. Next shade, D° into 2nd loop, 5 chain,* 5 long under the 5 chain, 5 chain, D under 5 chain, 5 chain, D under 5 chain, 5 chain, repeat from.*

4th Row. Next shade, same as 2nd row.

5th Row.-Lightest shade, same as 3rd row.

Pull the work well, damp and lay it open between a cloth

with a weight upon it for some hours, then sew it up at the sides, take an oz. of shaded Scarlet Wool, cut it twice, divide it once and tie each portion into the 5th bar at each side as in Engraving.

BLACK LACE.

Black Crochet Silk and a rather fine Crochet Hook.

1st Row. Make a chain the required length and work a row of Dc.

2nd Row.-D on 1st De stitch, 5 chain, D into 4th loop, repeat.

3rd Row. De on D in last row where the 1st stitch was worked,* 5 chain, De into centre loop of the 5 chain, repeat from.*

4th and 5th Rows.—Same as 3rd.

6th Row. De into centre loop of the 5 chain, 3 chain, repeat.

7th Row.-5 long under the 1st 3 chain, 6 chain, miss 1 chain of 3, repeat.

8th Row.-1 long on the 1st of the 5 long, 1 long on last of the 5 long without making any chain between, 6 chain, repeat. 9th Row.-1 long on 1st long, 3 chain, 1 long on next long, 3 chain, D under the centre of the both 6 chains in two previous rows looping up both together, 3 chain, repeat.

NO. VIII.

R

VOL. I.

DREAMLAND.

Alas we make

A ladder of our thoughts where angels step,
But sleep ourselves at the foot.

L. E. L.

In making use of the term Dreamland, we do not mean that! City of Dreams, so eloquently described by Lucian; although we will linger there for a few moments just to look about us. "It stands," we are told by Natalis Comes, "on an immense tract of country, surrounded by a thick forest of tall poppy trees, and enormous mandragoras. The plain is likewise full of all sorts of somniculous plants, and the trees are haunted with multitudes of owls and bats. The city is washed by the river Lethe, called by some, the Night-bringer, whose course is inaudible, and like the flowing of oil. It has two gates: one of horn, in which almost everything that can happen in sleep is represented as in a transparency; and the other of ivory, where the dreams are but dimly shadowed out. The principal temple is that of night; and there are others dedicated to truth and falsehood, who have oracles. The population consist of dreams of an infinite variety of shape. If any mortal venture into this enchanted region, he is invariably met by some grotesque object, and yet bearing perhaps a familiar guise, who brings him strange tidings, generally false, for they are a deceitful generation-or converse mockingly with him of the past."

Who has not paid a visit to this City of Dreams? although we seldom remain long enough to bring away with us any tangible recollection of it. Who has not met there, the lovedthe changed and even the dead? Who has not in their wanderings over that city, come suddenly upon old familiar scenes and faces, and gazed upon, and greeted them without surprisealthough they presently awoke weeping? Who has not oftentimes closed their eyes and remained quite still hoping to sleep a little longer, while the vision melted away like a dissolving view, and then arisen up from that happy dream to go wearily through the ordinary business of the day? The detached

images of long past existence thus resuscitated in dreams, is beautifully compared by a Danish poet, to the brilliant mosaics of a buried city!

In dreams, nothing ever strikes us as incongruous; and we commit all sorts of extravagances-laugh, dance, sing, and weep-converse with kings and queens-mingle with the living and the dead-and all with the utmost sang froid, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Foster, calls dreaming, "the power of painting upon darkness." Oh what marvellous pictures are created thus ! and how soon their bright color fades and dies out! But as we have before observed, this is not the Dreamland of which we sat down to write.

The City of Dreams, can, for the most part, only be entered at night, and with closed eyes, that the traveller may not see the road by which he came; and never without a passport duly signed in the small tremulous hand writing of death's younger brother sleep. But the gates of Dreamland stand open day and night, and we wander among its enchanted regions and its golden palaces-chateaux en Espagne !-until the earth seems to be but a barren spot compared with this ideal paradise. Most of our readers-especially the young and imaginative, have paid many a visit to this same Dreamland, ay, and the aged too, in their youth. But we must beware how we linger there. They must be-

"Angel visits, few and far between!"

lest they make us discontented with that everyday world of ours, which is, after all, our true home.

We once heard of a young lady who spent the greater part of her time in Dreamland, where she found, as she affirmed, very pleasant company, forming the purest friendships, and meeting with all sorts of romantic adventures, which had, and could have no existence, save in her own imagination, and in which she always played the principal part to perfection. But meanwhile, how did she perform her part in real life? in her own little sphere of duty and affection, as a daughter and a sister? She was fond of needlework, and all kinds of fanciful embroidery, at which she used to sit for hours together-but her spirit was far away. When any one spoke to her suddenly, she started like one awakened out of sleep, but soon fell into her old dreaming mood when once more left to herself. If not addressed, she would remain for a whole morning without speaking, which rendered her by no means a very desirable

companion; and this was the more to be regretted because Clementine, for so we shall call her, really could make herself very agreeable if she chose.

Many a bright vision of filial devotion passed through the mind, or flushed the pale cheek of the youthful dreamer, but the opportunity never arrived for their fulfilment, and the aged couple remained meanwhile uncheered by the thousand little daily attentions, which would have gladdened and made happy their declining years. Many a sacrifice did she make in imagination, to that gentle and forbearing, as well as active and busy little sister, who, moving about like a household fairy, managed everything so quietly and pleasantly. But they were great sacrifices, such as few are called upon to perform, not the hourly sacrifice of our own plans and wishes, of our own selfish requirements, which add so much to the harmony of social existence. Clementine would have laid down her life for her sisterbut she never thought to lay down her work sometimes and help her, when she was weary, perhaps, with the burden of household cares which fell entirely upon her.

Clementine had an ideal lover, with raven hair, a high, pale brow, and a low voice that sounded like a strain of sweet music! Oftentimes, in her dreams, he knelt at her feet, and said all manner of charming things, such as one reads in old poems and romances. What wonder, when she came to have a real lover, whose hair was auburn-some called it red!—his complexion florid—and his voice loud and joyous, that she should feel almost disgusted. Frank never sighed, or knelt at her feet; but he used to laugh and joke with the busy little sister, and sometimes try to tease, or reason Clementine out of her romantic notions, for he was very much attached to her-but then he eat such suppers! No one ever thinks of eating and drinking in Dreamland!

Poor Clementine! And yet, somehow, she did like him a little-it was impossible to help it—but she was very wilful and provoking, and at last Frank got angry with her and they quarrelled. Sad things are lover's quarrels ! Clementine dreamed of all manner of impossible reconciliations, sometimes with the tears in her eyes, and thought over every thing that would be said and done when the time came, but she did nothing meanwhile to bring about that reconciliation, and the time never did come! Frank was tired of her inconsistency, and had arrived although not without pain-at the very wise conclusion of his mother, that they should never be happy together. He

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