thus-3 long on the 3 long, bring them into 1 loop on the Hook, which can be done thus-make 3 long successively on the 3 long, 4 chain, these 3 long will afterwards have to be taken out, there will now be a loop on the Hook, with the Silk over the Hook, insert the Hook into the loop of the 1st long, draw the Silk through, then again through 2 loops, there are now 2 loops on the Hook, with the Silk over the Hook insert it into the next loop, draw the Silk through, then through 2 loops, there will now be 3 loops on the Hook, make another stitch precisely the same, there will now be 4 loops on the Hook, now bring the Silk through the 4 loops at once, make a very tight chain over, then make 4 chain and continue, this will bring the sides exactly like the Gold stripe down the middle. At the corners after the last 3 long make 4 chain, 1 long under the 2 chain, 4 chain, 1 long under the same, 4 chain, then continue, 3 long, 4 chain.

At the end of the round unravel the 1st 3 long, 4 chain, and work instead 3 long in a point, 4 chain, and fasten off into the next point. The object of making the 1st 3 long was to obtain the loop on the Hook.

With Black Wool, 1 long under the 4 chain, 4 chain, repeat. At corners work 1 long under the 4 chain between the 2 long stitches, 4 chain, 1 long under the same.

Black Wool, I long on long, 4 chain, repeat. At corners work same as last row.

Blue shaded, 4 long under the 4 chain, 4 chain, miss 1 chain of 4, repeat. At corners work as in last row.

Scarlet shaded, 4 long under the 4 chain, 4 chain, repeat. At corners same as last row.

Now work the Wool in the following order in rounds, and precisely the same as last row, shaded Scarlet, shaded Green, shaded Scarlet, shaded Blue, shaded Scarlet, shaded Green.

There should now be 36 chains of 4 along each end, and 65

chains of 4 down each side, exclusive of the 4 chain at each

corner.

*

With Scarlet shaded, work at the corner along the end, I long under the 4 chain, 4 chain, 1 long under the same, then* 4 chain, 4 long under the 4 chain, repeat from, 11 times more, in all 12 groups of 4 long stitches, then 4 chain, 4 De stitches under the 4 chain for 12 times, then 4 chain, 4 long under the 4 chain till the corner, where work as before. Then down the side, 4 chain, 4 long under the 4 chain, in all 13 groups of long stitches, then 4 chain, 4 De stitches under every 4 chain for 13 times, then 4 chain, 4 long under every 4 chain for 13 times, then 4 chain, 4 De stitches under every 4 chain for 13 times, then 4 chain, 4 long under every 4 chain for 13 times, this will bring to the corner, when worked as before, now work both ends and sides alike. Should there be more stitches than the given number, divide the number of chains in the sides by 5, and those in the end by 3, and work accordingly.

With Blue shaded, work the same only making 14 groups of long stitches in each division down the sides, and make 13 groups of long stitches in each division at the ends.

Continue working a row of each with the Wools in the following order-shaded Scarlet, shaded Green, shaded Scarlet, shaded Blue, shaded Scarlet. Now damp and press well between linen under a heavy weight.

For the Fringe.

All plain colors, take an oz. of Blue, oz. of Scarlet, cut once and double each

an oz. of Green, 1 color in three, then

cut it in three divisions, begin at either corner with Blue, take 7 threads, put them through the corner chain, bring the ends even, and tie in a knot, tie the Blue under 6 of the 4 chains on both sides of all the corners. Tie the Green into the chains between the De stitches, and under all the remaining chains tie Scarlet. Comb well and cut evenly.

VOL. II.

B

NO. I.

FAITH HOWARD.

By the Editor.

PERHAPS the most merciful of all the more serious dispensations is blindness. We-last of all-would think lightly of the privation, which curtains with a never passing cloud, this beautiful world—the changing sky-the pathless waters-the glorious earth-we least of all--would think lightly of the darkness which drops the mantle of night over the faces of kith and kin -which robs the heart of its smile, the world of its sunshine. Still there is much left. The grasp of the hand-the grouping still of the unbroken circle-and the greatest charm of our existence the voices of the beloved. It leaves too the vigour of the frame its buoyancy: its powers of motion: its passing from clime to clime: the brow still feels the breath of the generous breeze the heart still beats with the joyance of health. And it leaves above all the empire of thought. It places no barrier on the Invisible world-nay, it rather makes the scan of the intellect grander, subtler-more rapid: more fixed. What then if it takes the colour from the landscape-the glance of the eye-the quiver of the lip, the flush and round of beauty, when it leaves the sun's warmth on the cheek; the winds ministering on the frame, the insect harmonies of field and wood, the birdsong, the touch of friendship, the embrace of love, and—that most lasting of our memories-the tongue to which we have listened, whose accents-however slight, leave their eternal echo.

Surely although our compassion is but too much needed, our charity but too causefully asked for the guideless blind, surely our contemplation of the palsy-stricken-the dumb-the maniac, blends more of awe with our sympathy.

We have in sooth but little wish to lessen the charity of our fellow-creatures for those who have been thus visited by heaven, and in the narrative it is our lot to chronicle, the heroine is one who asked for herself little aid or pity from any one.

Faith Howard-we like these old names, now almost unused, and but too often with the virtues they accompanied-Faith Howard was the orphan child of the poorest of the poor, blind stricken by the same disease which had robbed her of both

parents. This accumulation of misfortune occurred when she was too young to know the full extent of her loss, and the fourth Summer that dawned on poor Faith saw her a thoughtful perhaps, but not sad child, sharing in all the sports her blindness permitted, and endowed thus early with great strength of will and singleness of purpose. These valuable qualities were not neutralized, as they too often are, by an ungracious temper, and the result was, that whilst a little more respect was mixed up with the love her poor guardians-guardians in the christian sense of the word-felt, she was looked upon as the adopted child of the whole neighbourhood.

In common with most of those who suffer, she grew round the hearts of those needful to her, and at sixteen she was still, with the simplicity of her first childhood, a true, honest-hearted girl.

Such rough training, as the poor folks about her could afford by clubbing together their hard earned pence, she received-and Faith was taught to earn her living by making the coarser kinds of baskets, which require no very careful fingers in their fabrication.

The place in which she lived-the dense suburb of a manufacturing town was not the most favorably situated for the practice of the public duties of Religion-and there was very little encouragement for the performance of such duties. The district although dense had been so recently built over, that it had not yet been formed into a parish, the adjoining parish was already a large and unwieldy one-there were no schools even if they could have afforded the Blind Girl instruction-there was neither church nor chapel very near, and the very nature of her misfortune prevented her from going far into the crowded streets without guidance. She was then without the early associations that seem necessary to the training of a religious mind.

But there are sources of inspiration the world knows little of. In minds prepared by sorrow there are tones so attuned to the harmonies of the universe, that the eloquent music of Creation seems but the prelude, its breathing influence but the foreshadowing of the Word of God in our hearts, like the inarticulate murmurs of the child prefacing speech with all its motive and half its meaning.

She was nearly seventeen before she had entered a place of worship. Do not start at this. Thousands in England have shared this deprivation with Faith Howard. By what seemed at last a mere chance, she entered a church. Her first impression was an undefinable one. It was the discovered language

of her unuttered, but conscious thought. Her mind had conceived of such hopes, but they had assumed no certainty of outline, no direction. She had felt that the seasons came and went and returned over an undecaying world, that the breath of Spring, the sunshine of Summer, the song of Autumn was, year after year still as fresh, as fully renewed as ever. There was an Eternity in all a Future reasoned for from the Past. How gloriously, then, fell upon her ear the words that to the believer in these hopes there was a world more beautiful than this, "such as eye hath not seen," and that she, she whose eyelids rose not at the rising of the dawn, she who had never known, but by her solicitous hand, the form of those she most loved, that she should see the source of all love, that she "should see God."

In

Her life now had its motive and of course its direction. her strong will to go again, she found at last some one to guide her, until she knew the path so well that the beat of her heart and the pressure of her foot-fall were as ready and regular as the most assured and most frequent of the worshippers.

Perhaps with none has this duty ever been felt so much a privilege as with Faith Howard. It was the reward of her weeks toil. It opened to her a new existence. It was the holy-day of her reason as well as of her heart. Denied the usual avenue to a knowledge of the Bible, she treasured every word of the Inspired Book until, by mere memory, and the patiently wrought connection of phrase with phrase, she had no inconsiderable portion by heart. Her unfailing attendance and her devout bearing at last won the . attention of the clergyman, who, after a careful scrutiny of the girl's manner, became greatly interested in her.

Great as the privilege had been of hearing the words of the only book she had ever heard read-that book which was to her the prophecy of an after existence, of Light which should lift the darkness from her eyes and mind, yet the yearning to know all, to have the fragments connected, to have every syllable that God had to tell her made known-was so intense that she felt more acutely than ever the privation that prevented her nearer her entire knowledge.

After the Evening Service of a wet, cold Sunday which had stripped the church of half its congregation, the clergyman lightly laid his hand on the blind girl's shoulder, and bade her follow him. Her ear--true to the sound of every footstep-i